“Why didn’t she apply to ye purs-u-nal An’ ask ye fur the garment? Did she retain the artucle Long enough to bring a warrant? Did she take it with malice of forethought Or unpre-med-ure-tated? Did she terrure-fy ye very bad A-purloinin’ as ye stated? What air ye goin’ to do? Did her mother know it too? Why didn’t ye holler out? An’ ask her what’s she’s about?” At last, to stop his flood of inquiry, we began to question him, to draw him out about the spinet and china. “Do you know the Maybees well?” “Wall—I may perhaps assert And assure-vure-rate I do; At any rate I know him And I s’pose I know her too.” “Is it an old farm, and an old house?” “It ain’t so old as some, And it’s a little older ’n others. The farm ’s older ’n the house; It used to be my brother’s.” “How long have you known them?” “Oh—quite an in-ture-val, But I ain’t known ’m all my life; I’ve known him sence I was two year old, And a leetle longer his wife.” “Do you know whether they have an old spinet?” “I’ll tell you in a minute If you’ll tell me what’s a spinet?” “It is like a little old-fashioned piano. Have they got such a one? Is it old? Is it small? Describe it to us.” “They ‘ve the funniest thing you ever see; It’s just as cur-u-ous as it can be; How to dure-scribe it just beats me; Spinet’s the name for it down to a T. It ain’t so big as some pianures, And it ain’t so small as othures; ’Tain’t so old as some you’d see, And ’tain’t so new as it might be; That is all that I can say. I heard old Maybee tell one day He’d a mus-ure-cal com-bure-nation He’d be glad to sell for a very small sum; ’Twas as old and mean As any he’d seen, And he’d like to sell it, he says, Before it drops to pieces.”