"He'll come poking along in the course of time, I suppose, when all the hot things are cold, and all the cold things are hot. Just like him. And I worked myself into a fever to get them on the table piping hot and ice-cold. From stove to cellar, from cellar to well, I rushed, but if I'd worked myself to death's door, he'd stay his stay out, all the same." "Reason for stayin', I s'pose," suggested Napoleon. "Yes, of course you'll take his part--you always do. For pity's sake, what has your mother ever done that you should side against her?" "Dunno." "Dunno! Of course you don't. I'll tell you: She tended you through all your helpless infancy: she nursed you through teething, and whooping-cough, and measles, and scarlet fever, and chicken-pox, and mercy knows what else. Many's the time she watched with you the livelong night, when your father was snoring and dreaming in the farthest corner of the house, so he mightn't hear your wailing and moaning. She's toiled and slaved for you like a plantation negro, while he--" "He's comin'," interrupted Napoleon, without for a moment intermitting his potato-shoveling. "Walkin' fast," continued the sententious lad, swallowing immediately half a cup of milk. Dr. Lively came hurrying into the dining-room. "For pity's sake, I think it's about time," the wife began pettishly. "Have you seen my purse anywhere about here?" the gentleman asked with an anxious cadence in his voice. "Your purse!" shrieked Mrs. Lively, turning short upon her husband and glaring in wild alarm. "Lost it?" asked Napoleon, digging his fork into a huge potato and transferring it to his plate. "Go, look in the bed-room, Nappy: I think I must have dropped it there," said the father. Napoleon rose from his chair, but stopped halfway between sitting and standing for a farewell bite at his bread and butter. "For mercy's sake, why don't you go along?" Mrs. Lively snapped out. "What do you keep sitting there for?" "Ain't a-settin'," responded Nappy, laying hold of his cup for a last swallow. "Standing there, then?" "Ain't a-standin'." "If you _don't_ go along--" and Mrs. Lively started for her son and heir with a threat in every inch of her. "Am a-goin'," returned the son and heir; and, sure enough, he went. During this passage between mother and child Dr. Lively had been keeping up an unflagging by-play, searching persistently every part of the dining-room--the mantelpiece, the clock, the cupboard, the shelves. "In the name of common sense," exclaimed the wife, after watching him a moment, "what's the use of looking in that knife-basket? Shouldn't I have seen it when I set the table if it had been there? Do you think I'm blind? Where did you lose your purse?" "If I knew where I lost it I'd go and get it." "Well, where did you have it when you missed it?" "As well as I can remember I didn't have it when I missed it." "Well, where did you have it before you missed it?" "In my pocket."