Not once did he look toward Alma, who was regarding them intently. Restlessly she was thinking of similar evenings when Will had held their darling boy, and built all kinds of aircastles for his future career.
George grew animated, as he gazed into the boy's excited face. His strong affection for the child was reciprocated. Harold knew no time in his short life, when Cousin Walter was not a shining light to guide his boyish ambitions.
Finally the recital was over.
"Now boy, to bed; you have to sleep and grow, if you are going to be a soldier!"
Harold threw two little arms around George's neck.
"Yep!! I've got to sleep a whole lot to grow to be a big man. I want to be just like you."
George laughed.
"You must be an improvement on me, Harold. Every generation must strive to be a little better than the last."
Harold looked puzzled. He dropped his hands before him, and twisted his little fingers together in thought.
"What does generation mean?" he asked wonderingly.