Also,little envelopes were distributed to all the classes.Each little boy and girl was to bring money for the poor,next Sunday.The pretty Sunday-school teacher explained that we were to write our names,or have our parents write them,up in the left-hand corner of the little envelopes....I told my mother all about it when I came home.And my mother gave me,the next Sunday,a small bag of potatoes to carry to Sunday school.I supposed the poor children's mothers would make potato soup out of them....Potato soup was good. My father,who was quite a joker,would always say,as if he were surprised,“Ah！I See we have some nourishing potato today!"It was so good that we had it every day
Also, little envelopes were distributed to all the classes. Each little boy and girl was to bring money for the poor, next Sunday. The pretty Sunday-school teacher explained that we were to write our names, or have our parents write them, up in the left-hand corner of the little envelopes....I told my mother all about it when I came home. And my mother gave me, the next Sunday, a small bag of potatoes to carry to Sunday school. I supposed the poor children’s mothers would make potato soup out of them....Potato soup was good. My father, who was quite a joker, would always say, as if he were surprised, “Ah! I See we have some nourishing potato today!” It was so good that we had it every day
My father was at home all day long and every day, now;and I liked that,even if he was ill-tempered as he sat reading Grant's"Memoirs".I had my parents all to myself,too;the others were away.My oldest brother was in Quincy,and memory does not reveal where the others were:perhaps with relatives in the country. Talking my small bag of potatoes to Sunday school, I looked around for the poor children;I was disappointed not to see them.I had heard about poor children in stories.But I was told just to put my contribution with the others on the big table in the side room
My father was at home all day long and every day, now; and I liked that, even if he was ill-tempered as he sat reading Grant’s “Memoirs”. I had my parents all to myself, too; the others were away. My oldest brother was in Quincy, and memory does not reveal where the others were: perhaps with relatives in the country. Talking my small bag of potatoes to Sunday school, I looked around for the poor children; I was disappointed not to see them. I had heard about poor children in stories. But I was told just to put my contribution with the others on the big table in the side room
I had brought with me the little yellow envelope, with some money in it for the poor children.My mother had put the money in it and sealed it up.She wouldn't tell me how much money she had put in it, but it felt like several dimes.Only she wouldn't let me write my name on the envelope.I had learned to write my name,and I was proud of being able to do it.But my mother said firmly,no,I must not write my name on the envelope she didn't tell me why, On the way to Sunday school I had pressed the envelope against the coins until I could tell what they were;they weren't dimes but pennies
I had brought with me the little yellow envelope, with some money in it for the poor children. My mother had put the money in it and sealed it up. She wouldn’t tell me how much money she had put in it, but it felt like several dimes. Only she wouldn’t let me write my name on the envelope. I had learned to write my name, and I was proud of being able to do it. But my mother said firmly , no, I must not write my name on the envelope ; she didn’t tell me why, On the way to Sunday school I had pressed the envelope against the coins until I could tell what they were; they weren’t dimes but pennies
When I handed in my envelope,my Sunday-school teacher noticed that my name wasn't on it,and she gave me a pencil;I could write my own name,she said.So I did.But I was confused because my mother had said not to and when I came home,I confessed what I had done.She looked distressed.I told you not to!"she said.But she didn't explain why
When I handed in my envelope, my Sunday-school teacher noticed that my name wasn’t on it, and she gave me a pencil; I could write my own name, she said. So I did. But I was confused because my mother had said not to ; and when I came home, I confessed what I had done. She looked distressed. “I told you not to!” she said . But she didn’t explain why
I didn't go back to school that fall My mother said it was because I was sick.I did have a cold the week that school opened;I had been playing in the gutters and had got my feet wet,because there were holes in my shoes.My father cut insoles out of cardboard,and I wore those in my shoes.As long as I had to stay in the house anyway,they were all right
I didn’t go back to school that fall . My mother said it was because I was sick . I did have a cold the week that school opened; I had been playing in the gutters and had got my feet wet, because there were holes in my shoes. My father cut insoles out of cardboard, and I wore those in my shoes. As long as I had to stay in the house anyway , they were all right