X. On Turning into Forty 117

XI. On the Difference between Wit and Humor 128

XII. On Going to a Party 136

XIII. On a Pair of Leather Suspenders 146

XIV. Boots for Runaways 159

XV. On Hanging a Stocking at Christmas 169

* * * * *

The Chimney-Pots.

My windows look across the roofs of the crowded city and my thoughts
often take their suggestion from the life that is manifest at my
neighbors' windows and on these roofs.

Across the way, one story lower than our own, there dwells "with his
subsidiary parents" a little lad who has been ill for several weeks.
After his household is up and dressed I regularly discover him in bed,
with his books and toys piled about him. Sometimes his knees are
raised to form a snowy mountain, and he leads his paper soldiers up
the slope. Sometimes his kitten romps across the coverlet and pounces
on his wriggling toes; and again sleeps on the sunny window-sill. His
book, by his rapt attention, must deal with far-off islands and with
waving cocoanut trees. Lately I have observed that a yellow drink is
brought to him in the afternoon--a delicious blend of eggs and
milk--and by the zest with which he licks the remainder from his lips,
it is a prime favorite of his. In these last few days, however, I have
seen the lad's nose flat and eager on the window, and I know that he
is convalescent.

At another set of windows--now that the days are growing short and
there is need of lights--I see in shadowgraph against the curtains an
occasional domestic drama. Tonight, by the appearance of hurry and
the shifting of garments, I surmise that there is preparation for a
party. Presently, when the upstairs lights have disappeared, I shall
see these folk below, issuing from their door in glossy raiment. My
dear sir and madame, I wish you an agreeable dinner and--if your tooth
resembles mine--ice-cream for dessert.

The window of a kitchen, also, is opposite, and I often look on savory
messes as they ripen on the fire--a stirring with a long iron spoon.
This spoon is of such unusual length that even if one supped with the
devil (surely the fearful adage cannot apply to our quiet street) he
might lift his food in safety from the common pot.

A good many stories lower there is a bit of roof that is set with
wicker furniture an