lashed past
my window; a bed of royal pansies opened to the sun, and the smell of
the fresh, moist earth came up where Tip was digging in his little
garden.

"Not feeling exactly like work to-day," as I told my wife, I did not go
to the office. I asked her to come into the library and sit with me. I
remember that she had a pudding to bake, and refused at first; then
yielded, laughing, and said that I must go without my dessert. I thought
it highly probable that I _should_ go without my dessert.

I remember precisely how pretty she was that morning. She wore a bright
dress,--blue, I think,--and a white crocus in her hair; she had a dainty
white apron tied on, "to cook in," she said, and her pink nails were
powdered with flour. Her eyes laughed and twinkled at me. I remember
thinking how young she looked, and how unready for suffering. I remember
that she brought the baby in after a while, and that Tip came all muddy
from the garden, dragging his tiny hoe over the carpet; that the window
was open, and that, while we all sat there together, a little brown bird
brought some twine and built a nest on an apple-bough just in sight.

I find it difficult to explain the anxiety which I felt, as the, morning
wore on, that dinner should be punctually upon the table at half past
twelve. But I now understand perfectly, as I did not once, the old
philosophy: "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die."

It was ironing-day, and our dinners were apt to be late upon
ironing-days. I concluded that, if the soup were punctual, and not too
hot, I could leave myself ten or perhaps fifteen unoccupied minutes
before one o'clock. It strikes me as curious now, the gravity with which
this thought underran the fever and pain and dread of the morning.

I fell to reading my hymn-book about twelve o'clock, and when Alison
called me to dinner I did not remember to consult my watch.

The soup was good, though hot. A grim Epicurean stolidity crept over me
as I sat down before it. A man had better make the most of his last
chance at mock-turtle. Fifteen minutes were enough to die in.

I am confident that I ate more rapidly than is consistent with
consummate elegance. I remember that Tip imitated me, and that Allis
opened her eyes at me. I recall distinctly the fact that I had passed my
plate a second time.

I had passed my plate a second time, I say, and had just raised the
spoon to my lips, when it fell from my palsied hand; for the little
bron