“Heaven forbid! People enough have lived to be a hundred and forty. Henry Jenkins lived to be a hundred and sixty-nine, and even then he did not die from old age, or from disease, but from sheer imprudence, I might say accident, such as would have killed any man at any age.”
“My dear niece, that case was a highly exceptional one.”
“Well, and why shouldn’t you make your own case a highly exceptional one?”
“My dear, you are extravagant.”
“Well, maybe I am, in talking about a hundred and sixty-nine years; but I do positively insist upon your living a full century. That is only fair.”
“My darling, our prayers should be not so much for a long life as for a good life.”
“I stand corrected,” said Drusilla, reverently; “but for all that I insist upon the century; for I think it was the Lord’s design that man should live so long.”
“Let me live so long as my life can be of use to others and no longer,” said the veteran.
“Your life is of use to others as long as it gives happiness to others, and therefore I insist upon the century,” persisted Drusilla.
“Well, my dear, I have no particular objection,” laughed the General, as they all arose from the table.