‘Not only to shoe a horse, father, but to make horse-shoes.’

‘Perhaps so,’ said my father; ’and it only serves to prove what I was just saying, that I know little about you.’

’But you easily may, my dear father; I will tell you anything that you may wish to know—­shall I inform you how I learnt to make horse-shoes?’

‘No,’ said my father; ’as you kept it a secret so long, it may as well continue so still.  Had you been a frank, open-hearted boy, like one I could name, you would have told me all about it of your own accord.  But I now wish to ask you a serious question—­what do you propose to do?’

‘To do, father?’

’Yes! the time for which you were articled to your profession will soon be expired, and I shall be no more.’

’Do not talk so, my dear father; I have no doubt that you will soon be better.’

’Do not flatter yourself; I feel that my days are numbered, I am soon going to my rest, and I have need of rest, for I am weary.  There, there, don’t weep!  Tears will help me as little as they will you; you have not yet answered my question.  Tell me what you intend to do?’

‘I really do not know what I shall do.’

’The military pension which I enjoy will cease with my life.  The property which I shall leave behind me will be barely sufficient for the maintenance of your mother respectably.  I again ask you what you intend to do.  Do you think you can support yourself by your Armenian or your other acquirements?’

’Alas!  I think little at all about it; but I suppose I must push into the world, and make a good fight, as becomes the son of him who fought Big Ben; if I can’t succeed, and am driven to the worst, it is but dying—­’

‘What do you mean by dying?’

’Leaving the world; my loss would scarcely be felt.  I have never held life in much value, and every one has a right to dispose as he thinks best of that which is his own.’

’Ah! now I understand you; and well I know how and where you imbibed that horrible doctrine, and many similar ones which I have heard from your mouth; but I wish not to reproach you—­I view in your conduct a punishment for my own sins, and I bow to the will of God.  Few and evil have been my days upon the earth; little have I done to which I can look back with satisfaction.  It is true I have served my king fifty years, and I have fought with—­Heaven forgive me, what was I about to say!—­but you mentioned the man’s name, and our minds willingly recall our ancient follies.  Few and evil have been my days upon earth, I may say with Jacob of old, though I do not mean to say that my case is so hard as his; he had many undutiful children, whilst I have only —–­; but I will not reproach you.  I have also like him a son to whom I can look with hope, who may yet preserve my name when I am gone, so let me be thankful; perhaps, after all, I have not lived in vain.  Boy, when I am gone, look up to your brother, and may God bless you both!  There, don’t weep; but take the Bible, and read me something about the old man and his children.’