bringing the bed. It's quite simple. It only wants a little system."

Then, while they wondered whether they might risk it, he got worse. He lay
propped up, rigid, his arms stretched out by his side, afraid to lift a
hand because of the violent movements of his heart. His face had a
patient, expectant look, as if he waited for them to do something.

They couldn't do anything. There would be no more rallies. He might die
any day now, the doctor said.


"He may die any minute. I certainly don't expect him to live through the
night."

Harriett followed her mother back into the room. He was sitting up in his
attitude of rigid expectancy; no movement but the quivering of his night-
shirt above his heart.

"The doctor's been gone a long time, hasn't he?" he said.

Harriett was silent. She didn't understand. Her mother was looking at her
with a serene comprehension and compassion.

"Poor Hatty," he said, "she can't tell a lie to save my life."

"Oh--Papa----"

He smiled as if he was thinking of something that amused him.

"You should consider other people, my dear. Not just your own selfish