On the Lightship

by Herman Knickerbocker Vielé

"It's most mysterious," asserted the host.

"It's worse," his wife corrected him; "it's most ill-bred."

"Oh, we must look again," cried Selma, now in real distress; "he may be lying somewhere faint and ill."

"Nonsense!" rejoined Mrs. Pease. "Leave him alone, and, my word for it, he will make his appearance in a little while looking silly enough. Lemuel, a glass of water, if you please."

While the good lady sank exhausted to a chair, her devoted son-in-law hastened to the dining-room to supply her want.

"The ice-pitcher is not there," he said, returning. "I'll ring."

"But the pitcher must be in its usual place on the sideboard with the other silver," his wife protested.

"But all the same, it isn't," he insisted. "There is nothing on the sideboard; not a thing. Come see for yourself."

This gave occasion for the playful aphorism concerning the inability of man to see beyond his nose, but presently a scream from Mrs. Livermore confirmed her husband's statement.