The Long Ago | Page 7

to go with it.
But brown sugar stood alone - sticky, heavy, crumbly lumps that held
together until a fellow could tip back his head and drop one of the
chunks in his mouth.
And after school grandmother could be persuaded to cut a full-size slice
of bread (thick) and spread it with butter (thick) and you'd start away
with it (quick) - just nibbling at one edge, not really biting - and you'd
sneak into the dark place under the stairs (or into the pantry) - and

reach deep down into the white sugar barrel - and grab a handful - and
sprinkle it over the bread-and-butter - and shake back into the barrel all
that didn't stick to the butter - and then do it all over again - and pat it
down hard - and then sprinkle just a little bit more on hurriedly,
(because grandfather's cane could be heard tapping down the hall) - and
then you emerged with dignity, but with no unnecessary commotion -
and just faded away into the Outer World so softly, so gently, so
contentedly! . . . . .
(Have you tried any bread-and-butter-and-sugar recently? Did it taste
the same as it used to? . . .
No? . . . Perhaps you broke it into pieces instead of beginning at one
side and eating straight through?
Or maybe you got hold of the cooking butter . . . Or did you try it with
baker's bread? . . .
No? . . . Well, why didn't it taste the same?

Jimmy the Lamplighter

The sun had gone down behind the willows on the river-bank. The
night-clouds still carried the crimson-and-purple of the late twilight;
and the deep, still waters of the channel gave back the colors and the
gleam of the first stars that heralded the night . . . . . The martins
chattered under the eaves, scolding some belated member of the clan
who pushed noisily for a lodging-place for the night. The black bat and
the darting nighthawk were a-wing, grim spectres of the dusk. The
whip-poor-will was crying along the river, and far up-stream the loon
called weirdly across the water. . . . .
A small boy was sitting on grandfather's front steps, his elbows on his
knees, his chin in his palms, seeing familiar objects disappear in the
gathering dusk, and watching the stars come out. He was safe, very safe

for grandfather had not gone to the dining-room yet, and his arms could
be reached for shelter in two or three bounds, if need be. So it was very
pleasant to sit on the steps and see the little old town fold-up its affairs
and settle down for the night.
And more particularly to watch for Jimmy, the Lamplighter.
Far up the street, in the almost-dark place, about where Schmidt's
shoestore ought to be, a point of light flashed suddenly, flickered, and
then burned steadily - and in a moment another, across the street . . . .
Then a space of black, and two more points appeared. Down the street
they came in pairs, closely following the retreating day.
And the Little Boy on the Steps knew that it was Jimmy, the
Lamplighter, working his way swiftly and silently. If only the supper
bell would delay awhile The Boy would see old Jimmy light the lamp
on grandfather's corner, as he had seen him countless times before.
Then, just as the red glow faded in the West and Night settled down, he
came swinging sturdily across the street, his ladder hung on his right
shoulder, his wax taper in his left hand. Quickly, unerringly he placed
the ladder against the iron post that sent its metallic ring into the clear
night air as the ladder struck, and was three rounds up almost before it
settled into position. Then a quick opening of the glass; a struggle with
the matches in the wind, a hurried closing of the door, one quick look
upward; an arm through the ladder and a swing to the shoulder - and
Jimmy the Lamplighter was busily off to his next corner.
Once, in the later years, he came with his new lighter - a splendid brass
affair, with smooth wood handle, holding a wax taper that flickered
fitfully down the street and marked old Jimmy's pathway through the
dusk. Although he could reach up and turn on the gas with the key-slot
at the end of the scepter and light it with the taper, all at one time, he
ever carried the ladder - for none could tell when or where a burner
might need fixing, or there would be other need to climb the post as in
the days of the lamp and sulphur-match.
Short of