. Stories of Great Americans for Little Americans. t-ers in those days. It was hard work to write his-to-rv without ooodeyes. But Pres-cott did not give up. He had aman to read to him. It took him ten years to writehis first book. When Prescott had finished his book, he was 122 afraid to print it. But his father said, The manwho writes a book, and is afraid to print it, is acow-ard. Then Prescott printed his book. Everybodypraised it. When you are older, you will like toread his his-to-ries. Doctor Holmes, the poet, was a boy full of fan-cies. He lived in an old had staid in the
. Stories of Great Americans for Little Americans. t-ers in those days. It was hard work to write his-to-rv without ooodeyes. But Pres-cott did not give up. He had aman to read to him. It took him ten years to writehis first book. When Prescott had finished his book, he was 122 afraid to print it. But his father said, The manwho writes a book, and is afraid to print it, is acow-ard. Then Prescott printed his book. Everybodypraised it. When you are older, you will like toread his his-to-ries. Doctor Holmes, the poet, was a boy full of fan-cies. He lived in an old had staid in thehouse at the time of the Revo-lution. The floor of one roomwas all battered bv the buttsof the soldiers muskets. Little Ol-i-ver Holmes usedto think he could hear soldiersin the house. He thought hecould hear their spurs rattlingin the dark passages. Some-times he thought he could heartheir swords clanking. The little boy was afraid ofa sign that hung over the side-walk. It was a great, big,wooden hand. It was the signof a place where gloves were. made. This big hand swung in the air. Little 123 I r Ol-i-ver Holmes had to walk under it on his wayto school. He thought the great fingers wouldgrab him some day. Then he thought he wouldnever get home again. He even thought that hisother pair of shoes would be put away till his littlebrother grew big enough to wear them. But the big wooden hand never caught him. Here are some verses that Doctor Holmes wroteabout a very old man: — My grand-mam-ma has said —Poor old lady, she is dead Long ago —That he had a Roman nose,And his cheek was hke a rose In the snow. But now his nose is it rests upon his chin Like a staff;And a crook is in his back,And a mel-an-chol-y crackIn his laugh.
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