"I knew a woman that ate eighteen eggs every day," said Mrs. Sater
encouragingly. "She got well and weighed two hundred and thirty
pounds, and then she had apoplexy and died."

David turned on Carol reproachfully. "There you see! That's what
comes of eating raw eggs." Then he added suspiciously, "Maybe you knew
it before and have been enticing me to raw eggs on purpose."

Both Carol and David seized this silly pretext to relieve their
feelings, and laughed so heartily that good Mrs. Sater was quite
concerned for them. She had heard it sometimes affected folks like
that,--a great nervous or mental shock. She looked at them very
anxiously indeed.

"Are you selling your furniture pretty well?" she asked nervously.

"Oh, just fine. Mr. Barker at the drug store has promised to fumigate
everything after we are gone, so we won't scatter any germs in our
wake." Carol spoke hurriedly, her heart swelling with pity as she saw
the sudden convulsive clutching of David's hands beneath the covers.
"Mr. Daniels has a list of 'who bought what,' and will see that
everything is delivered in good shape. Only, we take the money
ourselves in advance. Now look at this chair, Mrs. Sater,--a lovely
chair," she rattled, thinking wretchedly of that contraction of David's
hands and the darkening of his eyes. "A splendid chair. It isn't sold
yet. It cost us eight seventy-five one year ago, and we are selling it
for the mere pittance of five dollars even,--we make it even because we
haven't any change. A most beautiful chair, an article to grace any
home, a constant reminder of us, a chair in which great men have
sat,--Mr. Daniels, and Mr. Baldwin, and the horrible gas collector who