handsome as ever. Well, old chair, how are
you this morning? You're older than I am, I reckon, and yet you're
stouter on your legs. Why, candle, are you burning all this while? Why
didn't you tell me? I would have put you out long ago. Come, now, don't
be making a smell here--send it up the chimney."

Thus would she talk to everything. We only had two animals in the
house--a cat and a canary bird: of course they were not neglected, but
somehow or another the cat appeared to get tired of it, for it would
rise and very gently walk into the back kitchen; and as for the canary
bird, like all other canary birds, as soon as he was talked to be would
begin to sing, and that so loud that Mrs. Maddox was beaten out of the
field. Bramble bore with her very well, but at the same time he did not
like it: he once said to me, "Well, if Bessy were at Deal, I think I
would take a short spell now; but as for that poor good old soul, whose
tongue is hung on the middle and works at both ends, she does tire one,
and that's the truth." But she really was a good-natured, kind creature,
ready to oblige in everything; and I believe that she thought that she
was amusing you when she talked on in this way. Unfortunately she had no
anecdote, for she had a very bad memory, and therefore there was nothing
to be gained from her. By way of amusing me, she used to say, "Now, Tom,
sit down here, and I'll tell you all about my bad leg." And then she
would commence with the first symptoms, the degrees of pain, the various
plasters, bandages, and poultices which had been applied, and what the
doctor had said this day and that day. I bore this very patiently for
four or five times; but at last, after several days of increasing
impatience (somewhere about the fifteenth time, I believe), I could
stand it no more, so I jumped off my chair and ran away just as she
commenced the interesting detail.

"Mrs. Maddox," said I, "I cannot bear to hear of your sufferings; pray
never mention them again."

"What a kind-hearted creature you are!" said she. "Well, I won't, then.
It's not many who have such pity in them. Cotton, where have you got
to--always running away? One would think you don't like to be knitted.
Now, cotton, don't be foolish; where have you hid yourself? You make
others as bad as yourself. Scissors have got away now--there now, sit on
my lap and be quiet."

However, if Mrs. Maddox got back cotton and scissors, she did not get me
back, for I bolted