Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

Jan 15, 1920- [probably mislabeled year] A bitterly cold day; the wind gnaws at us like a dog at an old bone in a barren field. I went to town to sketch. There was a blind man walking up and down Main street, carrying a music box, that ground out a wailing sentimental tune of some other age, which together with the blackened store-fronts streaked with flakes of snow, produced the effect he no doubt had counted on – that of extreme misery. There is little begging time in the summer. I made several sketches of him and felt as if I owed him something, so I felt in my pocket for a coin and walked toward him. I felt as tho it were a terrific task to drop a coin in his cup, with everyone looking on, for all the loafers in town followed him with their eyes, but I dropped it in hastily, - and to my chagrin saw that what I had thought was a dime was only a penny. My humiliation was so great that I felt as if everyone on the street knew that I had only dropped a penny in the cup; and I was