The lady of the house who owned the ice box said: 'I do not want the horrible ice box any more, which they have exchanged for my good old ice box.

All the ice that comes out of it tastes of onion soup.' The copper pan had always cooked this soup better than any other.

'Lulu, throw it out to the old iron heap,' said the lady.

So Lulu, the butler, and Lala, the maid, took the ice box and with terrible might threw her down on the scrap heap, where old iron, bones and dirt lay in the back yard.
"The ice box felt that all her limbs were giving way and that everything was going to end badly.

She lamented: 'Oh, if only I had not joined the revolution! If I had only stayed at home by the cosy fire! Oh, if only---' And with that she cracked completely.
"On the same day the young lady on whose table the kettle was standing said: 'Now I have had enough of this horrid tar-soap boiler.