Anne Fielding's two sons grasped one another's hands, and holding
hands turned away their heads and tried to hide their eyes.

They are stronger than bond, deed or indenture, these fleshly compacts
written by moist eyes, stamped by the grip of eloquent hands, in those
moments full of soul when men's hearts beat from their bosoms to their
fingers' ends.

Isaac Levi came to the brothers, and said to William, "Yes, I will
now," and then he went slowly and thoughtfully away to his own house.

"And now," faltered George, "I feel strong enough to go, and I'll go."

He looked round at all the familiar objects he was leaving, as if to
bid them farewell; and last, while every eye watched his movements, he
walked slowly up to his grandfather's chair.

"Grandfather," said he, "I am going a long journey, and mayhap shall
never see you again; speak a word to me before I go."

The impassive old man took no notice, so Susan came to him.
"Grandfather, speak to George; poor George is going into a far
country."

When she had repeated this in his ear their grandfather looked up for
a moment. "George, fetch me some snuff from where you're going."

A spasm crossed George's face; he was not to have a word of good omen
from the aged man.