"Now, Mr. Nixon," he said, cheerfully, "let me move up your chair and we will have dinner."
It was long since the old man had sat down to a regular meal, and it was as much the lack of nourishing food as any other cause that had weakened him.
His faded eyes lighted up, and for the first time in many weeks he felt a craving for food. Gerald took the head of the table.
"Now, Mr. Nixon," he said, "let me help you to some roast beef. Now, here is a boiled potato, and some turnips; and there is bread and butter."
"It is a feast," said the old man, gleefully. "It is long since I tasted roast beef."
"Then you made a mistake in stinting yourself when there was no need of it. Hereafter you must live well."
"So I will—so I will; that is, if you stay with me. But I thought I was going to die soon, and it didn't make any difference."
"You don't want to die till your time comes. Why, you are not so very old."
"I am sixty-six."
"And you may live twenty years yet."