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But if you'd never had anything all your life but other people's scraps and leavings, and you hadn't any home or friends or money, and was sick besides, you'd think things wasn't very evenly divided. Wouldn't you now? You'd think it wasn't right that some should have all that heart can wish, and others not enough to keep soul and body together.
To find any ground of comparison between the two things he compared, he must make his poet sustain his body by the scraps and lines of his poem which he rejects, or else the steam planing-mill consume its finished product. "Let all things give way to the impulse of expression," he says, and he assuredly practiced what he had preached.
I'll let you have one of her eggs every third morning for your breakfast." "Did you ever stop to think how they were to be fed? Grain is so high now many people have stopped raising hens." "Miss Betsy says the Rhode Island Reds aren't so particular as some hens. She says you can feed them partly with sour milk and scraps off the table." "Sour milk!" said Mrs.
Occasionally, although shy on account of being persistently hunted, under pressure of extreme hunger in the very coldest weather when the snow was deepest they ventured into barnyards and even approached the doorsteps of houses, searching for any sort of scraps and crumbs, as if piteously begging for food.
Whatever it was, it was driving fiercely ahead, as if impelled by a strong wind, though there was not a breath of air stirring below. Soon small objects began to detach themselves from the mass, so that the eye could distinguish separate particles, which looked not unlike scraps of silver driven with terrific force from the tail end of some gigantic machine.
"He's a human little cuss," he told himself one day, as he watched the mouse busy at work caching away scraps of food, which it carried through a crack in the sapling floor. "He's that human I've got to put all my grab in the tin cans or we'll go short before spring!" His chief trouble was to keep his snowshoes out of his tiny companion's reach.
Pausing involuntarily to look, I caught stray scraps of additional information. "Twenty-five people killed." "As many as that?" "Oh, yes; fully, I should say. The Sixth fired right into the crowd, all along from Gay to Eutaw Street." "Well, I hear the Sixth are pretty well cleaned out by this time, so it's tit for tat." Then "The Fifth must be there now "
Then he extended them as far as he could reach toward our travelers and found he could almost touch the Scarecrow but not quite. "Come a little nearer, please," begged the Giant. "I'm a Scarecrow." "A Scarecrow? Ugh! I don't care a straw for a scarecrow. Who is that bright-colored delicacy behind you?" "Me?" asked Scraps. "I'm a Patchwork Girl, and I'm stuffed with cotton."
Some of the rare scraps of fresco upon house fronts, still to be seen in Venice, are left in Cannaregio. They are chiaroscuro allegories in a bold bravura manner of the sixteenth century.
They pulled out minor partitions here and there, and went out on the surface and threw away thousands of small glittering scraps of metal in all directions. Two weeks later, there was another attack. It could be calculated that Joe couldn't have carried up more than six guided missiles. There might be as few as two of them left.
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