The sun
shone into the window at a pretty well opened angle when the Colonel
first found himself sufficiently awake to address his yet slumbering
spouse.
"Sally!" said the Colonel, in a voice that was a little husky,--for he
had finished off the evening with an extra glass or two of "Madary," and
had a somewhat rusty and headachy sense of renewed existence, on greeting
the rather advanced dawn,--"Sally!"
"Take care o' them custard-cups! There they go!"
Poor Mrs. Sprowle was fighting the party over in her dream; and as the
visionary custard-cups crashed down through one lobe of her brain into
another, she gave a start as if an inch of lightning from a quart Leyden
jar had jumped into one of her knuckles with its sudden and lively poonk!
"Sally!" said the Colonel,--"wake up, wake up. What 'r' y' dreamin'
abaout?"
Mrs. Sprowle raised herself, by a sort of spasm, sur son seant, as they
say in France,--up on end, as we have it in New England. She looked
first to the left, then to the right, then straight before her,
apparently without seeing anything, and at last slowly settled down, with
her two eyes, blank of any particular meaning, directed upon the Colonel.
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