ve; 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 web