“They say Maynewth's a tryin' place, too,” he continued, “an' I'd be sorry to see him pulled down to anatomy, like some of the scarecrows that come qut of it. I hope you'll bear it betther.”
“Do you speak to me?” said Denis, awaking out of a reverie.
“I do, sir,” replied the father; and as he uttered the words the son perceived that his eyes were fixed upon him with an expression of affectionate sorrow and pride.
The youth was then in a serious mood, free from all the dominion of that learned mania under which he had so frequently signalized himself: the sorrow of his father, and a consciousness of the deep affection and unceasing kindness which he had ever experienced from him, joined to a recollection of their former friendly disputes and companionship, touched Denny to the quick. But the humility with which he applied to him the epithet sir, touched him most. What! thought he—ought my affectionate father to be thrown to such a distance from a son, who owes everything to his love and goodness! The thought of his stooping so humbly before him smote the boy's heart, and the tears glistened in his eyes.
“Father,” said he, “you have been kind and good to me, beyond my deserts; surely then I cannot bear to hear you address me in that manner, as if we were both strangers. Nor while I am with you, shall any of you so address me. Remember that I am still your son and their brother.”
The natural affection displayed in this speech soon melted the whole family into tears—not excepting Denis himself, who felt that grief which we experience when about to be separated for the first time from those we love.
“Come over, avourneen,” said his mother, drying her eyes with the corner of her check apron: “come over, acushla machree, an' sit beside me: sure although we're sorry for you, Denis, it's proud our hearts are of you, an' good right we have, a sullish! Come over, an let me be near you as long as I can, any way.”
Denis placed himself beside her, and the proud mother drew his head over upon her bosom, and bedewed his face with a gush of tears.
“They say,” she observed, “that it's sinful to shed tears when there's no occasion for grief; but I hope it's no sin to cry when one's heart is full of somethin' that brings them to one's eyes, whether they will or not.”
“Mave,” said the father, “I'll miss him more nor any of you: but sure he'll often send letters to us from Maynewth, to tell us now he's gettin' on; an' we'll be proud enough, never fear.”