Chapter 2

On the first cold night, some nice walnut wood embers were carefully put into me; I had the pleasure and honor of being passed up and down my mistress's bed till it was well warmed, and this service I performed for her constantly till the warm weather returned.

When any one in the family was ill, I was employed on the same service for him or her; or when guests came to pass the night, I performed this office for them, and this was all apparently which my existence was for. A very monotonous life I led, to be sure, but I am of a quiet nature and care not for much variety.

I remember only one or two things which occurred beyond this dull routine; these I will relate and then give place to some more interesting speaker.

One day, I was suddenly seized upon by one of the maids, and carried out into the orchard, when she began beating me with an iron spoon, and making as much noise as she possibly could; presently others of the family joined with tin pans and kettles, and such a babel of sound you never heard; this, I found afterwards, was to stupefy a swarm of bees and make them alight which, at last, they did. Then one of the men with a handkerchief over his face, and with gloves on, swept the bees into a new hive, and put it by the side of the old ones.

After this bruising, I was hung up upon my accustomed peg, but my brazen face still shows the marks which Dolly's iron spoon left on me that morning.

One feat, however, I performed, which I should think might put our friend the sword to the blush. I did do something in defence of our native land in the hour of her danger; he it seems did nothing in his whole life but play gentleman.

Our cook Dolly was a brave woman, and, during the Revolution, once or twice she was left quite alone in the house, and every thing was put under her care.

Upon one of these occasions, she was up stairs, and thought she heard some one in the house; she came down very softly, and saw a man in the pantry helping himself to the silver; he was so much occupied, and she moved so softly, that he did not see or hear her. I was hanging in the entry close by where she passed; she took me down very softly, came up behind the soldier,--for such he was,--and gave him a good box on the ear with me, instead of her hand. This scared him so effectually that he threw down the silver, and scampered off after his companions who were in the stable looking for horses which they meant to take for themselves. Dolly, in the mean time, caught up the silver, ran out of another door into a wood near the house, where she hid herself and the silver till the enemy were gone.

These are all the events of my life that I remember. After my master's and mistress's death, I was sent up garret to be put among the useless old things, such as gentlemen's broadswords, broken pitchers, noseless tea-kettles, &c. The reason for this is not that I am worn out, but because the age is so much wiser that they have come to the conclusion that cold beds are more healthy than warm ones; so here I am left to rust out with the rest of my fellow-sufferers. Perhaps my cousin foot stove may have something more interesting to relate. I have done."

The foot stove seemed half inclined not to speak; but, after a little urging, she said, in a whining tone,

"Every one knows that I was made to be trodden under foot and to be abused. There was, to be sure, a period of my life somewhat more respectable.

Many years ago, I was regularly, during the cold weather, brightened up and put in nice order every Saturday, and on Sunday taken to church; for then the churches were cold, and, without me well filled with blazing coals, my mistress could not have borne to listen for more than an hour to the good minister's sermon.

Sermons at that time were sermons indeed; and the people got their money's worth of preaching.

I was indeed, at that time, a great favorite in the house. All the old people cared for me especially, and I was kept often in the parlor, and, when I was cold, the children were allowed to sit upon me, but never to abuse me. But this is a capricious, changing, cheating, vain world, and foot stoves are not thought much of nowadays. The churches are warmed all over, so that foot stoves are not needed, and so I never go to church; indeed, in my broken-down state of health, it would hardly be safe for me to do so. I am not even used at home, if it is possible to do without me: and then, if I ever am brought down stairs, a long apology is made for my looks.

The truth is, my life has not been a happy or desirable one. I have had much to suffer. One happy moment I had. The dear lady to whom I first belonged had long wished to have a stove, but was prevented from buying one because she would not spend money on herself for any thing if she could possibly do without. Her husband, who was the owner of the curling tongs, when he knew this, determined to get her a stove; and, on the very day when she burned his hair in her efforts to learn to dress it as well as the hair dresser, he purchased me for her.

I was the very best stove in the shop; and, when he presented me to her, he said, "Now, my dear, in revenge for your burning my head, I will heap coals of fire not on your head, but under your feet, especially when you go to church; so beware lest I burn your feet as you did my head."

This pretty attention of her husband's pleased her so much that she kept me in sight for many days. When shall I forget how soft and light her pretty, neatly dressed feet felt, the first time she used me?

For a long while I was her stove alone; but after a time, all sorts of feet were put upon me, and life grew common and tiresome.

After my mistress's death, I was much neglected, for wise folks said foot stoves should not be used. At last, the cook, who was no invalid, and did not care for doctors, took me up, and soon began to consider me as her property, and kept me in the kitchen.

One day, however, the farmer's boy brought in some heavy logs of wood, and threw them down carelessly. One fell upon me, and smashed me up, leaving me as you now see me. Here I remain shattered and forsaken--nothing but an old broken foot stove that nobody cares for.

