As it was, he
never grumbled. He also saw to it that the furniture in his little
house and the cooking utensils rhymed as nearly as possible, though
that too was oftentimes a difficult matter to bring about, and
required a vast deal of thought and hard study. The table always stood
under the gable end of the roof, the foot-stool always stood where it
was cool, and the big rocking-chair in a glare of sunlight; the lamp,
too, he kept down cellar where it was damp. But all these were rather
far-fetched, and sometimes quite inconvenient. Occasionally there
would be an article that he could not rhyme until he had spent years
of thought over it, and when he did it would disturb the comfort
of the family greatly. There was the spider. He puzzled over that
exceedingly, and when he rhymed it at last, Mother Flower or one of
the little girls had always to take the spider beside her, when she
sat down, which was of course quite troublesome. The kettle he rhymed
first with nettle, and hung a bunch of nettle over it, till all the
children got dreadfully stung. Then he tried settle, and hung the
kettle over the settle. But that was no place for it; they had to go
without their tea, and everybody who sat on the settle bumped his head
against the kettle. At last it occurred to Father Flower that if he
should make a slight change in the language the kettle could rhyme
with the skillet, and sit beside it on the stove, as it ought, leaving
harmony out of the question, to do.
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