Mother Goose in Prose

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THERE once lived a poor widow who supported herself and her only son by gleaning in the fields the stalks of grain that had been missed by the reapers. Her little cottage was at the foot of a beautiful valley, upon the edge of the river that wound in and out among the green hills; and although poor, she was contented with her lot, for her home was pleasant and her lovely boy was a constant delight to her.He had big blue eyes, and fair golden curls, and he loved his good mother very dearly, and was never more pleased than when she allowed him to help her with her work.And so the years passed happily away till the boy was eight years old, but then the widow fell sick, and their little store of money melted gradually away. I don’t know what we shall do for bread, she said, kissing her boy with tears in her eyes, for I am not yet strong enough to work, and we have no money left.