Priest.  Orphans!—­Such they were—­235 Yet not while Walter lived:—­for, though their parents Lay buried side by side as now they lie, The old man was a father to the boys, Two fathers in one father:  and if tears, Shed when he talked of them where they were not, 240 And hauntings from the infirmity of love, Are aught of what makes up a mother’s heart, This old Man, in the day of his old age, Was half a mother to them.—­If you weep, Sir, To hear a stranger talking about strangers, 245 Heaven bless you when you are among your kindred!  Ay—­you may turn that way—­it is a grave Which will bear looking at.

  Leonard.  These boys—­I hope
  They loved this good old Man?—­250

Priest.  They did—­and truly:  But that was what we almost overlooked, They were such darlings of each other.  Yes, Though from the cradle they had lived with Walter, The only kinsman near them, and though he 255 Inclined to both by reason of his age, With a more fond, familiar, tenderness; They, notwithstanding, had much love to spare, [28] And it all went into each other’s hearts.  Leonard, the elder by just eighteen months, 260 Was two years taller:  ’twas a joy to see, To hear, to meet them!—­From their house the school Is [29] distant three short miles, and in the time Of storm and thaw, when every water-course And unbridged stream, such as you may have noticed 265 Crossing our roads at every hundred steps, Was swoln into a noisy rivulet Would Leonard then, when elder boys remained At home, go staggering through the slippery fords, [30] Bearing his brother on his back.  I have [31] seen him, 270 On windy days, in one of those stray brooks, Ay, more than once I have [31] seen him, mid-leg deep, Their two books lying both on a dry stone, Upon the hither side:  and once I said, As I remember, looking round these rocks 275 And hills on which we all of us were born, That God who made the great book of the world Would bless such piety—­

  Leonard.  It may be then—­

Priest.  Never did worthier lads break English bread; 280 The very brightest Sunday Autumn saw [32] With all its mealy clusters of ripe nuts, Could never keep those [33] boys away from church, Or tempt them to an hour of sabbath breach.  Leonard and James!  I warrant, every corner 285 Among these rocks, and every hollow place That venturous foot could reach, to one or both [34] Was known as well as to the flowers that grow there.  Like roe-bucks they went bounding o’er the hills; They played like two young ravens on the crags:  290 Then they could write, ay and speak too, as well As many of their betters—­and for Leonard!  The very night before he went away, In my own house I put into his hand A bible, and I’d wager house and field 295 That, if he be alive, he has it yet. [35]

  Leonard.  It seems, these Brothers have not lived to be
  A comfort to each other—­