The Lottery

The original paraphernalia for the lottery had been lost long ago, and the black box now resting on the stool had
been put into use even before Old Man Warner, the oldest man in town, was born.

School was recently over for the summer, and the feeling of liberty sat
uneasily on most of them; they tended to gather together quietly for a while before they broke into boisterous play and their
talk was still of the classroom and the teacher, of books and reprimands.

He was a round-faced, jovial man and he ran the coal business, and
people were sorry for him because he had no children and his wife was a scold.

School was recently over for the summer, and the feeling of liberty sat
uneasily on most of them; they tended to gather together quietly for a while before they broke into boisterous play and their
talk was still of the classroom and the teacher, of books and reprimands.

Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full
of stones, and the other boys soon followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones; Bobby and Harry
Jones and Dickie Delacroix-- the villagers pronounced this name "Dellacroy"--eventually made a great pile of stones in one
corner of the square and guarded it against the raids of the other boys.

There was a story that the present box had been made with some pieces of the box that had preceded it, the one that had
been constructed when the first people settled down to make a village here.

The children assembled first, of course.

Because so much of the ritual had been forgotten or discarded, Mr. Summers had been
successful in having slips of paper substituted for the chips of wood that had been used for generations.

Soon the women, standing by their husbands, began to call to
their children, and the children came reluctantly, having to be called four or five times.

The lottery was conducted--as were the square dances, the teen club, the Halloween program--by Mr. Summers
who had time and energy to devote to civic activities.

The people of the village began to gather in the square, between the
post office and the bank, around ten o'clock; in some towns there were so many people that the lottery took two days and
had to be started on June 27th.

Because so much of the ritual had been forgotten or discarded, Mr. Summers had been
successful in having slips of paper substituted for the chips of wood that had been used for generations.

The morning of June 27th was clear and sunny, with the fresh warmth of a full-summer day; the flowers were
blossoming profusely and the grass was richly green.

Surveying their own children, speaking of planting and rain, tractors and taxes.

There was a story that the present box had been made with some pieces of the box that had preceded it, the one that had
been constructed when the first people settled down to make a village here.

Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full
of stones, and the other boys soon followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones; Bobby and Harry
Jones and Dickie Delacroix-- the villagers pronounced this name "Dellacroy"--eventually made a great pile of stones in one
corner of the square and guarded it against the raids of the other boys.

Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full
of stones, and the other boys soon followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones; Bobby and Harry
Jones and Dickie Delacroix-- the villagers pronounced this name "Dellacroy"--eventually made a great pile of stones in one
corner of the square and guarded it against the raids of the other boys.

When he arrived in the square, carrying the
black wooden box, there was a murmur of conversation among the villagers, and he waved and called, "Little late today,
folks."

There was a story that the present box had been made with some pieces of the box that had preceded it, the one that had
been constructed when the first people settled down to make a village here.

Chips of wood, Mr.
Summers had argued had been all very well when the village was tiny, but now that the population was more than three
hundred and likely to keep on growing, it was necessary to use something that would fit more easily into the black box.

Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter came forward to hold the box steady on the stool while
Mr. Summers stirred up the papers inside it.

Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full
of stones, and the other boys soon followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones; Bobby and Harry
Jones and Dickie Delacroix-- the villagers pronounced this name "Dellacroy"--eventually made a great pile of stones in one
corner of the square and guarded it against the raids of the other boys.

Bobby Martin ducked under his
mother's grasping hand and ran, laughing, back to the pile of stones.

They greeted one another and
exchanged bits of gossip as they went to join their husbands.

Mr. Summers spoke frequently to the
villagers about making a new box, but no one liked to upset even as much tradition as was represented by the black box.

Mr. Summers spoke frequently to the
villagers about making a new box, but no one liked to upset even as much tradition as was represented by the black box.

Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full
of stones, and the other boys soon followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones; Bobby and Harry
Jones and Dickie Delacroix-- the villagers pronounced this name "Dellacroy"--eventually made a great pile of stones in one
corner of the square and guarded it against the raids of the other boys.

Because so much of the ritual had been forgotten or discarded, Mr. Summers had been
successful in having slips of paper substituted for the chips of wood that had been used for generations.

Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full
of stones, and the other boys soon followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones; Bobby and Harry
Jones and Dickie Delacroix-- the villagers pronounced this name "Dellacroy"--eventually made a great pile of stones in one
corner of the square and guarded it against the raids of the other boys.

The postmaster, Mr. Graves, followed him, carrying a three- legged stool, and the stool was put in the center of the
square and Mr. Summers set the black box down on it.

Chips of wood, Mr.
Summers had argued had been all very well when the village was tiny, but now that the population was more than three
hundred and likely to keep on growing, it was necessary to use something that would fit more easily into the black box.

The lottery was conducted--as were the square dances, the teen club, the Halloween program--by Mr. Summers
who had time and energy to devote to civic activities.

The morning of June 27th was clear and sunny, with the fresh warmth of a full-summer day; the flowers were
blossoming profusely and the grass was richly green.

When he arrived in the square, carrying the
black wooden box, there was a murmur of conversation among the villagers, and he waved and called, "Little late today,
folks."

The lottery was conducted--as were the square dances, the teen club, the Halloween program--by Mr. Summers
who had time and energy to devote to civic activities.

The people of the village began to gather in the square, between the
post office and the bank, around ten o'clock; in some towns there were so many people that the lottery took two days and
had to be started on June 27th.