“Your chimney, sir; it can without rashness be removed, I think.”
“I will think of it, too, Mr. Scribe,” said I, turning the knob and bowing him towards the open space without, “I will think of it, sir; it demands consideration; much obliged to ye; good morning, Mr. Scribe.”
“It is all arranged, then,” cried my wife with great glee, bursting from the nighest room.
“When will they begin?” demanded my daughter Julia.
“To-morrow?” asked Anna.
“Patience, patience, my dears,” said I, “such a big chimney is not to be abolished in a minute.”
Next morning it began again.
“You remember the chimney,” said my wife. “Wife,” said I, “it is never out of my house and never out of my mind.”
“But when is Mr. Scribe to begin to pull it down?” asked Anna.
“Not to-day, Anna,” said I.