A life wasted!
One beautiful summer afternoon my little son rushed to me with the news that his uncle Lorand was lying on the floor in the middle of the room, and would not rise.
With the worst suspicions, I hastened to his side.
When I entered his room, he was lying, not on the floor, but on the bed.
He lay face downward on the bed.
"What is the matter?" I asked, taking his hand.
"Nothing at all:—only I am dying slowly."
"Great heavens! What have you done?"
"Don't be alarmed. It was not my hand."
"Then what is the matter?"