The miser hugg'd his shrunken form,
And grudged the fire that made him warm.
The old worn latch arose and felt,
He started up with threat'ning yell—
'Begone!"—as in the open door
A woman stood, faint and foot-sore.
"Just this," she begged, "this rotten board—
'Twill not be missed from out your hoard."
"Take it and go!" he thundered out—
"Oh, thanks," she moaned, and turned about.