!" they would cry. "What is to become of him? Your dreams!
Your great dreams! Deemster! Ballawhaine! God knows what! You are
leaving the boy; who is to bring him up? His mother? Think of it!"

At last a ray of pale sunshine broke on the sleepless wrestler with the
night, and he became almost happy. "I'll speak to the boy," he thought.
"I will tell him my own history, concealing nothing. Yes, I will tell
him of my own father also, God rest him, the stern old man--severe, yet
just."

An opportunity soon befell. It was late at night--very late. The woman
was sleeping off a bout of intemperance somewhere below; and the boy,
with the innocence and ignorance of his years in all that the solemn
time foreboded, was bustling about the room with mighty eagerness,
because he knew that he ought to be in bed.

"I'm staying up to intend on you, father," said the boy.

The father answered with a sigh.

"Don't you asturb yourself, father. I'll intend on you."

The father's sigh deepened to a moan.

"If you want anything 'aticular, just call me; d'ye see, father?"

And away went the boy like a gleam of light. Presently he came back,
leaping like the dawn. He was carrying, insecurely, a jug of poppy-head
and camomile, which had been prescribed as a lotion.

"Poppy heads, father! Poppy-heads is good, I can tell ye."

"Why arn't you in bed, child?" said the father. "You must be tired."

"No, I'm not tired, father. I was just feeling a bit of tired, and then
I took a smell of poppy-heads and away went the tiredness to Jericho.
They _is_ good."

The little white head was glinting off again when the father called it
back.

"Come here, my boy." The child went up to the bedside, and the father
ran his fingers lovingly through the long fair hair.

"Do you think, Philip, that twenty, thirty, forty years hence, when you
are a man--aye, a big man, little one--do you think you will remember
what I shall say to you now?"

"Why, yes, father, if it's anything 'aticular, and if it isn't you can
amind me of it, can't you, father?"

The father shook his head. "I shall not be here then, my boy. I am going
away----"

"Going away, father? May I come too?"

"Ah! I wish you could, little one. Yes, truly I almost wish you could."

"Then you'll let me go with you, father! Oh, I _am_ glad, father." And
the boy began to caper and dance, to go down on all fours, and leap
about the floor like a frog.

The father fell back on his pillow with