“Now that it is time to go from you, I hate to leave you and the boys.”
“But you must go,” I said, “your wife and child have the first claim.”
“Josephine wanted me to ask you for two or three rugs that the boys weave. We want them for our new home.”
“You may have them.”
And I took him by the hand, “Good-by, Sullivan.”
“Not Sullivan anymore, but McLean,” he replied.
As he turned away he said half regretfully, “It is the Passing of Sullivan.”
“I wonder if Richelieu, after all, lost his Friar Philip?” I asked myself as I waved my hand in farewell to him.
