One is badly beaten in the race o' life when his abdomen gets ahead of his toes.

Children, keep our young friend happy here until I come back, and mind you, don't forget the good fellow in the green chair." Mary helped her mother with the dishes, while I sat with a book by the fireside.

Soon Mrs.Hacket and the children came and sat down with me.
"Let's play backgammon," Mary proposed.
"I don't want to," said John.
"Don't forget Michael Henry," she reminded.
"Who is Michael Henry ?" I asked.
"Sure, he's the boy that has never been born," said Mrs.Hacket.

"He was to be the biggest and noblest one o' them--kind an' helpful an' cheery hearted an' beloved o' God above all the others.

We try to live up to him." He seemed to me a very strange and wonderful creature--this invisible occupant of the green chair.
I know now what I knew not then that Michael Henry was the spirit of their home--an ideal of which the empty green chair was a constant reminder.
We played backgammon and Old Maid and Everlasting until Mr.Hacket returned.
He sat down and read aloud from the _Letters of an Englishwoman in America_.
"Do you want to know what sleighing is ?" she wrote.