 | Life and sayings of Mrs. Partington and others
of the family |  |
IKE AND THE ORANGES.
“I can't conceive,” said Mrs. Partington, standing
up on tiptoe, and pushing aside the antique wash-bowl
that stood on the front shelf in the old cupboard in the
corner, and rattling the papers of seeds, and the teacups,
and the plates, and looking into the dark corners, and
feeling in, also, to be certain. When she said she
“could n't conceive,” it was but part of the sentence that
she wished to speak; the earnestness of her search had
suspended the remainder of it.
“I can't conceive where those oranges are,” said she,
“that the young ladies sent me — Heaven bless 'em! —
they were so good to lucubrate the throat with when it 's
dry and hot with the information that comes with a cough.
It is strange where they have gone. If I believed in
superhumorous things I should say the spirits had got
'em; but they would n't take mine when they could go
so easy where they grow and get as many as they
want.”
She stopped her search amid the dust, and regaled
her nose with dust of a more fragrant character.
“What are you doing, Isaac?” said she, as she saw
him forming a star out of an orange upon the closet
door, and using up her pump tacks. The boy pointed
to his handiwork, and the delight she felt for his genius
blinded her eyes to the possibility of how he might have
come by the oranges.
| Life and sayings of Mrs. Partington and others
of the family | |