“It had lips,” she said, “but it could not—”
“Speak,” once more replied the children.
“It had a nose, but it could not—”
“Wipe it,” shouted the children; and the lesson had to stop a moment.
She was the dearest and most affectionate little woman in the world, and so thoughtful of her husband’s comfort and his needs. One evening, when company was expected, she inquired solicitously:
“Aren’t you going to wear that necktie I gave you on Christmas, dearie?”
“Of course I am, Henrietta,” responded dearie. “I was saving it up. I am going to wear that red necktie, and my Nile-green smoking-jacket, and my purple and yellow socks, and open that box of cigars you gave me, all at once—to-night.”