"I guess you're a little excited, a'n't ye?"
"No,—I got over that; but I did hear noises!"
Mr. Ducklow, returning to his pillow, dismissed his fears, and once more composed his mind for slumber. But the burden of which he had temporarily relieved his wife now returned with redoubled force to the bosom of that virtuous lady. It seemed as if there was only a certain amount of available sleep in the house, and that, when one had it, the other must go without; while at the same time a swarm of fears perpetually buzzed in and out of the mind, whose windows wakefulness left open.
"Father!" said Mrs. Ducklow, giving him a violent shake.
"Hey? what?"—arousing from his first sound sleep.
"Don't you smell something burning?"
Ducklow snuffed; Mrs. Ducklow snuffed; they sat up in bed, and snuffed vivaciously in concert.
"No,—I can't say I do. Did you?"
"Jest as plain as ever I smelt anything in my life! But I don't so"—snuff, snuff—"not quite so distinct now."
"Seems to me I do smell somethin'," said Mr. Ducklow, imagination coming to his aid. "It can't be the matches, can it?"