Eddy seemed much more penitent for having hurt baby than for having overthrown Lily’s paper of needles, though the latter action had been the cause of the former. He joined his mother and sister in trying to soothe little Rosey, and assured her so often that he was “very, very sorry,” and called her by so many sweet names, “little pet, darling, and duck,” and kissed the scratched arm so often, that she soon appeared quite pacified. I was not so well pleased at the titles which he gave me, throwing all the blame on “the naughty, ugly needle,” that had been the innocent cause of her pain. I was rather in ill humour when Lily hastily replaced me in the work-box, not dreaming of putting me back in my paper, but sticking me unceremoniously into the red silk which lined the top of the box. And there I was to remain, in company with other articles of metal, with which I soon entered into acquaintance; for all the metals are naturally related to each other, and I was able to make myself understood by everything bearing the nature of a mineral.
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“WELL, what do you think of your new life?” said the Scissors, as soon as we were left quietly in the box. Perhaps I had better pause for a moment to describe my new companion, before I record our conversation.
The pair of Scissors, with which I had now to make acquaintance, had rather an old-fashioned air. One end was rounded, the other had been sharp, but a little piece had been broken off the point. I fancy that I detected on one of the handles something reddish, like a little speck of rust, and the brightness of the whole article was dimmed. This was doubtless a mark of antiquity, and it was in the patronizing manner of one who was aware of her own superiority, that Mrs. Scissors repeated her question, “Pray, what do you think of your new life?”
“I have hardly had time to judge,” was my reply; “but I am rather hurt at the way in which that little boy laid the whole blame of his own fault upon me.”
“Oh, that is what you must always expect,” laughed the Scissors; “a bad shearer never has good shears. I’ve been these ten years in the family, and I’ve always found it the same. When Miss Lily took it into her head to imitate the hairdresser, and practise upon Eddy’s flaxen poll, when I glanced aside, and snipped his little ear, whose fault was that but ‘the stupid Scissors’!’ And when I was seized upon to open a nailed box, whose contents the young lady was impatient to see, whose fault was it when my poor point suddenly snapped? why, ‘the good-for-nothing Scissors’,’ to be sure.”