“Uncle, dear, don’t reproach yourself,” cried the girl, kissing the withered forehead, as the old man’s voice broke into a whimper, and his hands trembled. “It was all a mistake.”
“No, Gertie, my dear; I was a hard, bitter, passionate man, and made no allowances for him. He would not stick to business, and he would marry one woman when I wanted him to marry another, and I told him he’d be a beggar all his life, and we quarrelled. Yes, he defied me, Gertie, when I told him he would come cringing upon his knees for money, and he said he would sooner starve. Only like yesterday,” continued the old man after a pause, “and I never saw him but once more, he came to say good-bye, with his wife, before they sailed for what he called the Golden West, and we quarrelled again because he disobeyed me and would not stay. I was ready to forgive him, Gertie, if he would have stayed and taken to business, but he wouldn’t stop with the arbitrary old tyrant, and they went and took their boy.”
The old man lay silent for some minutes, raising the girl’s soft little hand to his lips from time to time. Then he startled her by bursting into a long low laugh.
“Uncle, dear!”
“Eh? Only laughing at him, my pet—that boy George. Such a determined little tyrant. Did what he liked with the old man. Wasn’t afraid of me a bit. A little curly-headed rascal, and as sturdy as could be. Such eyes. Gertie; looked through you. ‘I don’t like you, grandpa,’ he said. ‘You make my mamma cry.’ Bless him! that he did. Ha, ha, ha! I saw him when he was washed—a little, chubby, pink cupid of a fellow, splashing in his tub; and there, on his little white breast, was a blue heart with an arrow stuck in it. His father’s doing after he came back from the West—he went out first, leaving his wife. And I asked the little chap about it. ‘Did it hurt much, my man?’ I said. ‘Yeees,’ he said. ‘And did you cry, George?’ I said. ‘Pa said I was to be a man and not cry,’ said the little fellow sturdily, ‘but I did a little, and to did my mamma.’ ‘Have you no feeling for your child?’ I said to his father. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but I want to teach him how to bear pain. It will come easier to him, father; for he will have to bear it as I have had in my time.’ Yes, Gertie, I recollect it all. That’s twenty-five years ago, and I’ve never seen George since. But perhaps I shall now, for he’s coming back, Gertie.”
“Yes, uncle.”
“Fetch me the second drawer; the keys have worked right behind.”
She thrust her hand beneath the pillow, and drew out a bunch of very bright-worn keys, before crossing the room to a tall, black oak cabinet in the corner near the bed’s head. Unlocking the glass door, she unlocked also and took out a small shallow drawer which, evidently according to custom, she placed across the old man’s knees, afterwards assisting him to rise, and propping him with pillows, so that he could examine the contents.
“There,” he said eagerly, as he took a handsome gold watch from its case, the chain and seal pendant being curiously formed of natural nuggets of gold.
The watch was of American make, and looked as new as if it had only just left the maker’s hands.