"Gone, sir--gone! Knocked out with a chip while she was splitting
kin'ling-wood when she was a child. She fixed it up somehow with a
glass one, and it gave her the oddest expression you ever saw. The
false one would stand perfectly still while the other one was rolling
around, so that 'bout half the time you couldn't tell whether she was
studying astronomy or watching the hired girl pare potatoes. And she
lay there at night with the indisposed eye wide open glaring at me,
while the other was tight shut, so that sometimes I'd get the horrors
and kick her and shake her to make her get up and fix it. Once I got
some mucilage and glued the lid down myself, but she didn't like it
when she woke in the morning. Had to soak her eye in warm water, you
know, to get it open.

"Now, I reckon you could run in some language about her eccentricities
of vision, couldn't you? Don't care what it is, so that I have the
main facts."

"Was she peculiar in other respects?"

"Well, yes. One leg was gone--run over by a wagon when she was little.
But she wore a patent leg that did her pretty well. Bothered her
sometimes, but most generally gave her a good deal of comfort. She was
fond of machinery. She was very grateful for her privileges. Although
sometimes it worried her, too. The springs'd work wrong now and then,
and maybe in church her leg'd give a spurt and begin to kick and
hammer away at the board in front of the pew until it sounded like a
boiler-factory. Then I'd carry her out, and most likely it'd kick at
me all the way down the aisle and end up by dancing her around the
vestibule, until the sexton would rebuke her for waltzing in church.