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The Children's Book by  Horace E. Scudder
Table of Contents




Dear me! what signifies a pin,

Wedged in a rotten board?

I'm certain that I won't begin,

At ten years old to hoard!

I never will be called a miser,

That I'm determined, said Eliza.

So onward tript the little maid,

And left the pin behind,

Which very snug and quiet laid,

To its hard fate resigned;

Nor did she think (a careless chit)

'T was worth her while to stoop for it.

Next day a party was to ride

To see an air balloon;

And all the company beside

Were dressed and ready soon;

But she a woeful case was in,

For want of just a single pin!

In vain her eager eye she brings

To every darksome crack,

There was not one! and all her things

Were dropping off her back.

She cut her pincushion in two,

But no! not one had slidden through.

At last, as hunting on the floor

Over a crack she lay,

The carriage rattled to the door,

Then rattled fast away;

But poor Eliza was not in,

For want of just—a single pin.

There's hardly anything so small,

So trifling, or so mean,

That we may never want at all,

For service unforeseen;

And willful waste, depend upon 't,

Is, almost always, willful want!

Jane Taylor

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