Tom never troubled himself about these things.  He cared little how his father scraped and saved, if he had but money in his pockets sufficient for the needs of the day.  Extravagance in money was less Tom’s foible than recklessness in his exploits, and a daring disregard of authority.  No doubt he would have made away with money had he possessed it; but as everybody knew that he did not possess a long purse, and that the Squire would not be likely to pay his son’s debts of honour, he was saved from the temptation of plunging deeply into debt.  People did not care to trust him too far.

So, as he climbed the shallow stairs three at once, he told himself that his father had no need to speak severely to him.  He had only been as other young men, and had not got into serious debt or trouble.  Tom had almost persuaded himself, in fact, that he had been on the whole a very estimable sort of youth, and he entered the sick room with something of a swaggering air, as much as to say that he had no cause for shame.

But at the sight which greeted his eyes, as they met those of the sick man, a sobering change came over him.  He had seen death sometimes, and the sight of it had always painfully affected him.  He hated to be brought up short, as it were, and forced to see the serious, the solemn, the awe inspiring in life.  He wanted to live in the present; he did not want to be forced to face the inevitable future.

“Tom,” said his father’s voice, in weak but distinct accents, “you have come, and it is well.  I have things to say to you which may not longer be delayed.  Take that chair beside me.  I would see your face once again.”

Tom would far rather have lingered in the shadows of the background; but his mother had risen and motioned him to take her place.  He sat down rather awkwardly; and mother and daughter, without leaving the room, retired to the background, and sat together upon a distant settle, holding each other by the hand.

“Tom,” said the dying man, “I have sent for you because there are things which I would rather you should hear from my lips than learn from others after my death.”

“Oh, you will not die yet, father; you will be better soon,” said Tom uneasily, letting his glance wander restlessly round the room to avoid the searching gaze of those luminous eyes.

“Life and death are in God’s hands, boy; and I think my summons has come.  Tom, have you been counting upon being master here when I am gone?”

“I don’t know that I ever thought much about it,” answered Tom, rather taken aback; “but I suppose I come after you.”