I hope that those stout, good-looking and-irons will now tell their story. They look to me just as upright and stiff and strong as when I first saw them in our dear master's chimney corner. To be sure, they are not so bright and shining as they were then, but they look, in all other respects, just as they did then, and life has fallen lighter on them than on your poor humble servant, the foot stove."

The andirons were now called upon to entertain the company. "We have always had the comfort and blessing of living together," said one of them. Indeed we should not be good for any thing apart. A pair of andirons belong together as much as the two parts of a pair of scissors. So we have never been lonely. We have had much to be thankful for. We are, to be sure, called 'the old dogs.' The name sounds disagreeable, and is hard to bear; but we are made of good Russia iron, and can endure a good deal.

Time was when the old dogs were essential to the warmth and comfort of the family, but they went out of fashion. Modern improvements, as they are called, sent us away from the cheerful domestic hearth to this old dusty garret, and spiders weave their webs over our very faces; but, like other DOGS, we had our day.

What article of furniture in the old-fashioned snug parlor was so essential as we? How could the fragrant hickory and birch sticks have sent their cheering light and warmth over the faces of the happy family circles without our support?

The tea-kettle, genial and comely as it always was while it had a nose, was still but an occasional visitor. We were always there. We listened to the early morning prayer which the good man offered, on every new day, to the Giver of all good. We were present when he lifted his earnest voice of grateful joy, for the blessings of loving friends and healthy children, who made their quiet life an Eden of peace and goodness.

We were present too when sorrow came, softened by religious faith--by trust in a loving Father.

We heard when, again and again, the news that another child was born was sounded through the house with a sweetly solemn joy, like the voice of an angel proclaiming anew peace on earth and good will to men.

How many secrets we have listened to! How many love scenes we have witnessed! How many ringing shouts of laughter have we heard! How many unbidden tears have we seen flow! What stories we might tell! But it would not be right for us to tell all we know. I suppose the good old couple, as they sat of winter evenings over the embers, when the children were gone to bed, never thought of our telling what we heard.

One trick that the boys planned in our hearing, and the punishment they got for their roguery, I will tell you about, if you are not tired of our story."

"Go ahead," shouted the musket, with a bounce.

"There were five boys in the family. One of them, a little fellow of ten years of age, was foolish enough to be afraid of the dark. His brothers resolved to cure him, and took the worst way possible, which was, to give him something to be frightened at.

On the upper shelf of a closet in the room in which they slept was a very large bundle. They determined to tie a string to the bundle, and, before George went up to bed, to tie the other end of the string to the latch of the door, so that, when he opened it, this bundle would come thundering down, and, as they said, give him something to be scared at.

The man servant heard of the plan as he was lighting the lamps while the boys were talking it over. He had a particular fancy for George and told him.

George said nothing, but, just before the time when he thought Tom would go up to the bedroom to set the trap, went up himself, tied the string to the latch of the door, having previously put a tin pan and wash basin on the top of the bundle, then put the old cat in the closet, and came down stairs.

"When do you go to bed, George?" said Tom.

"At the usual time," said George, quietly. Up ran Tom to prepare the entertainment for his brother, and opened the door fearing nothing--bang slam came great bundle, tin kettle and wash basin, and out jumped the great black cat, howling and spitting at the racket.

Tom forgot he was the big brave boy, and scampering, like lightning, down stairs, he slipped, fell, and was brought in faint from fright, and with a bleeding nose.

His father inquired what had frightened him so. George told what he had done.

His father blamed him severely.

"Blame us, father," said the other boys.

"It is only the biter bitten," said Tom. "I am justly punished. I was the oldest, and I only am really to blame. It is all right that I suffered instead of poor George."

Then their father gathered them around him, and told them stories of the evil consequences he had known follow from being severely frightened.

The children all promised him never to commit such a fault again; and I believe they kept their word.

"But I am too long, and am growing prosy."

"So you are," bounced the musket.

"An ugly, impertinent contrivance, called a grate, was introduced in lieu of us--black, dirty coal was burned instead of beautiful oak and walnut, to warm the dear family. We were no longer of any use. Poetry went away with the andirons, sentiment and refinement are obsolete, and here we stand, the head and foot-stones, as it seems to me, at the grave of the dear old-fashioned buried past.

"I have done. Please, friend tea-kettle, favor us with your experiences."

"My story has nothing extraordinary in it," said the tea-kettle. "Like most of my friends, I have had my ups and downs in the world.

I had the honor of being made in the mother country. I am of the very best of tin; what there is left of me is still pretty good. When that little girl's parents were married, I first took my place in the family, and contributed my part to the adornment of the kitchen closet. I was kept as bright as silver, and was carried, twice a day, into the parlor, and set upon some red-hot coals, where I used to sing my morning and evening song to the happy family I served.

