His father bent down, and took Harry’s hand in his. “Wouldn’t you like to stay at home and help your papa, when he grows old, to farm, and take your poor old mother to church every Sunday on your arm?”
“If you wished it very much, papa; but you see, papa—”
The boy ceased speaking, and gazed into the fire for fully a minute.
Then up he jumped and clapped his hands.
“Ha?” he laughed, “I have it, dear papa. I have it. I’ll do both.”
“Both what?”
“Why, I’ll go to sea first, and visit all kinds of strange places and strange countries, and kill, oh! such lots of lions and tigers and savages; and then, papa, come back and help you to farm, and take my mamma to church. Isn’t it fun?”
His father laughed, and took up his pipe. Shouldn’t wonder, he thought to himself, but there may be some little truth in that old saying: “The child is the father of the man.”