His Name Was Walter chapter sampler

He was constantly told by the bees that he should feel grateful for all he was given, but in truth he did not feel much gratitude. He did not feel very much of anything, for in babyhood a protective shell had begun growing around his tender heart, and by the time he was seven years old, it was complete. He was rarely very happy, but rarely very sad either. The workers who cared for him knew their duty, and most did all that was proper, but he never heard a loving word or saw a loving face. He was never alone, but he was always lonely. He lived in a beehive, but he had never tasted honey. At night, when the other boys in his dormitory had gone to sleep, Walter thought he could hear the close darkness humming with ghosts. The ghosts of lost boys. The ghosts of the numberless bees who had lived, worked and died in the hive. Sometimes, though not very often, he thought of his mother. Had she been too poor to keep him? Had she been forced to give him up? Or had she simply longed to be rid of him? He had no way of knowing one way or the other. And after all, what did it matter? The result was the same. And so Walter lived, and grew. Since he is the hero of this tale, it would be pleasant to be able to say that he grew up tall, strong and handsome, but he did not. Some of the orphans who swarmed around him were perfect pictures of healthy young manhood, and were much admired. Some were plain, cheeky mischief-makers who made the other boys laugh. Some were hulking bullies who were hated and feared. But Walter was too quiet and undergrown to be either admired or

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