“Squeamish young donkey!” said the hard-griping old man of the world, when he received his son’s letter. “Bad as his weak, sensitive mother. Know better some day. If I had been so particular, Dunroe would not be mine to leave.”
Chapter Thirty Three.
A sad Parting.
“So you’re off to-morrow, Max?” said Kenneth sadly.
“Yes. How beautiful everything looks, now I am going away!”
“Yes,” said Kenneth, with a quaint glance first at the distant islands rising all lilac and gold from the sapphire sea; “how beautiful everything looks, now I am going away!”
“Oh, Ken!”
“And oh, Max! There, don’t turn like that, old chap. It’s the fortune of war, as they say. Good luck to you. I feel now as if I’d rather you had Dunroe than anybody else. I say, let’s call Scoody, and get out the boat, and have one last sail together.”