“I haven't said a word to Gwendolyn about him--yet. I'll have a talk with her tomorrow or perhaps to-night. When I awoke this morning about two o'clock Gwendolyn and her mother were standing by the bed. The girl has taken the notion that she must do the nursing herself. I haven't been fair to them. I guess it's up to me to let them do the marrying. Mrs. Norris seems to like this man, and if Gwendolyn wants him I shall fall in line. I'm not going to be a Czar even in the interest of democracy.” “It's the wisest possible course,” I agreed. “I wish that you'd post yourself about the sailings,” said he, as I left him. I broke a Roman record that evening--went to bed at eight. In Rome the day doesn't really begin until about that hour. At two o'clock people are coming out of the cafés, and the blood of Italy is in full song. Betsey complained that I yelled in my sleep, and I believed her. The voice of the nightingales awoke me just before daylight. What a mellow-voiced chorus it is! A man has got to search his memory if he's going to try to describe it. The softest tones of the flute are in that song. It has an easy-flowing conversational lilt. It's a kind of swift, tumbling brook of flute music. As the light grew a noisy band of sparrows came on the scene. For a little while the soft phrases of the nightingales were woven into the sparrows' chatter. They ceased suddenly. I rose and dressed and went down into the little park outside my windows just as the sun's light began to show in the sky. In a moment I saw a young lady approaching in one of the garden paths. She waved to me and called, “Hello, Uncle Soc!” It was Gwendolyn. “Child! Why are you not in bed?” I asked. “I've worked at idleness so long and so hard that I'm taking a little vacation,” said she. “I sat all night with father. He couldn't sleep, and we talked and talked, and then I read to him and he fell asleep half an hour ago, and I came down for a breath of the morning air.” “Don't get reckless with your holiday--all night is a rather long pull,” I suggested. “I enjoyed every minute. You see, I've never had a chance to do anything for him. My father has always been so busy, and I away in school or traveling with my mother or Mrs. Mushtop. I was never quite so happy as I am now.” “There's nothing so restful as honest toil,” I said. “The fact is you've been overworking in the past--struggling with luncheons, teas, dinners, dressmakers, and dances, and getting through at midnight. It's too much for any human being. If you could only go to work in a laundry or a kitchen or a sick-room, how restful and soothing it would be!” “I understand you now, Uncle Soc,” said she. “We must see that it pays. Last night I was so well paid for my work! I discovered my father. The night passed like magic and filled me with happiness. To-day life is worth living. He told me of his boyhood, and I told him of my girlhood and that I wanted to make it different.