They replied that he was not there, but about a parasang off.

Mr. Parasang was carried off by a slight attack of pneumonia as dust is wiped away by a cloth, and Mrs. Parasang followed him within three days.

Mr. Parasang was carried off by a slight attack of pneumonia as dust is wiped away by a cloth, and Mrs. Parasang followed him within three days.

When Mr. Parasang died, the first instinct of his wife was to tell them to send for me, and when I reached their homefor I was absent from the cityI found that she had clung to and followed him as usual, as he liked it to be.

They had ordered a fine coffin for Parasang, and when I came he was lying in it.

Mrs. Parasang was lying where she had died, in bed.

(Of course, when I refer to the bodies as Mr. and Mrs. Parasang it must be understood that I consider only the earthly tenements, for I am a religious man.)

Mr. Parasang and I were cronies.

Mrs. Parasang was seventy-five.

I knew Mr. Parasang before the wedding, and it was because of my close intimacy with him that I came to know the relations between the two and the story of it.

The attack of pneumonia which came upon Parasang was not, the doctors told me, vicious enough to overthrow an ordinary man.

I think Parasang's time for liquidation had come.

As for Mrs. Parasang, I think she could have stayed a little longer if she had cared to do so, but she went away because he had gone.

Mr. Parasang's wife died about the same time.

I could not always tell what Parasang meant when he said things.

Parasang had drifted here, and was a reasonably well-to-do man.

Parasang was a large man, but Mrs. Bloodthat was now his old sweetheart's namewas a small woman.

Parasang was doubtless himself a striking person when he was young.

Both the man and woman had retained the personal regard for themselves which is so pleasant in old people, and Mrs. Blood was still as dainty as could be, in her trim gowns, generally of some fluffy black or silvery gray material, and Parasang was as strong and wholesome looking as an ox.

Parasang once told me about this second wooing of his wifeand it was droll.

And the love of Mr. and Mrs. Parasang has always reminded me of the mummy wheat.

I met them sometimes then and guessed at it, though as yet Parasang had not told me the story.

There was good stuff in Parasang.

It was six months later when I got the habit of dining with them pretty regularly and of calling for Parasang on my way down town in the morning.

Well,to be Xenophontic,from the Race-Course that evening we marched one stadium, one parasang, to a cedar-grove up the road.