“Never mind that, my friend; I did my duty, and that was all; and so did every man in the British army, or I wouldn’t be here to say so.  Pass the subject.”

Sam and Dunphy, at all events, spent a pleasant evening; at least, beyond question, Sam did.  As for Dunphy, he seemed occasionally relieved by hearing Sam’s warm and affectionate allusions to his son; and, on the other hand, he appeared, from time to time, to fall into a mood that indicated a state of feeling between gloom and reflection.

“It’s extraordinary, Mr. Roberts,” he observed, after awakening from one of these reveries; “it looks as if Providence was in it.”

“God Almighty’s in it, sir,—­didn’t I say so? and under him, Sam Roberts.  Sir, I observed that boy closely from the beginning.  He reminded me, and you too, Beck, didn’t he, of him that—­that—­we lost”—­here he paused a moment, and placed his hand upon his heart, as if to feel for something there that awoke touching and melancholy remembrances; whilst his wife, on the other hand, unpinned the locket, and having kissed it, quietly let fall a few tears; after which she restored it to its former position.  Sam cleared his voice a little, and then proceeded: 

“Yes; I could never look at the one without thinking of the other; but ’twas all the heart of man.  In a week’s time he could fish as well as myself, and in a short time began to teach me.  ’Gad! he used to take the rod out of my hand with so much kindness, so gently and respectfully—­for, I mark me, Dunphy, he respected me from the beginning—­didn’t lie, Beck?”

“He did, indeed, Sam.”

“Thank you, Beck; you’re a good creature.  So gently and respectfully, as I was saying, and showed me in his sweet words, and with his smiling eyes—­yes, and his hair, too, was the very color of his brother’s—­I was afraid I might forget that.  Well—­yes, with such smiling eyes that it was impossible not to love him—­I couldn’t but love him—­but, sure, it was only natural—­all the heart of man, Dunphy.  ‘Ned,’ said I to him one day, ‘would you like to become a soldier—­a soldier, Ned?’” And as the old man repeated the word “soldier” his voice became full and impressive, his eyes sparkled with pride, and his very form seemed to dilate at the exulting reminiscences and heroic associations connected with it.

“Above all things in this life,” replied the boy; “but you know I’m too young.”

“‘Never mind, my boy,’ said I, ’that’s a fault that every day will mend; you’ll never grow less;’ so I consulted with Beck there, and with you, Dunphy, didn’t I?”

“You did, indeed, Mr. Roberts, and wouldn’t do anything till you had spoken to me on the subject.”