"
Now a ragged, half-clothed child, or one that could really be
called poor, in the extreme sense of the word, was the rarest of
all sights in a thrifty New England town fifty years ago. I used
to look sharply for those children, but I never could see one.
And a beggar! Oh, if a real beggar would come along, like the one
described in
"Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,"
what a wonderful event that would be! I believe I had more
curiosity about a beggar, and more ignorance, too, than about a
king. The poem read:--
"A pampered menial drove me from the door."
What sort of creature could a "pampered menial" be? Nothing that
had ever come under our observation corresponded to the words.
Nor was it easy for us to attach any meaning to the word
"servant." There were women who came in occasionally to do the
washing, or to help about extra work. But they were decently
clothed, and had homes of their own, more or less comfortable,
and their quaint talk and free-and-easy ways were often as much
of a lift to the household as the actual assistance they
rendered.
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