The tears sprang to Dexie’s eyes at once.  Why could not her mother let him believe for one half-minute that he was not “lying there on his back” with no need of fashionable attire?  It made Dexie’s heart ache to see the changed expression come over her father’s face at the thoughtless words, and she turned from the room to hide her tears.

But Dexie had many little devices to amuse her father, who was quick to catch the passing moods of those around him.  One little diversion in particular always brought a spice of frolic with it, while it caused Mrs. Sherwood to frown in displeasure.  Dexie would set her father’s table before him, but bring in his food covered over, and he must guess at the contents of the dishes by sundry whiffs which she would allow him from the corner of the raised napkin, and his many absurd guesses, in response to her efforts, often caused much merriment between them.  He always found some little surprise on the table, if nothing more than a new cup to drink his tea from, or a pretty device on the little pat of butter; there was sure to be something to make remarks about.  But this “foolishness,” as Mrs. Sherwood called it, was kept up, and the harmless sport did much to induce the sick man to eat, and thus kept up his strength.  Dexie was glad to find that her mother had left the room when she returned with a covered tray.  Setting it on one side, she raised her father and settled his pillows, placed the invalid’s table across the couch, set the tray thereon, then whipped off the napkin that covered the dishes.

“Now, papa, what do you think of that for a cup and saucer?”

“Is that a cup and saucer, Dexie?  Well, you might call it anything else and not be far astray, I fancy.  I’ll have to ask, like the little nigger in ‘Dred,’ ‘Which be de handle, and which am de spout?’” and he looked at the cup with interest.

“Why, that is the beauty of it.  You can’t make a mistake!  If you take it this way, why, this is the handle and that the spout.  If you prefer it end for end, why—­there, you have it!  I saw it down in the store, and thought it would be just the thing to drink out of.  Try and see how nice it is.  Not a drop spills out, you see, even when you are lying down.  When you get tired of it as a cup, then I’ll call it a fancy vase, and set it on the mantel for flowers.  Handy thing, isn’t it? useful or ornamental, just as you like.”

Her father set the cup on the table and laughed pleasantly.

“Now, papa,” she added, “you will need your Yankee guessing cap to-night, for I have something very nice.  What is it?” holding up a dish.

“Well, sure enough, what can it be?  It smells like chicken, but there is also a suggestion of oysters.  There!—­I give it up, Dexie.”