October as quickly as possible; and, indeed, it will not be very
difficult, after all, for very little happened, to speak of, during that
time to any of the chief actors engaged in making this history.

Perhaps it was this consideration that prompted old Mr. Talbot--O,
bother old Mr. Talbot!--that prompted old Mr. Talbot, I say, to take the
important step of dying, when, poor old man! his death would give the
least possible trouble.

There seemed as little reason for his dying as there had seemed for his
living, for as far as anyone knew there was nothing the matter with him,
except an extreme sleepiness of an evening, which was but natural in an
old weary man who still kept at his stone-masonry though he was
full seventy.

Night after night, for some weeks, he had been getting sleepier and
sleepier.

"Why, dad, I never saw such an old sleepy-head"--his wife had rallied
him good-naturedly one night, looking at him with a sudden odd
expression in her face.

"Eh, lass, but I was noddin' and no mistake," said the old man,
struggling drowsily with the heaviness, and presently succumbing
once more.

"He's off again," said Mrs. Talbot to herself, as she lifted the lid of
a pent saucepan in which some boiled onions were mightily bubbling in a
wild little world of steam.