now, and was quite over and gone, so that I could smile at his fun,
and shake at him my "bewitching" black locks, calling him a foolish
boy. And while I said it, the notion slowly dawning during the long
gaze he had complained of, forced itself upon me, clear as daylight,
that he was not a "boy" any longer.

"Now let me turn the tables. How old are YOU, John?"

"You know. Eighteen next week."

"And how tall?"

"Five feet eleven inches and a half." And, rising, he exhibited to
its full advantage that very creditable altitude, more tall perhaps
than graceful, at present; since, like most youths, he did not as yet
quite know what to do with his legs and arms. But he was--

I cannot describe what he was. I could not then. I only remember
that when I looked at him, and began jocularly "Imprimis," my heart
came up into my throat and choked me.

It was almost with sadness that I said, "Ah! David, you are quite a
young man now."

He smiled, of course only with pleasure, looking forward to the new
world into which he was going forth; the world into which, as I knew
well, I could never follow him.

"I am glad I look rather old for my years," said he, when, after a
pause, he had again flung himself down on the grass. "It tells well