"Are they strong—are they healthy?"
"Yes, thank God. They are all a father's heart could desire."
"Ah! you have scored again. You married the woman we both desired. You have strong children, and I—my boy is not strong."
His face twitched with more than the pain of his gout.
"I am very sorry, sir. I hoped he was strong."
"I didn't ask for your pity, Archibald."
"I can't help being sorry, all the same."
"But you've outwitted me. I married a peasant—almost a peasant—that my heir in your place might be strong. He is—not strong."
Again the bitter spasm crossed his face, and the sight of it wrung Mr. Graydon's kind heart.
"I pray that he may become strong," he said earnestly; "God is good."