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
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