He hated to be brought up short, as it were, and forced to see the
serious, the solemn, the awe inspiring in life. He wanted to live
in the present; he did not want to be forced to face the inevitable
future.

"Tom," said his father's voice, in weak but distinct accents, "you
have come, and it is well. I have things to say to you which may
not longer be delayed. Take that chair beside me. I would see your
face once again."

Tom would far rather have lingered in the shadows of the
background; but his mother had risen and motioned him to take her
place. He sat down rather awkwardly; and mother and daughter,
without leaving the room, retired to the background, and sat
together upon a distant settle, holding each other by the hand.

"Tom," said the dying man, "I have sent for you because there are
things which I would rather you should hear from my lips than learn
from others after my death."

"Oh, you will not die yet, father; you will be better soon," said
Tom uneasily, letting his glance wander restlessly round the room
to avoid the searching gaze of those luminous eyes.

"Life and death are in God's hands, boy; and I think my summons has
come. Tom, have you been counting upon being master here when I am
gone?"

"I don't know that I ever thought much about it," answered Tom,
rather taken aback; "but I suppose I come after you."