"'I should like to die,' said Willie,
If my papa could die, too;
But he says he isn't ready,
'Cause he has so much to do!"

This Willie had once seemed sweet and noble to him, but the words now made
him avid of new life by reminding him that his own dear father would soon
come to be with him one week, as he had promised when last they parted,
and as a letter written with magnificent flourishes now announced.

Late in August this perfect father came--a fine laughing, rollicking, big
gentleman, with a great, loud voice, and beautiful long curls that touched
his velvet coat-collar. His sweeping golden moustache, wide-brimmed white
hat, the choice rings on his fingers, his magnificently ponderous gold
watch-chain and a watch of the finest silver, all proclaimed him a being
of such flawless elegance both in person and attire that the little boy
never grew tired of showing him to the village people and to Clytie. He
did not stay at the big house, for some reason, but at the Eagle Hotel,
whence he came to see his boys each day, or met them hurrying to see him.
And for a further reason which the little boys did not understand, their
grandfather continued to be too busy to see this perfect father once
during the week he stayed in the village.

Deeming it a pity that two such choice spirits should not be brought
together, the little boy urged his father to bring his fiddle to the big
house and play and sing some of his fine songs, so that his grandfather
could have a chance to hear some good music. He knew well enough that if
the old man once heard this music he would have to give in and enjoy it,
even if he was too busy to come down. And if only his father would tune up
the fiddle and sing that very, very good song about,