of acknowledging to myself that there were drawbacks to life as I had planned it at “Sans Souci.” For one thing, the leisure which I had contemplated as likely to prove its chief advantage was not only less ample than I had pictured it but was daily more curtailed. And, as Miss Berrith had said, it was the little things which were responsible.
“Yes,” I agreed, as she turned to me again, “it is the little things which count —the grains of sand which make the mighty land where the mighty least expected to. To the making of a house there is no end. Somebody seems to have been dropping stitches all along, and I am constantly forced to go labouriously back and pick them up.”
“Can’t Galvin attend to the little details?” asked Miss Berrith.
“Galvin,” said I, “is a very competent first mate, but you must know that there are occasions when it is imperative that the captain should be on deck. Galvin, for example,
