In due time, the family of the Plunkets were, bag and baggage, in their new house. A lover of quiet, the male head of the establishment tried to refrain from any remarks calculated to excite his helpmate, but this was next to impossible, there being so much in the new house that he could not, in conscience, approve. If Mrs. Plunket would have kept quiet, all might have gone on very smoothly; but Mrs. Plunket could not or would not keep quiet. She was extravagant in her praise of every thing, and incessant in her comparisons between the old and the new house. Mr. Plunket listened, and bit his lip to keep silent. At last the lady said to him, with a coaxing smile, for she was not going to rest until some words of approval were extorted from her liege lord—"Now, Mr. Plunket, don't you think this a love of a house?"
"No!" was the gruff answer.
"Mr. Plunket! Why, what is your objection? I'm sure we can't be more uncomfortable than we have been for a year."
"Oh, yes, we can."
"How so?"
"There is such a thing as going from the frying-pan into the fire."
"Mr. Plunket!"
"Just what you'll find we have done, madam."
"How will you make that appear, pray?"
"In a few words. Just step this way. Do you see that building?"