'You know, his mother an' father have gone South,
an' he'll be all alone.'

"'Ask him at once--call him on the 'phone,' I advised, an' bade her
good-bye.

"The happiness o' Lizzie an' the charm o' those kids had suggested
an idea. I made up my mind that I'd try to put Mr. an' Mrs. Bill
on the job o' keepin' up with Lizzie.

"'That's a wonderful woman,' said Mrs. Bill, as we drove away. 'I
envy her--she's so strong and well and happy. She loves those
babies, and is in the saddle every afternoon, helping with the work
o' the farm.'

"'Why don't you get into the saddle and be as well and strong as
she is?' Bill asked.

"'Because I've no object--it's only a way of doing nothing,' said
Mrs. Bill. 'I'm weary of riding for exercise. There never was a
human being who could keep it up long. It's like you and your
dumb-bells. To my knowledge you haven't set a foot in your
gymnasium for a month. As a matter of fact, you're as tired of
play as I am, every bit. Why don't you go into Wall Street an' get
poor?'

"'Tired of play!' Bill exclaimed. 'Why, Grace, night before last
you were playing bridge until three o'clock in the morning.'

"'Well, it's a way of doing nothing skilfully and on the
competitive plan,' said she. 'It gives me a chance to measure my
capacity. When I get through I am so weary that often I can go to
sleep without thinking. It seems to me that brains are a great
nuisance to one who has no need of them. Of course, by-and-by,
they'll atrophy and disappear like the tails of our ancestors.
Meanwhile, I suppose they are bound to get sore. Mine is such a
fierce, ill-bred, impudent sort of a brain, and it's as busy as a
bat in a belfry. I often wish that I had one of those soft,
flexible, paralytic, cocker-spaniel brains, like that of our friend
Mrs. Seavey. She is so happy with it--so unterrified. She is
equally at home in bed or on horseback, reading the last best
seller or pouring tea and compliments. Now just hear how this
brain of mine is going on about that poor, inoffensive creature!
But that's the way it treats me. It's a perfect heathen of a
brain.'

"Bill an' I looked at each other an' laughed. Her talk convinced
me of one thing--that her trouble was not the lack of a brain.

"'You're always making fun of me,' she said. 'Why don't you give
me something to do?'

"'Suppose you wash the dishes?' said Bill.

"'Would it please you?'

"'Anything that pleases you pleases me.'