"No, he makes me think, and I do not wish to." "Well, here are newspapers, the latest magazine, and some new novels." "Modern rubbish--a mushroom growth. They will soon kindle kitchen fires instead of thought." "Then I must make an expedition to the library. What shall I bring? There is Mosheim's 'Ecclesiastical Ancient History'; that has a solid, venerable sound. Or, if you prefer poetry, I will get Gray's 'Elegy.' That cannot be a literary mushroom, for he was twenty years writing it. But perhaps it is Tupper you would like. That would suit your mood exactly, Tupper's 'Proverbial Philosophy.'" "You are growing satirical, Miss Walton. Why don't you assert plainly that I am as full of whims as a--" "Woman, would you like to say?" "Present company excepted. The fact is, I am two-thirds ill to-day, and the most faultless style and theme in our language would weary me. I am possessed by the evil spirits of ennui, unrest, and disgust at myself and all the world, present company always excepted. Do you know of any spell that can exorcise these demons?" "Yes, a very simple one. Will you put yourself absolutely in my power and obey?" "I am your slave." Miss Walton left the room and soon returned with a large afghan. "You must take a horizontal position in order that my spell may work." "Pshaw! you are prescribing an ordinary nap." "I am glad to say the best things in this world are ordinary. But permit me to suggest that in view of your pledged word you have nothing to do in this matter but to obey." "Very well;" and he threw himself on the sofa. "The day is chilly, sir, and I must throw this afghan over you;" and she did so with a little touch of delicacy which is so grateful when one is indisposed. Her manner both soothed and pleased him. He was more lonely than he realized, for it had been years since he had experienced woman's gentle care and ministry; and Annie Walton had a power possessed by few to put jangling nerves at rest. Suddenly he said, "I wish I had a sister like you." "My creed, you know," she replied, "makes all mankind kindred." "Nonsense!" said Gregory, irritably; "deliver me from your church sisters." "Take care!" she answered, with a warning nod, "I'm a church sister; so don't drive me away, for I am going to sing you to sleep." "I'm half inclined to join your church that I may call you sister." "You would be disciplined and excommunicated within a month. But hush; you must not talk." "How would you treat me after I had been anathematized?" "If you were as ill as you are to-day I would make you sleep. Hush; not another word. I am going to sing."