When I was a boy of nine, I used to mow the lawn of Mrs. Long, an elderly lady. She paid me very little. But she did promise me, "when Christmas come, I shall have a present for you. " I spent much time 1 what it would be.
"It would not be a 2 glove," I 3 with myself. "She wouldn't know much about baseball." Since she was a fragile little person, I also4 the bicycle, for how could she 5 such a big thing?
As December arrived and ice began to form on the 6. I began to imagine myself upon the 7, trying my 8 on the surface of it. On the 22st of December, couldn't wait any more and marched down the street, 9 myself at the door of the house whose lawn I had 10 all summer. What she had was a(n) 11 parcel. When I 12 it from her, I found it weighed almost nothing. I was 13 disappointed. "A kind of magic. Do open it on Christmas morning." Mrs. Long said. Anyway, her words again set my mind 14 with new possibilities.
How long the 15 was! On Christmas morning, with great 16, I opened the package and found a 17 box, in which I only saw ten 18 of black paper. Was it magic? Aunt Laura who taught school, said "It really is!". She showed me how to write.
That a pencil could write on one piece of paper and mysteriously record on another was a magic which satisfied my childish mind. It reached me at that 19 Christmas when I was able to comprehend it.
Since then I have received some pretty thundering Christmas presents but none that ever came close to the 20 of this one.
