A Boy's Story Is The Best That

The Coffee Was Boiling Over A Charcoal Fire, And Large Slices Of Bread And Butter Were Piled One Upon The Other Like Deals In A Lumber Yard.

"well," Said My Aunt, "this Is His Boy - His Son. He Would Be As Like His Father As It's Possible To Be, If He Was Not So Like His Mother, Too."

I Found Uriah Reading A Great Fat Book, With Such Demonstrative Attention, That His Lank Forefinger Followed Up Every Line As He Read, And Made Clammy Tracks Along The Page (or So I Fully Believed) Like A Snail.

Remembrance, Like A Candle, Burns Brightest At Christmastime.

Everybody Said So. Far Be It From Me To Assert That What Everybody Says Must Be True. Everybody Is, Often, As Likely To Be Wrong As Right.