So he wrote the first of stories with his little fingernail.
THE THREE-CORNERED LOT
Said the farmer to his daughter: “When I die, as like as not,
I’ll leave to you the title to the old three-cornered lot.
“’Tis the vale beyond the pastures, never any good to me,
With the huckleberry bushes and the silver maple-tree.
“Fair scenery for song birds, but too small to cultivate;
Yet there’s a wall around it, like a foolish man’s estate.”