Why should I give way to what I know will pass, and is meant to pass?
It is my father I feel for.

But I couldn't be there; and it is no fault of mine that I was not there.

No one told me what was going to happen; and no one could know: so again,--why grieve over what can't be helped ?" And then, to give the lie to all his cool arguments, he sat down among the fern, and burst into a violent fit of crying.

"Oh, my poor dear old daddy!" Yes; beneath all the hard crust of years, that fountain of life still lay pure as when it came down from heaven--love for his father.
"Come, come, this won't do; this is not the way to take stock of my goods, either mental or worldly.

I can't cry the dear old man out of this scrape." He looked up.