"Yes, you ought; you pleased her; she has asked for you several times to-day,—only she calls you another name. I wish you wouldn't mind it, or seem to notice it either."
"What is the name?"
"Never mind it now; perhaps you will not see her until she is sane, and then she will give you only your own."
"I wish you would tell me."
The spade upon which Mr. Axtell leaned seemed suddenly to have failed to do its duty, for it slid along the distance to the very edge of the grave. Mr. Axtell regained his position and his strength, that had failed only for the moment.
"No, you do not wish it," he said.
What had become of all my sweet charity-blossoms, that unfolded such a little time ago, when Sophie was reading to me? Surely the time of withering had not come so soon? An untimely frost must have withered them all, for I answered,—
"You are dogmatical."
"No, I am not. I only see farther on than you."
"A pleasant way to say, 'You're blind.'"