April 4, 8.30 a.m.--Awakened by an infernal crash and discover that my poor looking-glass is in pieces again on the floor. True Born explains that its position, between the open door and the open window, was too much for it. Don't believe a word of it. Shall believe to my dying day that it burst in a frantic but hopeless attempt to tell Lieut. True Born the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. April 6.--The lieutenant watching for some sign of misfortune to me. Says that I can't break a mirror twice without ill-luck following it. Me! April 9.--Lieut. True Born comes up to me with a face full of conflicting emotions. "Your ill-luck has come at last," he says with gloomy satisfaction. "We go under canvas on the 23rd. You are losing me!" End of Project Gutenberg's Bedridden and The Winter Offensive, by W.W. Jacobs