My Illness 71 



holding me in his hand, he mixed up 

 some of the food with water and fed it 

 to me. He was so anxious that I 

 should eat that I couldn't refuse him. 

 When he went to write at the desk I 

 did so want to be with him ! I could n't 

 bear to be anywhere else than right in 

 his hand. Here is a little piece I found 

 on the desk one day which tells just 

 how he used to care for me: 



" She is now asleep in my left hand, though 

 it is early afternoon. Crawling in between 

 my fingers, she comfortably arranged her- 

 self, perched on one of my bent fingers, 

 (the others covering her), and then, putting 

 her head under her right wing, she quietly 

 dropped off to sleep. Many nights when I 

 am in the study at her bedtime, she has 

 refused to perch on the branches of the 

 bough. She comes to my feet and pleads to 

 be lifted up. As I put down my hand she 



