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Show Miscellany CONTENTMENT A DOZEN mansions grace the block where stands my humble shack, some built of brick or polished rock, without a staiu or crack. They're strictly modern bungalows, the whole blame bunch, . save mine, with heavy doors that gently close and window panes that shine. You'd think I'd be a sorry chap, when all such things I lack, but really I don't care a snap: I lore my humble shack. My grass patch is not quite so broad as many I have seen, but there's no discount on my sod. I keep it fresh and green. My neighbor has a steady man to cut his hedge and lawn. He beautifies each spot he can while to my work I'm gone, with dinner pail and pick in hand to earn two precious pre-cious bones, and then come home to till my land, and pick up sticks and stones. I've roses next to my front walk, peonies in the back. Though I'm not much to brag or .talk, I love my humble shack. My neighbor takes his auto out, while I walk to and fro, or wheel the kids around about in my old wheelbarrow. Oh, how they leap and jump for joy! I take six at a whack supreme delight without alloy. I love my humble shack. FEED W. CROCKETT. |