"Oh, nurse," I said penitently, "don't go. I will be good. And I want you to read me Peggy and Other Tales. You read it so beautifully."
Peggy is a dear black book which belonged to mother when she was a little girl. It was my especial favourite when I was seven, and it has been quite the most suitable form of literature for a weak, fractious invalid with a hazy brain and wobbly emotions.
Nurse laughed as she picked up the book.
"Are you not tired of it?"
"No," I replied. "Peggy comforts me very much. And when you have finished her, you might read me something out of Ecclesiastes. It is not that I am feeling religious or think I am going to die, but the language is so musical and grand: 'Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern.' It is the repetition of the word 'broken' I like. Now had I been writing the verse I should have searched about for another verb—smashed, cracked—and straightway the beauty of the lines would have been spoiled. But Solomon was so sure of himself. He knew the word 'broken' was just the right word even if used three times and so he used it."
Nurse sat and looked at me with surprise chasing across her face.
"Dear me," she said, "I never notice things like that when I am reading."
"What do you notice?" I inquired.
"Oh, I don't think I notice anything. I just want to hurry on to where the man proposes."
"But men don't often propose in the Bible, with the exception of Jacob," I said laughing.