"So he will, then. And we must work in a rhyme, for certain; but first, I've got a fine thought to put down."
Ned waited, pen in hand; then his father continued to dictate:—
"'What it pleased the great I AM'—capital letters for I AM—'what it pleased the great I AM to give me in shape of a body in eighteen hundred and eighteen, it likewise pleased Him to call home again in eighteen hundred and eighty-nine.' How does that sound?"
"Splendid, father."
"Now there's the rhyme to follow. I want to work in 'breath' and 'death' if it can be done. You ought to be able to do it, seeing all the learning you've had and what it cost."
Ned frowned and puzzled. Then, while Vivian groaned, he had an inspiration, and wrote rapidly.
"How's this, father?" he asked. "It just flashed in my mind." Then he read:—
"Three score years and ten I kept my breath;
So long I felt no fear of Death."
"It goes very well, but I haven't got no more fear of death now than ever I had. You must alter that."
Silence fell again and Ned mended his rhyme.