“Now, husband, do you take up that side of the carpet, and I will this.” Down on her knees she then dropped, while I followed suit.
The carpet being removed, and the ear applied to the naked floor, not the slightest ticking could be heard.
“The table—after all, it is the table,” cried my wife. “Biddy, bring it back.”
“Oh no, marm, not I, please, marm,” sobbed Biddy.
“Foolish creature!—Husband, do you bring it.”
“My dear,” said I, “we have plenty of other tables; why be so particular?”
“Where is that table?” cried my wife, contemptuously, regardless of my gentle remonstrance.
“In the wood-house, marm. I put it away as far as ever I could, marm,” sobbed Biddy.
“Shall I go to the wood-house for it, or will you?” said my wife, addressing me in a frightful, businesslike manner.
Immediately I darted out of the door, and found the little apple-tree table, upside down, in one of my chip-bins. I hurriedly returned with it, and once more my wife examined it attentively. Tick, tick, tick! Yes, it was the table.