I am remembering have my mind
tattered and tossed.

_Timothy: (Who has been trying to hear the music,
sings a verse.)_

"You haven't an arm and you haven't a leg,
Hurroo! Hurroo!
You're a yellow noseless chickenless egg,
You'll have to put up with a bowl to beg.
O Johnny, I hardly knew you!

_(Music ceases.)_

_Mother_: Will you give attention, I say! It
will be worth while for you to go chat with me now
I can be telling you all that happened in my years
gone by. What was it Conan was questioning me
about a while ago? What was it now....

"Aristotle in the hour
He left Ireland left a power!"...

_Timothy_: That now is a very nice sort of a
little prayer.

_Mother: (Calling out.)_ That's it! Aristotle's
Bellows! I know now what has happened. This
that is in my hand has in it the power to make
changes. Changes! Didn't great changes come in
the house to-day! _(Shouts.)_ Did you see any great
change in Celia?

_Timothy_: Why wouldn't I, and she at this
minute fighting and barging at some poor travelling
man, saying he laid a finger mark of bacon-grease upon
the lintel of the door. Driving him off with a broken-toothed
rake she is, she that was so gentle that she
wouldn't hardly pluck the feathers of a dead duck!

_Mother_: It was surely a blast of this worked
that change in her, as the blast she blew upon me
worked a change in myself. O! all the thoughts
and memories that are thronging in my mind and
in my head! Rushing up within me the same as
chaff from the flail! Songs and stories and the
newses I heard through the whole course of my
lifetime! And I having no person to tell them out
to! Do you hear me what I'm saying, Timothy?
_(Shouts in his ear.)_ What is come back to me is
what I lost so long ago, my MEMORY.

_Timothy_: So it is a very good song.

_(Sings.)_

"By Memory inspired, and love of glory fired,
The deeds of men I love to dwell upon,
And the sympathetic glow of my spirit must bestow
On the memory of Mitchell that is gone, boys, gone--
The memory of Mitchell that is gone!"

_Mother_: Thoughts crowding on one another,
mixing themselves up with one another for the
want of sifting and settling! They'll have me
distracted and I not able to speak them out to
some person! Conan as surly as a bramble bush,
and Celia wrapped up in her bucket and her broom!
And yourself not able to hear one word I say. _(Sobs,
and bellows falls from her hands.)_

_Timothy_: