For should you succeed, as Jim did, in
bringing Time to a standstill, the world would soon become a dreary
place and life decidedly unpleasant.
The WONDERFUL PUMP
Not many years ago there lived on a stony, barren New England farm a
man and his wife. They were sober, honest people, working hard from
early morning until dark to enable them to secure a scanty living
from their poor land.
Their house, a small, one-storied building, stood upon the side of a
steep hill, and the stones lay so thickly about it that scarce
anything green could grow from the ground. At the foot of the hill,
a quarter of a mile from the house by the winding path, was a small
brook, and the woman was obliged to go there for water and to carry
it up the hill to the house. This was a tedious task, and with the
other hard work that fell to her share had made her gaunt and bent
and lean.
Yet she never complained, but meekly and faithfully performed her
duties, doing the housework, carrying the water and helping her
husband hoe the scanty crop that grew upon the best part of their
land.
One day, as she walked down the path to the brook, her big shoes
scattering the pebbles right and left, she noticed a large beetle
lying upon its back and struggling hard with its little legs to turn
over, that its feet might again touch the ground.
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