The Lottery Challenge Words

Just as Mr. Summers finally left off talking and turned to the assembled villagers, Mrs. Hutchinson came hurriedly
along the path to the square, her sweater thrown over her shoulders, and slid into place in the back of the crowd.

A man disengaged
himself from the crowd and came forward.

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.

There was
the proper swearing-in of Mr. Summers by the postmaster, as the official of the lottery; at one time, some people
remembered, there had been a recital of some sort, performed by the official of the lottery, a perfunctory, tuneless chant
that had been rattled off duly each year; some people believed that the official of the lottery used to stand just so when he
said or sang it, others believed that he was supposed to walk among the people, but years and years ago this par...

The children assembled first, of course.

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.

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.

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

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.

After that, there was a long pause, a breathless pause, until Mr. Summers holding his slip of paper in the air, said,
"All right, fellows."

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.

There was
the proper swearing-in of Mr. Summers by the postmaster, as the official of the lottery; at one time, some people
remembered, there had been a recital of some sort, performed by the official of the lottery, a perfunctory, tuneless chant
that had been rattled off duly each year; some people believed that the official of the lottery used to stand just so when he
said or sang it, others believed that he was supposed to walk among the people, but years and years ago this part of th...

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.

Mr. Summers consulted his list.

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.

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 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.

There had been, also, a ritual salute, which the official of the lottery had had to use in
addressing each person who came up to draw from the box, but this also had changed with time, until now it was felt
necessary only for the official to speak to each person approaching.

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.

A tall boy in the crowd raised his hand.

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.

Nancy was twelve, and her school friends breathed heavily as she went forward
switching her skirt, and took a slip daintily from the box "Bill, Jr.," Mr. Summers said, and Billy, his face red and his feet
overlarge, near knocked the box over as he got a paper out.

Mr. Summers
waited with an expression of polite interest while Mrs. Dunbar answered.

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.

A girl whispered, "I hope it's not Nancy," and the sound of the whisper reached the edges of
the crowd.

The Lottery by Shirley Jackson
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.

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.

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.

Mr. Graves took the child's hand and removed the folded paper from the tight fist and
held it while little Dave stood next to him and looked up at him wonderingly.

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.

Someone said, "Don't be nervous, Jack," and Mr.
Summers said, "Take your time, son."

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.

"Then, as far as drawing for families is concerned, it's you," Mr. Summers said in explanation, "and as far as
drawing for households is concerned, that's you, too.

There was a great deal of fussing to be done before Mr. Summers declared the lottery open.

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.

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.

The people
separated good-humoredly to let her through: two or three people said in voices just loud enough to be heard across the
crowd, "Here comes your, Missus, Hutchinson," and "Bill, she made it after all."

Mr. Graves took the child's hand and removed the folded paper from the tight fist and
held it while little Dave stood next to him and looked up at him wonderingly.

For a minute, no one moved, and then all the slips of paper were opened.

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.

"Dunbar." several people said.

Bill Hutchinson was standing quiet, staring down at the paper
in his hand.

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.