The family doctor knew all about St. Peter. It was summer, moreover, and he had plenty of time. He devoted several mornings to the Professor and made tests of the most searching kind. In the end he of course told St. Peter there was nothing the matter with him.

“What made you come to me, any discomfort or pain?”

“None. I simply feel tired all the time.”

Dr. Dudley shrugged. “So do I! Sleep well?”

“Almost too much.”

“Eat well?”

“In every sense of the word, well. I am my own chef.”

“Always a gourmet, and never anything wrong with your digestive tract! I wish you’d ask me to dine with you some night. Any of that sherry left?”

“A little. I use it plentifully.”

“I’ll bet you do! But why did you think there was something wrong with you? Low in your mind?”

“No, merely low in energy. Enjoy doing nothing. I came to you from a sense of duty.”

“How about travel?”

“I shrink from the thought of it. As I tell you, I enjoy doing nothing.”

“Then do it! There’s nothing the matter with you. Follow your inclination.”

St. Peter went home well satisfied. He did not mention to Dr. Dudley the real reason for his asking for a medical examination. One doesn’t mention such things. The feeling that he was near the conclusion of his life was an instinctive conviction, such as we have when we waken in the dark and know at once that it is near morning; or when we are walking across the country and suddenly know that we are near the sea.

Letters came every week from France. Lillian and Louie alternated, so that one or the other got off a letter to him............