s wife
made no objection; she was ready to go wherever John went.

Accordingly they spent their short honeymoon in London, so as to see for
themselves the vessel in which their passage was to be taken. They went
to Mrs. Crosscapel's lodging-house because Zebedee's uncle had always
stayed there when in London. Ten days were to pass before the day of
embarkation arrived. This gave the young couple a welcome holiday, and a
prospect of amusing themselves to their heart's content among the sights
and shows of the great city.

On their first evening in London they went to the theater. They were
both accustomed to the fresh air of the country, and they felt half
stifled by the heat and the gas. However, they were so pleased with an
amusement which was new to them that they went to another theater on
the next evening. On this second occasion, John Zebedee found the heat
unendurable. They left the theater, and got back to their lodgings
toward ten o'clock.

Let the rest be told in the words used by Mrs. Zebedee herself. She
said:

"We sat talking for a little while in our room, and John's headache got
worse and worse. I persuaded him to go to bed, and I put out the candle
(the fire giving sufficient light to undress by), so that he might the
sooner fall asleep. But he was too restless to sleep. He asked me to
read him something. Books always made him drowsy at the best of times.

"I had not myself begun to undress. So I lit the candle again, and I
opened the only book I had. John had noticed it at the railway bookstall
by the name of 'The World of Sleep.' He used to joke with me about
my being a sleepwalker; and he said, 'Here's something that's sure to
interest you'--and he made me a present of the book.

"Before I had read to him for more than half an hour he was fast asleep.
Not feeling that way inclined, I went on reading to myself.

"The book did indeed interest me. There was one terrible story which
took a hold on my mind--the story of a man who stabbed his own wife in
a sleep-walking dream. I thought of putting down my book after that, and
then changed my mind again and went on. The next chapters were not so
interesting; they were full of learned accounts of why we fall asleep,
and what our brains do in that state, and such like. It ended in my
falling asleep, too, in my armchair by the fireside.

"I don't know what o'clock it was when I went to sleep. I don't know how
long I slept, or whether I dreamed or not. T