At last, one day, as they all sat together at dinner, not a single member of the family could touch a thing--then Mr.
Meyer could stand it no longer.
"What's the matter with you all ?" he cried.

"Why don't you eat?
What's the meaning of all this blubbering ?" The girls raised their handkerchiefs to their eyes, and blubbered more than ever; but his wife, loudly sobbing, replied-- "My daughter is dying!" "Naturally!" replied her husband, thrusting such a large spoonful of pudding into his mouth that he nearly choked.

"'Tis easy to say that, but it is not so easy to die!" "It would be better for the poor thing if she did die; she would not suffer so much then, at any rate." "Then, why don't you send for the doctor ?" "Her sickness is not to be cured by any doctor." "Hum!" said Mr.Meyer, beginning to pick his teeth.
His wife waited for a little while, and thus continued in a tearful voice-- "She is always thinking of you.

All she wants is to see her father.

She says if she could kiss his hand but once, she would die of joy." At these words the whole family in chorus sent up a piping wail like an organ.