and crinkling, like nothin' on earth but a spider's web; all
over the grey satin. I watched her a while, and then, says I, 'What are
you doin', if you please? I've been lookin' at you, and I can't make
out.' 'No,' says she, 'I s'pose not. It's a cover for a bellows.' 'For
a _what?_' says I. 'For a bellows,' says she; 'a _bellows_, to blow the
fire with. Don't you know what they are?' 'Yes,' says I; 'I've seen a
fire bellows before now; but in our part o' the country we don't cover
'em with satin.' 'No,' says she, 'I suppose not.' 'I would just like to
ask one more question,' says I. 'Well, you may,' says she; 'what is
it?' 'I would just like to know,' says I, 'what the fire is made of
that you blow with a satin and gold bellows?' And she laughed a little.
' 'Cause,' says I, 'it ought to be somethin' that won't soil a kid
glove and that won't give out no sparks nor smoke.' 'O,' says she,
'nobody really blows the fire; only the bellows have come into fashion,
along with the _fire-dogs_, wherever people have an open fireplace and
a wood fire.' Well, what she meant by fire dogs I couldn't guess; but I
thought I wouldn't expose any more o' my ignorance. Now, mother, how
would you like to have Lois in a house like that?--where people don't
know any better what to do with their immortal lives than to make satin
covers for bellows they don't want to blow the fire with! and dish up
dinner enough for twelve people, to feed a hundred?"

"Lois will never be in a house like that," responded the old lady
contentedly.

"Then it's just as well if you keep her away from the places where they
make so much of _prettiness_, I can tell you. Lois is human."

"Lois is Christian," said Mrs. Armadale; "and she knows her duty."

"Well, it's heart-breakin' work, to know one's duty, sometimes," said
Mrs. Marx.

"But you do not think, I hope, that one is a pattern for all?" said
Mrs. Barclay. "There are exceptions; it is not everybody in the great
world that lives to no purpose."

"If that's what you call the great world, _I_ call it mighty small,
then. If I didn't know anything better to do with myself than to work
sprangles o' gold on a satin cover that warn't to cover nothin', I'd go
down to Fairhaven and hire myself out to open oysters! and think I made
by the bargain. Anyhow, I'd respect myself better."

"I don't know what you mean by the great world," said uncle Tim. "Be
there two on 'em--a big and a little?"

"Don't you see, all Sh