Erelong, an ugly upstart of a grate took the place, as you know, of the dear old andirons, and I was banished with them from my happy place.

After this, I was rarely used. When any one was ill, and hot water was wanted to be kept upstairs, I was called for. My nature is a kindly one, so I sang away just as merrily as if I had not been somewhat neglected.

For this sweetness of temper I had my reward; for once my kind mistress took me up, and said as she looked at me, "I do love this tea-kettle. It discourses to me eloquent music. It tells the story of the early days of my happy married life. It reminds me of the precious hours we passed talking over so many pleasant things that we enjoyed, or that we hoped for, while there it sat on the coals singing away a sort of sweet cheerful accompaniment to our talk, as if it understood all we said. We understand each other, you dear old thing."

In my visits up stairs, I often heard amusing stories told by the nurse to the poor invalid of whom she had the charge, when he was getting better, and such an indulgence as to hear stories was allowed him.

Once, when one of the boys--it was little Jonathan--was recovering from an attack of scarlatina, and was very fidgety and uncomfortable, nothing but some kind of story would keep him quiet in his bed.

It so happened that the good nurse was a sort of family friend, and had been a great deal in the house of Jonathan's cousin, a very roguish boy who was always getting into some kind of scrape.

Jonathan was never satisfied with hearing of Ned's frolics. One I will relate. "At one time," said the nurse, "his father had been ill for some days, and the order of the house was to be very quiet, as sleep was essential to the recovery of the invalid. Now poor Ned was rather in the habit of making a good deal of noise everywhere, but he loved his father, and was very anxious not to disturb him. In the house, he could not avoid making some little noise; so he passed much of his time out of doors, wandering about alone when he could find no playfellow.

At last, Ned remembered that he had some money left of his last allowance for pocket money. This was a rare thing; usually Ned's money burned in his pocket so that there was no comfort for him till it was spent for something or other. Often--it must be told in Ned's favor--his pocket money was given to some poor little boy or girl whom he saw in the street, or who might happen to come to his father's house to ask charity. Ned's father, though not rich, gave him pocket money, that Ned might be able to give for himself if he had the inclination so to do. Well, it so happened that neither charity, nor sugar-plums, nor any other sweet thing had taken off Ned's money; he had as much as seventy-five cents in his pocket, and, for the want of something better to do, he went into a shop, called, in the country town in which they lived, a 'Variety Shop.'

'Variety Shop' was a just and proper name for such an assemblage of every thing ever devised for the convenience and inconvenience of human beings. There were caps after Parisian fashions for ladies, and there, not far off, were horse nets and blankets. There were collars after the newest patterns for gentlemen, and yokes for oxen. There were corsets and Noah's arks, salt fish and sugar almonds, Chinese Joshes and Little Samuels, accordeons and fish horns, almanacs, Joe Millers, and Bibles, toothpicks and churns, silver thimbles and wash tubs, penknives, tweezers and pickaxes, Adams and Eves in sugar, and Napoleons in brass. In short, what was there not in that shop?

Ned entered, and his eyes were dazzled with the show and the variety. He had some money in his pocket, and spend it now he began to think he must; the fire burned very hot in that little pocket of his, it must be put out. Somewhere or other it must go, that troublesome seventy-five cents.

Now what did Ned want of toothpicks, or churns, or horse blankets, or collars, or caps, or yokes, or thimbles, or tubs? A little Samuel his aunt had given him. A Chinese Josh had a charm for him. He would look at it.

The shopman, who had once been a pedler, saw the state of things with Ned, and resolved to relieve him of that burning trouble in his pocket, if possible. The man was an honest fellow, and meant to give Ned his money's worth. But an exchange was no robbery, and he was convinced that it would be better for both sides if something in his Variety Shop should go to Ned, and Ned's money should go into the money drawer.

After Ned had looked some time at the Josh, and had half made up his mind to take it, and had motioned away all the sugar monsters and Noah's arks and bronze Napoleons and even the penknives, the shopman said, "You have not looked at my fancy fowls, young gentleman; I should like you would see them before you decide what you will have of my variety this morning. That is quite a new article which I have just received."

Ned was not used to being called young gentleman. He was nothing but a boy. Of course, he went to look at the new article, after this. Every one but him and the shopman had left the shop. It was very quiet, and, just as the shopman had finished speaking, a cock, who was in a crate in the corner, set up the loudest crowing that Ned had ever heard, and with a decidedly foreign tone.

In a moment, Ned made up his mind that cock he would have. His father had given him leave to keep fowls, and he already had a cock and three hens of a fine breed.

"What's the price of that fellow?" said he; "he's a real buster; he'll wake us all up early enough in the morning."

"A dollar, and cheap enough, too," said the shopman; "but, as it's you, and I know your family, you shall have it for that."

