"We all know, Charles, that the climate of Massachusetts, and particularly of Boston, surpasses that of any other part of the world," the lady replied with great composure.
The gentleman winced very slightly. He was one of those who constantly make sarcastic observations to others, but are peculiarly sensitive when such are addressed to themselves. In his society, one was frequently reminded of the little boy's complaint: "Mother, make Tommy be still. He keeps crying every time I strike him on the head with the hammer."
"Here will be a chance to practise your famous English walks, Melicent," the father said. "I presume the old chaise is dissolved. I remember it twenty years ago nodding along the road in the most polite manner. By the way, Amy, did you ever observe that in genuine country places people leave their defunct vehicles to decay by the roadside? I am not sure that there is no poetry in the custom. The weary wheels crumble to dust in view of the track over which they have rolled in life, and are a memento mori to living carriages. It is not unlike the monument of Themistocles 'on the watery strand.'"
"Papa," exclaimed Hester, "why didn't you say tired wheels? You started to."
"Because I detest a pun."
Melicent, who had been waiting for a chance, now spoke. "You don't mean to say, papa, that we shall have no carriage?"
A shrug of the shoulders was the only reply.
The young woman's face wore a look of dismay. "But, papa!" she exclaimed.
"Wait till the pumpkins grow," he said with a mocking smile. "I will give you the largest one, and your mother will furnish the mice. I don't doubt there are mice, and to spare."
"You don't mean that we must walk everywhere?" his daughter cried.