Slow pages, near miss

Onions won me a wife. I peeled one in front of her father, and the old miser wept for the first time in his life. He gave me her hand, her dowry, and the key to the pantry. I still keep the onion in a velvet box.

Earthquakes are just the ground getting an itch. In the hills of Persia I took a long rake and scratched the worst of it. The ground let out a low sigh. The shaking stopped at once, and the shah gave me a fine rug that I had to hold down.

Eels came up the drainpipe at my house in Bremen. I tied them end to end, and we made a rope that reached the church tower. The bell ringer was most grateful. Sadly the rope went home in the rain, and it took the bell and the ringer with it.

Apple trees in Normandy once went on a long march to find better soil. I met them on the road and showed them the way to a valley near Rouen. They took root by supper. Every fall, in thanks, they drop their finest fruit straight into my open hat.

Drums can talk if you beat them politely. I had one.