"I've always noticed," said Mrs. Partington on New Year's Day, dropping
her voice to the key that people adopt when they are disposed to be
philosophical or moral; "I've always noticed that every year added to a
man's life is apt to make him older, just as a man who goes a journey
finds, as he jogs on, that every mile he goes brings him nearer where he
is going, and farther from where he started. I am not so young as I was
once, and I don't believe I shall ever be, if I live to the age of
Samson, which, Heaven knows as well as I do, I don't want to, for I
wouldn't be a centurion or an octagon, and survive my factories, and
become idiomatic, by any means. But then there is no knowing how a thing
will turn out till it takes place; and we shall come to an end some day,
though we may never live to see it."

There was a smart tap on the looking-glass that hung upon the wall,
followed instantly by another.

"Gracious!" said she; "what's that? I hope the glass isn't fractioned,
for it is a sure sign of calamity, and mercy knows they come along full
fast enough without helping 'em by breaking looking-glasses."

There was another tap, and she caught sight of a white bean that fell on
the floor; and there, reflected in the glass, was the face of Ike, who
was blowing beans at the mirror through a crack in the door.


XXI

"As for the Chinese question," said Mrs. Partington, reflectively,
holding her spoon at "present," while the vapor of her cup of tea curled