FullReads

About the time the chairs had a talk together, I believe I told you. Well, ever since that time I have been afflicted, now and then, with that same disease of the eyes, inclining them to close. In fact, I am rather of the opinion that the affliction must be one of the ear, too, for I hear some curious things while the spell is on. Either that, or else something has “gotten into” the furniture about my house. It beats all, the time I had the other day. It was a cold, wet October day, the wind whistled through the key-holes and shook the sash violently, while the rain drizzled wretchedly against the glass.

As there happened to be no fire anywhere else, I took a seat in the kitchen. There I sat in the heat of the cooking-stove, and reading, or trying to read Rollin’s “Ancient History.” But the book was dull, and the day was dull, and it really seemed to me that I was duller than anything else. Hannibal and Themistocles, Spain and Carthage, and Rome seemed to me the dullest things in the world. I wondered how people that were so dull had managed to live, and how so stupid a fellow as Monsieur Rollin ever contrived to write so big and dull a book. It did seem very dull in the rain, too, to keep pattering away at the glass in that stupid fashion.

And so I leaned back in my chair, and watched Bridget fill the tea-kettle and set it over the fire.

“Good!” said I; “Bridget, there’s no music on a dull day like the cheery singing of the tea-kettle.”

And Biddy laughed, as she went out, and I leaned back again, and closed my eyes. All at once I heard a keen, piping voice, saying,

“Hum–hum! Simmer! We’ll soon have things a-going.”

The sound seemed to come up out of the tea-kettle spout. I was so surprised that I rubbed my eyes and looked around. There was the tea-kettle, but I could hear no sound from it. Closing my eyes again, I heard it begin,

“Simmer, simmer, hum, hum, now we’ll have things a-going. Hot fire, this! Simmer, simmer, hum, hum, simmer. There’s nothing like contentment,” it went on. “But it’s a little hard to sit here and simmer, simmer, simmer forever. But I keep on singing, and I am happy. There’s my sister, the tea-pot. Bridget always keeps her bright. She goes into the best society, sits by the side of the china cups on the tea-tray that has flowers painted on it; vain little thing is my sister tea-pot! Dreadful proud of her graceful waist. Thinks her crooked nose is prettier than my straight one. She is handsome, and I am glad of it. I feel proud of her when I see her sitting among the china. But, la, me! of what account would she be if I didn’t help her? I’d like to know how they’d make tea without hot water! What would she be good for, any how, if I didn’t do the drudgery for her? This fire would ruin her complexion!

“Whew! this is hot work.”

The tea-kettle’s voice had grown higher and higher, until she was almost shrieking by this time, and so she went on.

“But then, I don’t mean to be proud or envious. I mean to keep cheerful. But I do get tired of staying in the kitchen, always among the pots. I’m a good singer, but the world don’t seem to appreciate my voice, and ‘Chicken Little’ says that I sing through my nose.

“But I wish I could travel a little. There are my cousins, the family of steam boilers. They won’t acknowledge their relationship to me any more. But what is that huge locomotive, with such a horrid voice, that goes puffing and screeching past here every morning? What is he but a great, big, black tea-kettle on wheels! I wish I was on wheels, and then I could travel, too. But this old stove won’t budge, no matter how high I get the steam.

“And they do say the tea-kettle family is much older than the steam boiler family. But wouldn’t I like to travel! I wonder if I couldn’t start off this old stove. Bridget’s out, and the master’s asleep, and—-“

I was just going to tell the kettle I was wide awake, but I didn’t feel like talking, and so the kettle went on.

“Yes, I have a good mind to try it. Wouldn’t it be a brilliant thing, if I could move the old cooking stove? Wouldn’t Bridget stare, when she came back, if she should see the ‘Home Companion’ running off down the railroad track?

“Whew! I believe I’ll burst. Bridget’s jammed the lid down so tight I can’t breathe!

“But I’m going to try to be a locomotive. Here goes.”

Here the kettle stopped singing, and the steam poured out the spout and pushed up the lid, and the kettle hissed and rattled and rattled and hissed so that I really was afraid it would run off with the stove. But all its puffing was in vain. And so, as the fire began to go down, the kettle commenced to sing again.

“Well, what a fool I was!

“I’m only a tea-kettle; I never shall be anything else; and so there’s the end of it. It’s my business to stay here and do my duty in the kitchen. I suppose an industrious, cheerful tea-kettle is just as useful in its place as a steam engine; yes, and just as happy, too. And if I must stay in this kitchen among the pots the rest of my days, I mean to do my share to make it the cheerfulest kitchen in all the country.”

Here the voice of the tea-kettle died down to a plaintive simmer, simmer, and I heard Sunbeam say, “He’s asleep.” She always thinks I’m asleep when I rest my eyes.

“Tea is ready,” said three of them, at once.