Didn't you see--" "It's Sathurday, mim," interrupted Biddy, in a voice that showed the argument in her mind to be unanswerable.

"We always wash the pavement on Sathurday." "But it doesn't do to wash the pavement," I returned, now trying to put a little reason into her head, "when it is so cold that water will freeze as soon as it touches the ground.

The bricks become as slippery as glass, and people can't walk on them without falling." "Och! And what hev we till do wid the paple.

Lot 'em look 'till their steps." "But, Biddy, that won't do.

People don't expect to find pavements like glass; and they slip, often, while unaware of danger.