THE MERRY BLIND-MAN
𝕋HE little finger on Ah Yen's little left hand was very sore. Ah Yen had poked it into a hot honey tart. His honorable mother had said: "Yen, you must not touch that tart," but just as soon as his honorable mother had left the room. Yen forgot what she had said, and thrust the littlest finger of his little left hand right into the softest, sweetest, and hottest part of the tart.
Now he sat beside the window, feeling very sad and sore, for all the piece of oiled white linen which his mother had carefully wrapped around his little finger. It was a very happy-looking day. The sky was a lovely blue, trimmed with pretty, soft white clouds, and on the purple lilac tree which stood in front of his father's cottage, two little yellow eyebrows were chirping to each other.
But Yen, with his sore finger, did not feel at all happy. You see, if his finger had not been sore, he could have been spinning the bright-colored top which his honorable uncle had given him the day before.
"Isn't it a lovely day, little son?" called his mother.
"I think it is a homely day," answered Yen.
