"I do love you," said Jackanapes. "Before you came I was frightened. I'd no notion you were so nice."
"Love me always, boy, whatever I do or leave undone. And—God help me—whatever you do or leave undone, I'll love you! There shall never be a cloud between us for a day; no, sir, not for an hour. We're imperfect enough, all of us, we needn't be so bitter; and life is uncertain enough at its safest, we needn't waste its opportunities. Look at me! Here sit I, after a dozen battles and some of the worst climates in the world, and by yonder lych gate lies your mother, who didn't move five miles, I suppose, from your aunt's apron-strings,—dead in her teens; my golden-haired daughter, whom I never saw."
Jackanapes was terribly troubled.
"Don't cry, grandfather," he pleaded, his own blue eyes round with tears. "I will love you very much, and I will try to be very good. But I should like to be a soldier."
"You shall, my boy, you shall. You've more claims for a commission than you know of. Cavalry, I suppose; eh, ye young Jackanapes? Well, well; if you live to be an honor to your country, this old-heart shall grow young again with pride for you; and if you die in the service of your country—God bless me, it can but break for ye!"
And beating the region which he said was all waistcoats, as if they stifled him, the old man got up and strode out on to the Green.
CHAPTER IV.
"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."—John xv. 13.