One of the visitors was a rather grim great-aunt of the family who possesses a most lively scorn of Mrs. Eddy’s so-called science as well as a deep-rooted affection for little Florence. She immediately demanded what had been applied for her relief and as naturally the answer was, “Nothing.” She assumed her most decided expression, drew off her gloves and started upstairs.
“Aunt Molly, what are you going to do? I must repeat it is only a belief in a boil,” expostulated the mother.
“Very well,” retorted Aunt Molly, continuing her march upstairs, “I am merely going to put on a dream of a poultice.”
And she did.
Mistress—“Did the fisherman who stopped here this morning have frog’s legs?”
Nora—“Sure, mum, I dinnaw. He wore pants.”
When the thermometer dropped below zero Mrs. Rogers was much disturbed by the thought that Huldah, the new kitchen maid, slept in an unheated room.
“Huldah,” she said, remembering the good old custom of her girlhood, “it’s going to be pretty cold to-night. I think you had better take a flatiron to bed with you.”