burning the old Jack-in-a-box for Guy Fawkes, till nothing was left of
him but a twirling bit of red-hot wire and a strong smell of frizzled
fur. At this moment he nodded to me and spoke.

"'Oh! that's you, is it?' he said.

"'No, it's not,' I answered hastily; for I was quite demoralized by
fear and the strangeness of the situation.

"'Who is it, then?' he inquired.

"'I'm sure I don't know,' I said; and really I was so confused that I
hardly did.

"'Well, _we_ know,' said the Jack-in-a-box, 'and that's all that's
needed. Now, my friends,' he continued, addressing the toys who had
begun to crowd round us, 'whoever recognizes a mistress and remembers a
grudge--the hour of our revenge has come. Can we any of us forget the
treatment we received at her hands? No! When we think of the ingenious
fancy, the patient skill, that went to our manufacture; that fitted the
delicate joints and springs, laid on the paint and varnish, and gave
back-hair-combs and ear-rings to our smallest dolls, we feel that we
deserved more care than we received. When we reflect upon the kind
friends who bought us with their money, and gave us away in the
benevolence of their hearts, we know that for their sakes we ought to
have been longer kept and better valued. And when we remember that the
sole object of our own existence was to give pleasure and amusement to
our possessors, we have no hesitation in believing that we deserved a
handsomer return than to have had our springs broken, our paint
dirtied, and our earthly careers so untimely shortened by wilful