All at once
the sewing chair that sat alongside of me, with a pile of magazines on
it, began to rock, and as it rocked it moved off from me. I felt
surprised, and at first thought of taking hold of it, but my arm seemed
so _tired_ that I couldn't move it. And the chair rocked itself across
the floor, and through the door into the sitting-room. And as I looked
after it, I saw my old library chair hobble into the sitting-room, also.
Then came the well-cushioned easy chair, puffing and panting good
naturedly, as it rolled smoothly along on castors. I was just wondering
what all this meant, when the parlor door opened, and there marched in a
procession of parlor chairs, behind which gathered the plainer cane-seat
ones of the dining-room. Next came a solemn line of black, wooden kitchen
chairs. Then I heard a commotion above, and the staid bedroom seats made
a fearful racket as they came down the steps.
"Are we all in now?" said the easy chair, blandly.
A faint noise was heard on the steps, and presently in came an old arm
chair that had belonged to my grandmother. It had lain in the garret
covered with spider webs for years, and indeed it was quite infirm in the
joints, and must have had a hard time getting down two flights of stairs.
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