An old declamation

I was sorting through some files, and came across this old declamation. I don't remember what the assignment was, but it seems like something fun to post. For those of you who don't know, Helen is my cousin.

When the world was young, O best beloved, everyone whas short. The giraffe had not yet had his neck stretched, and the elephant had not got his trunk. And there was a child named Helen, who delighted in everything fiercely gleaming and glistening, and everything loudly squealing and wailing, and everything brightly green or plaid. And she wandered through the wide rolling earth until she cameto the lovely land of Scotland where the twirling swirling mists float over the hills, and there she made her home on the rugged shores of the rocky-rolling-roiling firth of Forth.

And then, O best beloved, when the world was a little older and Helen was quite settled in her home on the rugged shores, the Creator sent out a notice to all the inhabitants of the wide rolling earth telling them that on Wednesay fortnight he would give them all more height. But as everyone knows, the Scottish mails are notoriously late when it comes to delivering delicate missives or official notices, and Helen did not hear about the great gathering of the inhabitants of the wide rolling earth until it was Monday evening. So, being a person of infinite-resource-and-sagacity, she packed her gleaming throwing stars and her wailing bagpipes and threw her bright plaid shawl across her shoulders and left her home on the shores of the rocky-rolling-roiling firth of Forth and hurried to catch the last ship across the English Channel.

But when she arrived at the ship, she got the last ticket, and the boatman told her (o best beloved, you will weep to hear it) that there was no room for any luggage. For, you see, there were so many people who had just gotten the notice (owing, of course, to the notorious lateness of the Scottish mail) that the ship was very nearly in danger of sinking already from the great weight of the passengers. It was the last boat before Wednesday, and none of them wanted to be late when the creator gave out the height (indeed, some of them were very greedy and asked for double portions, but we won’t name any names here). But Helen looked at her glistening knives and her squealing pipes and her warm bright shawl and turned to the boatman and said that she would rather not leave her beautiful things behind, thank you very much (for she was a polite girl) and turned around and went back to her home on the rugged shores of the rocky-rolling-roiling firth of Forth. There she lived quite delightfully, content to sharpen her weapons and play her pipes in the twirling swirling mists.

And that, O best beloved, is why Helen is short to this day