My mother complained of the cold, when I fetched a fresh faggot and placed it on the fire, putting the tea-kettle also on the fire, and sweeping the hearth. "Come, Lucy," said my mother, as she felt the warmth of the newly-kindled faggot, "sing us a psalm, and let us bless God for all his goodness to us; how many poor creatures want the comforts we enjoy!"
还没人写过短评呢