since that time I have been afflicted, now and then, with that
same disease of the eyes, inclining them to close. In fact, I am rather
of the opinion that the affliction must be one of the ear, too, for I
hear some curious things while the spell is on. Either that, or else
something has "gotten into" the furniture about my house. It beats all,
the time I had the other day. It was a cold, wet October day, the wind
whistled through the key-holes and shook the sash violently, while the
rain drizzled wretchedly against the glass.

As there happened to be no fire anywhere else, I took a seat in the
kitchen. There I sat in the heat of the cooking-stove, and reading, or
trying to read Rollin's "Ancient History." But the book was dull, and the
day was dull, and it really seemed to me that I was duller than anything
else. Hannibal and Themistocles, Spain and Carthage, and Rome seemed to
me the dullest things in the world. I wondered how people that were so
dull had managed to live, and how so stupid a fellow as Monsieur Rollin
ever contrived to write so big and dull a book. It did seem very dull in
the rain, too, to keep pattering away at the glass in that stupid
fashion.

And so I leaned back in my chair, and watched Bridget fill the tea-kettle
and set it over the fire.

"Good!" said I; "Bridget, there's no music on a dull day like the cheery
singing of the tea-kettle."

And Biddy laughed, as she went out, and I leaned back again, and closed
my eyes. All at once I heard a keen, piping voice, saying,

"Hum--hum! Simmer! We'll soon have things a-going."

The sound seemed to come up out of the tea-kettle spout. I was so
surprised that I rubbed my eyes and looked around. There was the
tea-kettle, but I could hear no sound from it. Closing my eyes again, I
heard it begin,

"Simmer, simmer, hum, hum, now we'll have things a-going. Hot fire, this!
Simmer, simmer, hum, hum, simmer. There's nothing like contentment," it
went on. "But it's a little hard to sit here and simmer, simmer, simmer
forever. But I keep on singing, and I am happy. There's my sister, the
tea-pot. Bridget always keeps her bright. She goes into the best society,
sits by the side of the china cups on the tea-tray that has flowers
painted on it; vain little thing is my sister tea-pot! Dreadful proud of
her graceful waist. Thinks her crooked nose is prettier than my straight
one. She _is_ handsome, and I am glad of it. I feel proud of her when I
see her sittin