His wife received it early the next morning, and first she sent Maud for Uncle Henry and Aunt, who found that all was turning out as they prophesied, save for the slight deviation of Charlie's accident. "They don't say exactly how bad he is?" said Uncle Henry. "Ah! but he was well enough to send for you! He knows which side his bread's buttered. Yes! we shall have Master Charles creeping back again, very thankful to be in his home with every comfort, nursed by you; and I will give him the worse talking to be has ever had in his life!" "And if he's ill he can't prevent the Vicar visiting him too," said Aunt. So Charlie's wife set out to do her duty. But still earlier that morning, instructed by the tremendous peace which was stealing over him that time was short, Charlie was making his first request. Would they please ring up _Shaftesbury_ 84 to ask for "Kitty" and tell her "Charlie" just wanted to see her very urgently for a few minutes at once, but not to be frightened, for everything would be perfectly all right? Pending her arrival, which in a faltering voice over the phone she promised as soon as possible, Charlie asked the kindly Sister who was hovering near to help him die: "Sister, when a friend of mine comes in, a young lady who isn't used to--to seeing--things, if I go off suddenly as it were-what I'm afraid of is, she may be afraid if there's any kind of struggle--I saw a fellow die once and he gave a sort of rattle--well, will you just pull the bed-clothes up over me, so that she doesn't see?" Kitty came in, wearing, perhaps incidentally, perhaps by some grace of kindness, the woollen frock, and she crept, shaking, round the screen, and stood beside Charlie, and said, "Oh Charlie! Oh Charlie!" opening his closing eyes. "Kitty!" he smiled, "sing 'Bubbles.'" The look Sister--who had taken her right in--gave her, pried Kitty's trembling mouth open like a crowbar, and leaning against Charlie's cot she sang-- "When shadows creep, When I'm asleep, To lands of hope I stray, Then at daybreak, when I awake...." The Sister drew the bed-clothes shadily round Charlie's face. "... My blue bird flutters away, I'm forever blowing bubbles.... Pretty bubbles in the air...." Just then the good woman was brought into the ward, bearing with her messages from Maud worthy of Little Eva herself; and full of holy forgiveness; and at edge of the screen Sister met her. "His wife?" said Sister. "A moment too late. I am sorry." The good woman was looking at the bad woman by the bed, so Sister made a vague explanation. "He just wanted a song," she said. A HEDONIST By JOHN GALSWORTHY (From _Pears' Annual_ and _The Century Magazine_) 1921 Rupert K. Vaness remains freshly in my mind because he was so fine and large, and because he summed up in his person and behavior a philosophy which, budding before the war, hibernated during that distressing epoch, and is now again in bloom.