“There was a cererous accident happened down here,
just now, aunt,” said Ike, running in hastily.

“Dear me!” cried Mrs. Partington, dropping her
knitting-work, and starting from her seat in great alarm;
“what upon airth was it, Isaac? Was anybody killed,
or had their legs and limbs broke, or what?”

“O,” replied he, giving his top a tremendous twirl,
that sent it round among the chairs at a great rate; “O,
no! 't was only a man capsized a box of candles, that 's
all.”

The old lady looked at Isaac reproachfully. He will
break her heart one of these days. Her mind, at the
first alarm, had flown among her balsams, and bandages,
and lints, that had lain in obscurity since the poor boy
next door had cut his toe off; and to be thus lowered
down from her hope of usefulness was too bad. But Ike
went out with his top, laughing all the while, and the
old lady subsided into the old arm-chair, and went on
with her knitting.