"I have only seventy-five cents," said Ned, "and shall have no more till next week, when I have my allowance. If you will trust me, and are willing to wait, I will take the rooster."

"Suppose the critter was to die afore then," said the shopman, "would you pay all the same?"

"To be sure," said Ned; and the bargain was settled.

The shopman advised him not to take the cock away before dark. Ned agreed to wait till then. Just before his bed time, he went for Chanticleer, and brought him as quietly as possible to the house. He was afraid to put the new master of the poultry yard on the roost with the old cock, lest they should fight in the morning; so he carried his treasure softly up to his own bedroom in which was a large closet where he had prepared a temporary roost. The cock, who was very tame, as he had been always a pet, made no fuss, but went to sleep on his new roost. So did Ned in his comfortable bed.

Now it so happened that this large closet was between Ned's bedroom and that of his father who, as we have before mentioned, had been seriously ill, and who particularly demanded quiet. All the first part of the night the sick man had been tossing all out, very uneasy, till about three o'clock in the morning, when he fell into a sweet sleep. His wife, weary with anxiety and watching, was trying to get a nap in the easy chair, when, suddenly, close by them, as if in the very room, came an indescribable screech, an unearthly, long, shrill cock-a-doodle-do yell, such as only a fancy feathered biped can perform.

The poor invalid screamed with horror, and his wife would have screamed too, had she not thought first of her dear patient.

In a moment, all the household had left their beds to learn the cause of the horrid noise. Every one ran to the sick man's door, to listen if it was from there that the frightful noise came. When the door was opened, there stood all the terrified family, and, among the rest, poor Ned with the culprit in his arms.

"It's only my new fancy rooster in my closet," said he; "I never thought of his crowing. Poor father and mother, I am so sorry! O, dear! dear! what shall I do? I'll carry him right down, this minute; and I never, dear father, will do such a thing again. Who'd a' thought of his crowing so early? and then he's such an awful buster when he crows. Do look at him."

Ned's father was the best tempered man that ever lived, and he was really getting well; so, after a minute or two, he burst into a fit of laughter at the droll group assembled in his room, with poor Ned in the midst of them in his night shirt. As soon as Ned heard his father laugh, he scampered off on his bare feet, with his fancy rooster in his arms, covering its head with his shirt to keep down the crowing. He shut the creature up in the cellar, where it shouted and screeched till morning."

Some of my most amusing recollections are of the queer scenes and conversations at which I was present, when my kind mistress lent me to a farmer's wife. This woman was in the habit of depending, as far as possible, upon her neighbors for any little conveniences she fancied, and did not like to pay the cost of. Usually she managed to do without such a nice tea-kettle as I really was; but, when she had company, she regularly came in for me. This was her usual way of asking for me, after saying good morning: "All your folks pretty well?"

"Yes, we are all very well," was the answer usually.

"Well, then, I spose you've nothin' agin my havin' your kittle this arternoon. I expect Deacon Fish and his wife, and tew darters to an arely tea; and I'm kind o' used to that ere kittle o' yourn, and can't somehow git along without it; and I han't yet got none of my own, you see."

She, of course, always had me to entertain her company; she knew she should get me; and, as she went away, she always said something about how pleasant and right it was to be neighborly.

After a few years, some one of her relations gave her a nice tea-kettle. She brought it in to show to my mistress. I was hissing away at the time for breakfast, which was hardly over when she entered. After she had shown her kettle to every one, and satisfied herself that it would bear a comparison with me, she said,--

"Now, at last, I've got a kittle o' my own; and I'll never borry nor lend agin as long as I live in this here vale o' tears."

Not long after this, a careless girl left my rival on the fire till the bottom was burned through, and the kettle was ruined.

The next time the good woman came, her speech ran somewhat thus; "I spose you was to meetin' last Sabbath."

"Yes."

"Well, if you was, I guess you heerd how the minister told us to be good to one another--to be neighborly, and help folks along. Now I guess as how I told you once that I shouldn't neither borry nor lend. Now I ain't tew old to larn and mend my ways, and I mean to deu as the parson says, and lend and borry all the days of my life; so maybe you'll lend me that ere kittle."

But I must tell you about one of these visits I made to this peculiar neighbor. When she came in for me that day, she looked full of business and earnestness, and, before she was fairly seated, she began to tell her errand.

"I have come," she said, "to invite you all to a rag bee, every one on ye--men folks and all, because they can cut and wind and be agreeable, and hand round cups and sarcers and things to eat, if they can't deu nothin' else; so now you must all come and bring your thimbles and scissors and big needles, and, ef you've no objections, I'll jest take the tea-kittle now, as I'm goin' straight home."

My mistress, who was the kindest person that ever lived, promised to go to the rag party. She wished to please and aid this selfish woman, for she was her nearest neighbor."

"Pray, dear mother, tell us what a rag bee is," said Harry.