For A Comb

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“For all the Gods!”

“What is it?” I startled. This was the closest I’d heard Papa get to swearing.

He lifted the milking-pail to reveal a wet stain on the earthen floor. A defiant fat drop fell, confirming.

It was our only pail.

I emptied the soup-pot into our bowls. “I’ll scrub this, Papa. It’ll cool and do till the morrow, when I’ll take the pail to the tinker. He’ll repair it for my comb.”

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Tinker in 75 words

 

 

31 thoughts on “For A Comb

    • Thank you, Rochelle!
      The father seems a gentle one, as well, if his mild exclamation stands out to her … So glad more layers of the story were communicated than the word count allowed! πŸ™‚
      Off to read yours!
      Na’ama

      Like

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