had said to him about his getting on in life pretty much what I had said
to the Major I broke to him how that we must have this same parting, and
there I was forced to stop for there I saw of a sudden the
well-remembered lip with its tremble, and it so brought back that time!
But with the spirit that was in him he controlled it soon and he says
gravely nodding through his tears, "I understand Gran--I know it _must_
be, Gran--go on Gran, don't be afraid of _me_." And when I had said all
that ever I could think of, he turned his bright steady face to mine and
he says just a little broken here and there "You shall see Gran that I
can be a man and that I can do anything that is grateful and loving to
you--and if I don't grow up to be what you would like to have me--I hope
it will be--because I shall die." And with that he sat down by me and I
went on to tell him of the school of which I had excellent
recommendations and where it was and how many scholars and what games
they played as I had heard and what length of holidays, to all of which
he listened bright and clear. And so it came that at last he says "And
now dear Gran let me kneel down here where I have been used to say my
prayers and let me fold my face for just a minute in your gown and let me
cry, for you have been more than father--more than mother--more than
brothers sisters friends--to me!" And so he did cry and I too and we
were both much the better for it.

From that time forth he was true to his word and ever blithe and ready,
and even when me and the Major took him down into Lincolnshire he was far
the gayest of the party though for sure and certain he might easily have
been that, but he really was and put life into us only when it came to
the last Good-bye, he says with a wistful look, "You wouldn't have me not
really sorry would you Gran?" and when I says "No dear, Lord forbid!" he
says "I am glad of that!" and ran in out of sight.