"There's nothing so cold as the chill of your own flesh," he said. "A child's a fearful thing, Adam, if it turns against a parent, especially when you've kept your share of the bargain, as I have."
"No doubt there is a bargain," admitted Winter. "I speak as a childless man and my word's of no account; but you've been quick to see what you owed your own, and I hope they do the like. If they don't, so far, that's only to say they're young yet. They will get more thoughtful with years."
"Yes, thoughtful for themselves. Young and green they are, yet not too young to do man and woman's work, not too young to know the value of money. Something's left out of them, and that is the natural feeling there should be for their father. Hard, hard and ownself they are."
"Your eldest is born to command, and that sort play for their own hand by reason of the force that's in 'em. Time will mellow John Henry's heart, and experience of men will show him the manner of man his father is."
Jacob grew calmer.
"He loved his mother more than he loved anything, and it may be out of reason to ask them, who loved her, to spare much regard for me. That I grant and have always granted. Yet I've striven to show him now, with all my awful faults, I'm a good father."
"He can't fail to know it."
"John Henry comes of age in a minute and I've made over Bullstone Farm to him. A great position for one so young—eh, Winter?"
"A wondrous fine thing, and what makes it finer is that he's a born farmer and will be worthy of it."
"Kingwell's lease is up ere long, and then my son will reign and be the head of the family in the eye of the nation."