She looked up, smiling.
"No, it's Larry's wreath."
"Larry! Ay, poor Larry! A good lad—but he can eat for two and only work for one. 'Tis the way of men nowadays!"
Another pause ensued, and the western gold of the sky began to fade into misty grey.
"Dad," said the girl then, in a low tone—"Do tell me—what did the
London doctor say?"
He lifted his head quickly, and his old eyes for a moment flashed as though suddenly illumined by a flame from within.
"Say! What should he say, lass, but that I am old and must expect to die? It's natural enough—only I haven't thought about it. It's just that—I haven't thought about it!"
"Why should you think about it?" she asked, with quick tenderness—"You will not die yet—not for many years. You are not so very old. And you are strong."
He patted her head again.
"Poor little wilding!" he said—"If you had your way I should live for ever, no doubt! But an' you were wise with modern wisdom, you would say I had already lived too long!"