THE dwelling which Reuben Roy called his home was neither picturesque nor commodious. It was a small whitewashed cottage, boasting but four rooms, which always seemed full of children and of clothes, in a wet or dry condition as the case might be, for Reuben's mother was a laundress and worked very hard to help her husband maintain their numerous family. There was a piece of garden ground in front, but it was very untidy, for no one had time to give it any attention, save the little ones and they were not good gardeners. Yet flowers flourished there somehow in a way of their own, though, as often as not, they were smothered beneath pieces of wet linen laid out to bleach in the sun.…
Your support pays for translating these classics into more languages.
Support for $12/month DonateSubscribers read with instant translation, without waiting for the free daily limit.