I used to sing my morning and evening song to the happy 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