but I couldn't -- it wouldn't have made me feel any better

if I could have thought so. I got thinking of Mary's first year

on the selection and the life she'd had since we were married.

When I went in she'd cried herself to sleep. I bent over and, `Mary,'

`I'm pretty well sure that old Spot's calf isn't in the pen.

Old Spot's last calf was two years old now; so Mary was talking in her sleep,

and dreaming she was back in her first year.

We both laughed when I told her about it afterwards; but I didn't feel