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Wells, H. G. (Herbert George), 1866-1946

"Small Means and Great Ends"

But that
isn't the worst of all; no, not by a great deal; there is a great rent
in my frock, gaping and staring at me, waiting to be mended; and nobody
knows how long 't will take me to do that. Oh dear! how I hate to work!
I don't see how it is; there's mother takes care of the children, sews,
makes bread and washes the dishes, just as willingly and cheerfully as
if she were playing on the piano or reading a pleasant book. They say
that good people are always happy; but I _never_ am. Oh, I believe I am
the worst creature that ever lived!" and she bent her head upon her lap
and burst into tears.
It was not long before she was roused by the sound of footsteps; she
raised her head, and saw an old woman coming down the road with a large
basket on her arm. She looked tired and weary, as well she might be, for
she had travelled a long distance; it was a hot, sultry afternoon, and
every footstep stirred a cloud of dust. She came towards the spring; but
before she reached it, she struck her foot against a stone and fell.
"Have you hurt you?" exclaimed Annie, as she sprung to her side.
"Not a bit, not a bit," she replied, as she shook the dust from her
apron, and replaced the things that had fallen from her basket.
"Oh, yes, you have!" said Annie; "see, the blood is streaming down your
arm!"
"Oh that's nothing; only a scratch.


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