"Well," said my friend Annabel Lee, "the case of Harry Kaatenstein and Leah Kaatenstein and Jenny Kaatenstein was attended to by their mother. She whipped them all soundly and sent them to bed.
"But as for little Willy Kaatenstein—not looking in the least pale or puffy, he sat that evening, after dinner, on Uncle Will's lap, wearing his own fine gold watch out of the jewel-case, and being continually invited to have a glass of beer.
"But in the kitchen, Emma was telling Juley that though she had once thought a great deal of little Willy Kaatenstein she now honestly believed him to be the very worst one of the four.
"That story," said my friend Annabel Lee, "was very tiresome. You shouldn't ask me to tell you stories."
"I am sorry if it tired you," I said. "But the story was entirely fascinating. It was
