"
"I meant to, but I had to do some examples that I didn't do on Friday,
so I hadn't time."
"Rufus," called his brother, "didn't you nail the broken slat on the
rabbit pen yesterday?"
"Oh!" Rufus sprang up in dismay. "I was just going to, but I hadn't
watered the house plants, and I went to do that, and then--"
"The rabbits are all out."
Rufus hastened to join in the hunt for the pets. In the course of his
search he came upon two tennis rackets which he had "meant to" bring in
the night before, and they were in bad condition.
"There now! It will cost ever so much to get these strung up. Why didn't
I take them in, anyway? I remember I hadn't locked the stable door when
father called me, and then I hurried to do it before he asked me again."
Later in the day, Rufus, with a penitent face, brought to his mother the
letter which should have been mailed. During the rabbit hunt it had
slipped out of his pocket, and one of his brothers had found it in the
damp clover. It was now a sorry-looking missive.
THE OLD BROWN HAND
The hand that pressed my fevered brow
Was withered, wasted, brown, and old;
Its work was almost over now,
As swollen veins and wrinkles told.
No longer brushing back my hair,
It gently rested on my wrist;
Its touch seemed sacred as a prayer
By the sweet breath of angels kissed.
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