can't speak of him yet? Poor
Geraldine!"

He controlled himself, and turned to the picture, leaning on his
crutch. I stood by him and gazed too, and I do not think, to save my
life, I could have helped asking--

"Who is he?"

"Your uncle. Our only brother. Oh, Bayard, Bayard!"

"Is he dead?"

He nodded, speechless; but somehow I could not forbear.

"What did he die of?"

"Of unselfishness. He died--for others."

"Then he _was_ a hero? That's what he looks like. I am glad he is my
godfather. Dear Uncle Pat, do tell me all about it."

"Not now--hereafter. Nephew, any man--with the heart of man and not
of a mouse--is more likely than not to behave well at a pinch; but no
man who is habitually selfish can be _sure_ that he will, when the
choice comes sharp between his own life and the lives of others. The
impulse of a supreme moment only focusses the habits and customs of a
man's soul. The supreme moment may never come, but habits and customs
mould us from the cradle to the grave. His were early disciplined by
our dear mother, and he bettered her teaching. Strong for the weak,
wise for the foolish--tender for the hard--gracious for the
surly--good for the evil. Oh, my brother, without fear and without
reproach! Speak across the grave, and tell your sister's son that vice
and cowardice become alike impossible to a man who has never--cradled
in selfishness, and made callous by custom--learned to pamper himself
at the expense of others!"

I waited a little before I asked--

"Were you with him when he died?"

"I was."

"Poor Uncle Patrick! What _did_ you do?"

He pegged away to the sofa, and threw himself on it.

"Played the fool. Broke an arm and a thigh, and damaged my spine,
and--_lived_. Here rest the mortal remains."

And for the next ten minutes, he mocked himself, as he only can.

* * * * *

One does not like to be outdone by an uncle, even by such an uncle;
but it is not very easy to learn to live like Godfather Bayard.

Sometimes I wish my grandmother had not brought up her sons to such a
very high pitch, and sometimes I wish my mother had let that unlucky
name become extinct in the family, or that I might adopt my nickname.
One could live up to _Backyard_ easily enough. It seems to suit being
grumpy and tyrannical, and seeing no further than one's own nose, so
well.

But I do try to learn unselfishness; though I sometimes think it would
be quite as easy for th