But Old Ebony seemed to guess his thought, and he only
said, "And that's another shame!"
Willie couldn't see how this could be, and he thought the walking-stick
was using very strong language indeed. I think myself the cane spoke too
sharply, for I don't think the harm lies in giving to and receiving from
our friends, but in neglecting the poor. But you don't care what I think,
you want to know what the cane said.
"I'm pretty well acquainted with Scripture," said Old Ebony, "having
spent fourteen years in company with a minister. Now won't you please
read the twelfth and thirteenth verses of the fourteenth chapter of----"
But before the cane could finish the sentence, Willie heard some one
opening the door. It was his father. He looked round in bewilderment. The
oil in the lamp had burned out, and it was dark. The fire was low, and
the room chilly.
"Heigh-ho, Willie, my son," said Mr. Blake, "where's your light, and
where's your fire. This is a cold reception. What have you been doing?"
"Listening to the cane talk," he replied; and thinking what a foolish
answer that was, he put on some more coal, while his mother, who was
lighting the lamp, said he must have been dreaming. The walking-stick
stood in its corner, face to the wall, as if it had never been a talking
stick.
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