It isn't your death we're laughing at, but your face." "My face!" exclaimed the insulted spinster.

"One would think I was a fright by the way you laugh at it." "So you are!" said Jack, with a fresh burst of laughter.
"To be called a fright to my face!" shrieked Rachel, "by my own nephew! This is too much.

Timothy, I leave your house forever." The excited maiden seized her hood; which was hanging from a nail, and was about to leave the house when she was arrested in her progress toward the door by the cooper, who stifled his laughter sufficiently to say: "Before you go, Rachel, just look in the glass." Mechanically his sister did look, and her horrified eyes rested upon a face streaked with inky spots and lines seaming it in every direction.
In her first confusion Rachel jumped to the conclusion that she had been suddenly stricken by the plague.

Accordingly she began to wring her hands in an excess of terror, and exclaimed in tones of piercing anguish: "It is the fatal plague spot! I am marked for the tomb.

The sands of my life are fast running out." This convulsed Jack afresh with merriment, so that an observer might, not without reason, have imagined him to be in imminent danger of suffocation.
"You'll kill me, Aunt Rachel! I know you will," he gasped.
"You may order my coffin, Timothy," said Rachel, in a sepulchral voice; "I shan't live twenty-four hours.