broke it into pieces instead of beginning at one
side and eating straight through?

Or maybe you got hold of the cooking butter ... Or did you try it with
baker's bread? ...

No? ... Well, why didn't it taste the same?

Jimmy the Lamplighter

The sun had gone down behind the willows on the river-bank. The
night-clouds still carried the crimson-and-purple of the late twilight;
and the deep, still waters of the channel gave back the colors and the
gleam of the first stars that heralded the night ..... The martins
chattered under the eaves, scolding some belated member of the clan who
pushed noisily for a lodging-place for the night. The black bat and the
darting nighthawk were a-wing, grim spectres of the dusk. The
whip-poor-will was crying along the river, and far up-stream the loon
called weirdly across the water.....

A small boy was sitting on grandfather's front steps, his elbows on his
knees, his chin in his palms, seeing familiar objects disappear in the
gathering dusk, and watching the stars come out. He was safe, very safe
for grandfather had not gone to the dining-room yet, and his arms could
be reached for shelter in two or three bounds, if need be. So it was
very pleasant to sit on the steps and see the little old town fold-up
its affairs and settle down for the night.

And more particularly to watch for Jimmy, the Lamplighter.

Far up the street, in the almost-dark place, about where Schmidt's
shoestore ought to be, a point of light flashed suddenly, flickered,
and then burned steadily--and in a moment another, across the street
.... Then a space of black, and two more points appeared. Down the
street they came in pairs, closely following the retreating day.

And the Little Boy on the Steps knew that it was Jimmy, the
Lamplighter, working his way swiftly and silently. If only the supper
bell would delay awhile The Boy would see old Jimmy light the lamp on
grandfather's corner, as he had seen him countless times before.

Then, just as the red glow faded in the West and Night settled down, he
came swinging sturdily across the street, his ladder hung on his right
shoulder, his wax taper in his left hand. Quickly, unerringly he placed
the ladder against the iron post that sent its metallic ring into the
clear night air as the ladder struck, and was three rounds up almost
before it settled into position. Then a quick opening of the glass; a
struggle with the matches in the wind, a hurried closing