She reads neither novels nor history, and looks at the newspaper as if the type were fly-spots.

Yet there she sits smiling! Why! oh! why?
Probably she does not know.

Never did question, not to say doubt, cause those soft, square-ended fingers to move one atom less measuredly in the construction of Mrs.Bevis's muffetee, the sole knittable thing her nature seemed capable of.

Never was sock seen on her needles; the turning of the heel was too much for her.

That she had her virtues, however, was plain from the fact that her servants staid with her years and years; and I can, beside, from observation set down a few of them.