How many times I have been in and seated myself in one of the old rocking-chairs, and talked first of the news of the day, the railroad, the last proceedings in Congress, the probabilities about the millennium, and thus brought the conversation by little and little round to my sink! . . . because, till the sink was done, the pump could not be put up, and we could n't have any rain-water. Sometimes my courage would quite fail me to introduce the subject, and I would talk of everything else, turn and get out of the shop, and then turn back as if a thought had just struck my mind, and say :
“Oh, Mr. Titcomb! About that sink?”
“Yes, ma'am, I was thinking about going down street this afternoon to look out stuff for it.”
“Yes, sir, if you would be good enough to get it done as soon as possible; we are in great need of it.”
“I think there's no hurry. I believe we are going to have a dry time now, so that you could not catch any water, and you won't need a pump at present.”
These negotiations extended from the first of June to the first of July, and at last my sink was completed, and so also was a new house spout, concerning which I had had divers communings with Deacon Dunning of the Baptist church. Also during this time good Mrs. Mitchell and myself made two sofas, or lounges, a barrel chair, divers bedspreads, pillow cases, pillows, bolsters, mattresses; we painted rooms; we revarnished furniture; we-what did n't we do?
Then came on Mr. Stowe; and then came the eighth
