Ger. That's saying much, William. A son couldn't say more—no, nor a father either.
Col. G. Oh! yes, he could, sir.
Ger. And mean it?
Col. G. Yes.
Ger. If I had a father, William, I would tell him all about it. I was but two years old when he left me.
Col. G. Then you don't remember him, sir?
Ger. I often dream about him, and then I seem to remember him.
Col. G. What is he like, sir?—in your dreams, I mean.
Ger. I never see him distinctly: I try hard sometimes, but it's no use. If he would but come home! I feel as if I could bear anything then.—But I'm talking like a girl!
Col. G. Where is your father, sir?