Bobby knitted his brows, then turned questioner.
'Did you fink I would be like what I am, father?'
His tone was anxious. He added hurriedly:
'I'm not a baby now, I can walk miles and miles, and I'm going to dress myself all alone to-morrow.'
'That's right. I want my son to be plucky and independent and honourable. If you're that sort I shall be quite satisfied. What do you say, Helen?'
Mrs. Allonby looked at Bobby rather tenderly.
'I don't think he needs to be very independent yet,' she said.
'What does it mean?' asked Bobby. 'And what does honourable mean? It's plucky when you hurt yourself and don't cry, isn't it?'
'Independent is doing things for yourself and standing alone. Honourable is everything a gentleman ought to be—truthful, honest, and straight, with right thoughts about everything. I think you're plucky. You're not afraid of anything, I hope.'
Bobby did not answer for a minute. He had heard enough to fill his small brain with fresh thought.