One of my bygone recollections, as I recall the days of yore, is the little house, behind the house, with the crescent o'er the door. 'Twas a place to sit and ponder with your head bowed down so low, knowing that you wouldn't be there, if you didn't have to go. Ours was a large three-holer, with a size for every one. You left there feeling better after the job you did was done. You had to make these frequent trips, whether snow, rain, night or day, to the little house where you sat reading copies of Womans Day. Oft times in dead of winter the seat was covered with snow. 'Twas then with much reluctance to the little house you'd go. With a swish you'd clear the seat, bend low, with shivers in mind, you'd blink your eyes and grit your teeth, as you sat on your behind. I recall the day that Grandpa, who stayed with us one summer, made a trip out to the shanty which proved to be a hummer. 'Twas the same day Dad had finished painting the kitchen vivid green. He'd cleaned up the mess he'd made with rags and gasoline. He tossed the rags in the outhouse hole and went on his usual way, not knowing that by doing so he would eventually rue the day. Now Grandpa had an urgent call; I never will forget! This trip he made to the little house lingers in my memory yet. He sat down on the outhouse seat, with both feet on the floor, then filled his pipe with tobacco and struck a match on the outhouse door. As he took a long draw on his pipe, he slowly raised his behind, tossed the flaming match in the open hole, with not a worry on his mind. The blast that followed,I am sure, was heard for miles around; and there was poor ol' Grandpa just sitting on the ground. The smoldering pipe still in his mouth, his suspenders he held tight; the celebrated three-holer was blown clear out of sight. When we asked him what had happened, his answer I'll not forget. He thought it must of been something, something he had et! Next day we had a new one which my Dad had built with ease. With a sign up on the entrance door which read: No Smoking, Please! Now that's the end of the story, with memories of long ago, of the little house, behind the house where we went, cause we had to go. ~ Author Unknown
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