Once upon a time, before TV and automatic toilet flushers, there lived a beautiful maiden named Samantha. She preferred that her friends call her Samantha, NEVER just plain 'Sam'. She only allowed perfect strangers to call her Sam. Samantha was a bit wierd.
Anyway, Samantha was a miller's daughter. All day she cleaned the house while her father was at the mill working. He didn't believe in child labor, so he had to get the work done himself. There was much to do around the little cottage that they shared, and it left little to no time for the poor girl to have anything that even resembled a social life. She was very lonely.
One day, as she was lighting a candle so she could see to mend her father's wool underwear, she got so depressed she began to cry.
Now, this may seem stupid and insignificant to my tale, but you must understand. When Sam cried, she CRIED. She sobbed, whooped, snorted, sniffled, wheezed.... You name it, she did it. Her wails sounded like a dying cow being beaten with a stick. Repeatedly.
Somewhere in her self-imposed fit she began to notice that the house was warmer than usual. She sniffled one last time, looking about curiously. Seeing nothing, she shrugged it off and began to search for her surprisingly absent candle. She gasped when she looked at where her candle sat on the table.
At least, where it used to sit.
Now bright orange flames licked at the bottom of her grandmother's rocking chair. She cried out and ran for a bucket of water, but it was too late. The only things she could save were a small gold chain and ring that had belonged to her mother before she died. She was sure her father was going to be furious, but she decided not to cry.
After all, where had that gotten her?
Anyway, Samantha was a miller's daughter. All day she cleaned the house while her father was at the mill working. He didn't believe in child labor, so he had to get the work done himself. There was much to do around the little cottage that they shared, and it left little to no time for the poor girl to have anything that even resembled a social life. She was very lonely.
One day, as she was lighting a candle so she could see to mend her father's wool underwear, she got so depressed she began to cry.
Now, this may seem stupid and insignificant to my tale, but you must understand. When Sam cried, she CRIED. She sobbed, whooped, snorted, sniffled, wheezed.... You name it, she did it. Her wails sounded like a dying cow being beaten with a stick. Repeatedly.
Somewhere in her self-imposed fit she began to notice that the house was warmer than usual. She sniffled one last time, looking about curiously. Seeing nothing, she shrugged it off and began to search for her surprisingly absent candle. She gasped when she looked at where her candle sat on the table.
At least, where it used to sit.
Now bright orange flames licked at the bottom of her grandmother's rocking chair. She cried out and ran for a bucket of water, but it was too late. The only things she could save were a small gold chain and ring that had belonged to her mother before she died. She was sure her father was going to be furious, but she decided not to cry.
After all, where had that gotten her?