vance of the rules laid down by his physician have
enabled Nye to go ahead with his work. This work in itself has been
arduous. If there is anything more vexatious or more wearing than
travelling about the country in all kinds of weather and at the mercy
of railroads, and lecture-bureaus, and hotel-keepers, we do not know
it."

And yet, at the very moment Field wrote this he, a more delicately
organized invalid than "Bill" Nye, had his ticket bought, his
state-room engaged, and his trunk packed to leave for Kansas City,
where he was to give a reading on the evening of Monday, November 4th.
He felt so indisposed on Saturday that he did not leave his bed. That,
however, did not prevent his finishing Chapter XIX of the "Love
Affairs." As it was no unusual thing for him to write, as well as read,
in bed, this occasioned no alarm in the family circle. But that evening
he decided to give up the Kansas City trip, and asked his brother
Roswell to wire the management of the affair to that effect. On Sunday
he was still indisposed, but received numerous visitors. To one of
them, who remarked that it was a perfect November day, Field said:
"Yes, it is a lovely day, but this is the season of the year when
things die, and this fine weather may mean death to a thousand people.
We may hear of many deaths to-morrow."

In the evening he complained of a pain in his head; and as he was
feeling a little feverish, Dr. Hedges, who lived near by, was called
in. He came about half-past ten o'clock; and after taking Field's
temperature, which was only slightly above normal, said it was due to
weakness, and probably resulted from the excitement of seeing so many
visitors. Field joked with the doctor, told him several stories, and
was assured that he was getting on all right. Before leaving, the
doctor said that if it was fine on Monday it would do Field good to get
out and take some exercise. Shortly before midnight a message came from
Kansas City, asking when he would be able to appear there. He dictated
an answer, saying that he would come November 16th. Then wishing
everybody goodnight, he turned over and went to sleep as peacefully as
any little child in one of his stories.

An hour before daylight the sleeper turned in his bed and groaned. His
second son, "Daisy," who always slept with his father, spoke to him,
but got no answer. Then he reached over and touched him; but there was
not the usual response of a word or a caress. In terror-s