"Oh, I don't know. He has dyspepsia. I guess he don't feel any too well, and nothing pleases him. He took a notion that a sea voyage would cure him, and it didn't. He snarled and snapped all the way, and oh, I was so sick--ugh! and I had to drag myself around after him. Then next he tried the German baths. He's tried everything, and now--oh, now," she continued with a groan, putting her handkerchief to her face, "he says that society is injurious to him. And what do you suppose he has done?" she asked, raising her voice and peering from above the handkerchief which she had pressed to her face. "He's rented a lonely cabin in the Adirondacks for a year--a year! and there I'm to live! Imagine me, my dear! I shall grow so rusty that when I return to civilization I shall only be able to hang on the back door and creak while others are talking. Mercy upon us! there's DeLancy! He'll find me visiting! I'll never hear the last of this as long as I live! Where can I go? What can I get under? Oh, there's nothing big enough in all the world to cover me! Woe is me! I must always remain in the open!" "Lie down there," said Nannie authoritatively. "I'll cover you." "You!" screamed Hilda. "You! Oh, you elf! you brownie! you mite--you widow's mite! What could you cover?" "Lie down! Be quick! The enemy approaches!" cried Nannie, convulsed with laughter. Hilda gave one glance from out the window and then fell flat on the divan. "I am lost!" she groaned. "I'll defend you," said Nannie bravely. "You! Oh, you atom! you molecule! you microbe! What can you do?" "Be quiet. You are dead--do you hear? You're _dead_--dead as a doornail; dead as a mummy--the mummy that walked the streets of Thebes when Moses was a young man." "Nannie!" But Nannie did not hear, for she was running to meet the enemy, a bit of a man who looked like a woodland sprite as he walked along the edge of the ravine. In contrast with the big figure that lay prone upon the divan, his size was really ridiculous. Had his pettiness been merely external, that would not have mattered. Small men have been known to tower as giants before us. Luther was called the little monk, and the Corsican who altered the world's map was of still smaller proportions. This little creature, however, was the reverse of Julia Ward Howe's youthful daughter, who announced to an offending visitor that she was "big inside," inasmuch as he was made on a small pattern, within as well as without. His petty face was all puckered up when Nannie encountered him, and his rasping voice was at its most irritating pitch. The moment he was within hailing distance he began his complaint, heedless even of the courtesy of a greeting. He declared he was too exhausted to take another step; that he had lost his wife, and he asked if Nannie had seen her. "Oh, Mr. Seymour! Hilda--Hilda--is--at my house--dead." "Dead!" he fairly screamed. "No, dying." He started toward the house with the speed of the wind, but Nannie stopped him.