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