hispered, but he went on without answering
her.

"Though our country is big, our people are few. Where will he be?"

"I scarce can say. He has gone to look for someone. He's a noble boy,
I can tell you that. And it's something for a father to think of when
his time comes, isn't it? He loves his father, too--that is, he did
love me when he was a little chap. You must know he had no mother.
Only think, I did everything for him, though I was a rough fellow.
Yes, I nursed him and comforted him as any woman might. Ay, and the
little man loved me then, for all he doesn't bear his father's name
now."

Jason glanced up inquiringly, first at Stephen Orry and then
at Greeba. Stephen saw nothing. His eyes were dim, but full of
tenderness, and his deep voice was very gentle, and he rambled on
with many a break and between many a groan, for the power of life was
low in him.

"You see I called him Sunlocks. That was because it was kind and
close-like. He used to ride on my shoulder. We played together then,
having no one else, and I was everything to him and he was all the
world to me. Ah, that was long ago, Sunlocks! Little Sunlocks! My
little Sunlocks! My own little----"

At that point he laughed a little, and then seemed to weep like a
child, though no tears came to his eyes, and the next moment, under
the pain of joyful memories and the flow of blood upon the brain, his
mind began to wander. It was very pitiful to look upon. His eyes were
open, but it was clear that they did not see; his utterance grew
thick and his words were confused and foolish; but his face was lit
up with a surprising joy, and you knew that the years had rolled
back, and the great rude fellow was alone with his boy, and doating
on him. Sometimes he would seem to listen as if for the child's
answer, and then he would laugh as if at its artless prattle. Again
he would seem to sing the little one to sleep, crooning very low a
broken stave that ran a bar and then stopped. Again he would say very
slowly what sounded like the words of some baby prayer, and while he
did so his chin would be twisted into his breast and his arms would
struggle to cross it, as though the child itself were once more back
in his bosom.

At all this Greeba cried behind her hands, unable to look or listen
any longer, and Jason, though he shed no tears, said, in a husky
voice, "He cannot be altogether bad who loved his son so."

The delirium grew stronger, the look of joy and the