'As to eating, I eat but little; but,
that little I enjoy, Dot.'
Even this, his usual sentiment at meal times, one
of his innocent delusions (for his appetite was al-
ways obstinate, and flatly contradicted him), awoke
no smile in the face of his little wife, who stood among
the parcels, pushing the cake-box slowly from her
with her foot, and never once looked, though her
eyes were cast down too, upon the dainty shoe she
generally was so mindful of. Absorbed in thought,
she stood there, heedless alike of the tea and John
(although he called to her, and rapped the table with
his knife to startle her), until he rose and touched
her on the arm; when she looked at him for a mo-
ment, and hurried to her place behind the teaboard,
laughing at her negligence. But, not as she had
laughed before. The manner and the music were
quite changed.
The Cricket, too, had stopped. Somehow the room
was not so cheerful as it had been. Nothing like it.
'So, these are all the parcels, are they, John?' she
said, breaking a long silence, which the honest Car-
rier had devoted to the practical illustration of one
part of his favourite sentiment -- certainly enjoying
what he ate, if it couldn't be admitted that he ate
but little.
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