I was dozing comfortably in my easy chair, and dreaming of the good times
which I hope are coming, when there fell upon my ears a most startling
scream. It was the voice of my Maria Ann in agony. The voice came from the
kitchen, and to the kitchen I rushed. The idolized form of my Maria was
perched on a chair, and she was flourishing an iron spoon in all
directions, and shouting "shoo," in a general manner at everything in the
room. To my anxious inquiries as to what was the matter, she screamed: "O!
Joshua, a mouse, shoo--wha--shoo--a great--ya, shoo--horrid mouse, and--
she--ew--it ran right out of the cupboard--shoo--go way--O Lord--Joshua--
shoo--kill it, oh, my--shoo."
All that fuss, you see, about one little, harmless mouse. Some women are so
afraid of mice. Maria is. I got the poker and set myself to poke that
mouse, and my wife jumped down and ran off into another room. I found the
mouse in a corner under the sink. The first time I hit it I didn't poke it
any on account of getting the poker all tangled up in a lot of dishes in
the sink; and I did not hit it any more because the mouse would not stay
still.
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