large/2093/ghost_stories_005_librivox_64kb_mp3/old_womans_tale_hawthorne_rkw_64kb_53
large/2093/ghost_stories_005_librivox_64kb_mp3/old_womans_tale_hawthorne_rkw_64kb
English
2093
There are a thousand of her traditions lurking in the corners and by places of my mind, some more marvellous than what is to follow, some less so, and a few not marvellous in the least, all of which I should like to repeat, if I were as happy as she in having a listener. THERE ARE A THOUSAND OF HER TRADITIONS LURKING IN THE CORNERS AND BY PLACES OF MY MIND SOME MORE MARVELLOUS THAN WHAT IS TO FOLLOW SOME LESS SO AND A FEW NOT MARVELLOUS IN THE LEAST ALL OF WHICH I SHOULD LIKE TO REPEAT IF I WERE AS HAPPY AS SHE IN HAVING A LISTENER
d Widger THE DOLIVER ROMANCE AND OTHER PIECES TALES AND SKETCHES By Nathaniel Hawthorne AN OLD WOMAN’S TALE In the house where I was born, there used to be an old woman crouching all day long over the kitchen fire, with her elbows on her knees and her feet in the ashes. Once in a while she took a turn at the spit, and she never lacked a coarse gray stocking in her lap, the foot about half finished; it tapered away with her own waning life, and she knit the toe-stitch on the day of her death. She made it her serious business and sole amusement to tell me stories at any time from morning till night, in a mumbling, toothless voice, as I sat on a log of wood, grasping her check-apron in both my hands. Her personal memory included the better part of a hundred years, and she had strangely jumbled her own experience and observation with those of many old people who died in her young days; so that she might have been taken for a contemporary of Queen Elizabeth, or of John Rogers in the Primer. BLIC DOMAIN FOR MORE INFORMATION OR TO VOLUNTEER PLEASE VISIT LIEBERVOX DOT ORGAN AN OLD WOMAN'S TALE BY NAPANIEL HAWTHORN IN THE HOUSE WHERE I WAS BORN THERE USED TO BE AN OLD WOMAN CROUCHING ALL DAY LONG OVER THE KITCHEN FIRE WITH HER ELBOWS ON HER KNEES AND HER FEET IN THE ASHES ONCE IN A WHILE SHE TOOK A TURN AT THE SPIT AND SHE NEVER LACKED A COARSE GREY STOCKING IN HER LAP THE FOOT ABOUT HALF FINISHED IT TAPERED AWAY WITH HER OWN WANING LIFE AND SHE KNIT THE TOASTITCH ON THE DAY OF HER DEATH SHE MADE IT HER SERIOUS BUSINESS AND SOLE AMUSEMENT TO TELL ME STORIES AT ANY TIME FROM MORNING TILL NIGHT IN A MUMBLING TOOTHLESS VOICE AS I SAT ON A LOG OF WOOD GRASPING HER CHEEK APRON WITH BOTH MY HANDS HER PERSONAL MEMORY INCLUDED THE BETTER PART OF A HUNDRED YEARS AND SHE HAD STRANGELY JUMBLED HER OWN EXPERIENCE AND OBSERVATION WITH THOSE OF MANY OLD PEOPLE WHO DIED IN HER YOUNG DAYS SO THAT SHE MIGHT HAVE BEEN TAKEN FOR A CONTEMPORARY OF QUEEN ELIZABETH OR OF JOHN ROGERS IN THE PRIMMER
large/2093/ghost_stories_005_librivox_64kb_mp3/old_womans_tale_hawthorne_rkw_64kb
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download/librilight/large/2093/ghost_stories_005_librivox_64kb_mp3/old_womans_tale_hawthorne_rkw_64kb.flac