“How did that window come to be open?” he would say in the morning, being a poor dissembler.

“Window? Why, it’s just the way it was when we went to bed.” And she would stoop to pick up the pillow that lay on the floor.

There was little or no talk of death between this comfortable, active, sound-appearing man of almost seventy and this plump capable woman of sixty-six. But as always, between husband and wife, it was understood wordlessly (and without reason) that old man Minick would go first. Not that either of them had the slightest intention of going. In fact, when it happened they were planning to spend the winter in California and perhaps live there indefinitely if they liked it and didn’t get too lonesome for George and Nettie, and the