friend long parted from. The faded photos, in stiff, wooden frames
upon the chimney-piece, among them that of the fragile little woman
with the unadaptable lungs.

"God bless my soul!" said Mr. Peter Hope, pushing back his chair.
"It's thirty years ago. How time does fly! Why, let me see, I
must be--"

"D'you like it with a head on it?" demanded Tommy, who had been
waiting patiently for signs.

Peter shook himself awake and went to his supper.

A bright idea occurred to Peter in the night. "Of course; why
didn't I think of it before? Settle the question at once." Peter
fell into an easy sleep.

"Tommy," said Peter, as he sat himself down to breakfast the next
morning. "By-the-by," asked Peter with a puzzled expression,
putting down his cup, "what is this?"

"Cauffee," informed him Tommy. "You said cauffee."

"Oh!" replied Peter. "For the future, Tommy, if you don't mind, I
will take tea of a morning."

"All the same to me," explained the agreeable Tommy, "it's your
breakfast."

"What I was about to say," continued Peter, "was that you're not