She would like to know "where?"
In less than a jiff
She wants to know "if?"
You are silent and then
She wants to know "when?"
You are dumb altogether -
She wants to know "whether?"
You're about to refuse -
She demands to know "whose?"
You wrinkle your brow
And she wants to know "how?"
But before she asks "whom?"
You rush from the room

Crying, "Save me from this curiosity box,
Oh, somebody smother ANGELICA COX! "

Till person by person her every relation was lost by degrees and discreet emigration, and cousins by marriage effectively proved how very far distant they might be removed, and Europe and Asia were peopled with flocks of uncles and aunts of the family Cox.

"Though it's hard at our age to be exiled abroad, it is all one can do," sighed Aunt Geraldine Maud. And "Australia's best," said her third cousin Martha, "unless one could hear of a continent farther."


But still in her breast curiosity burned and none of the Coxes have ever returned.

This story occurred many ages ago, but the ghost of ANGELICA still wants to know. If you stand by her cob-webbed and mouldering cot you may hear in the silence an echoing, "What?" And sometimes an owl at the fall of the dew or the wind in the chimney cries mournfully, "Whoo—oo?" or ANGELICA'S ghost will call plaintively, "Why—yy—y?" but there's never a ghost of a ghostly reply.

She wants to know how and she wants to know whether, but the roof and the rafters re-echo together and nobody answers the door to the knocks of the curious ghost of ANGELICA COX. And no one believes that this story is true, and if you should ask me...

I don't think I do!

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