“I will tell you the story to-night, my child, if you wish to hear it.”
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE SQUIRE’S STORY.
“SO you want to know the story of that summer fifteen years ago, do you? I, I have never spoken of that time to any living creature since, but, as you are to be my little son, perhaps you ought to know the story of those who went before you.”
The Squire spoke in slow, measured tones. He looked straight before him into the fire, and his voice had a dreamy, far-away sound, as the voice of one who is lost in the depths of his own thoughts and memories.
Bertie, sitting upon the Squire’s knee, drew the encircling arm more closely about him, and rested his head against the kindly shoulder that gave it such comfortable support.
“I like to know everything about you,” he said, softly, “and about all of them. I know a great deal, but not quite all. I want to know why you wrote ‘Thy will be done.’”
The subtle sympathy that existed between the man and the child made Bertie’s thought clear to the Squire. He understood the child’s meaning, and saw that he had himself been understood.
“You want to know how I learned my lesson, Bertie? Very well, you shall hear.”