University of Virginia Library


359

THE BREAD SNATCHER.

For two whole days we had no food;
And dark, gigantic Want
Beside our cold hearth-stone sat down,
With Hunger grim and gaunt.
My wife and children made no moan,
Nor spoke a single word;
Yet in the chamber of my heart
Their hearts' complaint I heard.
Awearied by their sorrowing eyes,
I left the house of woe,
And on the dusty village street
I paced me to and fro.
I stopped me at the baker's shop,
Wherein my eyes could see
The great round loaves of wheaten bread
Look temptingly on me.
“My children shall not starve!” I cried—
The famine in me burned—
I slily snatched a loaf of bread,
When the baker's back was turned.
I hurried home with eager feet,
And there displayed my prize;
While joy, so long afar from us,
Came back and lit our eyes.

360

To fragments in our hunger fierce
That sweet, sweet loaf we tore;
And gathered afterwards the crumbs
From off the dusty floor.
While yet our mouths were full, there came
A knock which made us start;
I spoke not, yet I felt the blood
Grow thicker at my heart.
The latch was raised, and in there came
The neighbors with a din;
They said I stole the baker's bread,
Which was a grievous sin.
They took me to the Judge, who said
'Twas larceny—no less;
And doomed me to the gloomy jail
For wanton wickedness.
He asked me why the penalty
Of guilt should not be paid;
And when I strove to state the case,
He laughed at what I said.
Then growing grave he rated me,
And told me it was time
To check the vices of the poor,
And stop the spread of crime.
In jail for three long months I lay—
Three months of bitter woe—
And then they opened wide the door,
And told me I might go.

361

From out the prison I did not walk,
But ran with quivering feet,
Down through the hall and past the door,
And up the busy street.
My feet had scarce devoured ten rods
Of ground, before a hearse
Came slowly on with coffins three,
Each coffin with a corse.
I asked the driver as he sung,
Therein who might he bear;
He answered not, but stopped his voice,
And on me fixed a stare.
The one beside him turned his head,
And when the hearse had past,
I heard him to the other say—
“His brain is turned at last.”
I heeded not—I hastened home,
And entered in my door,
Where Silence like a snake crept out
And slimed along the floor.
Our old cat from the corner came
And crooked her back and cried;
I stooped me down and patted her,
And then I stood and sighed.
I left the house and sought the street—
My mind was growing wild;
And playing with a pile of dust
I saw a chubby child.

362

“Come hither, my little dear,” said I;
“Where did the people go,
Who lived within yon empty house,
Two years or nearly so?”
Straight answered then the little boy,
While I turned deadly pale—
“The man, sir, was a wicked thief,
They took him off to jail.
“The woman and children hid themselves;
They found them all to-day,
And in the gloomy poorhouse hearse
They carried them away.
“They say they never will come back,
Because the three are dead;
But wasn't that a wicked thing
For the man to steal the bread?”