I found my father seated, quill in hand, very stiff and upright at his table, on which some papers were spread out before him; while at his elbow stood the hour-glass to which he still clung, because, as he said, the ticking of a clock disturbed his thoughts. The sunlight falling on his whitened hair and beard made them shine like silver; and I remember, too, that through the open window came the gladsome morning song of birds. In truth, there could scarce have been a sight which promised more of peace and less of violence. As I entered, my father looked up at me with those keen, deep-set eyes which could still flash fire for all their nearly seventy years of use. "Good morning to you, Michael!" said he. "Good morning to you, sir!" I answered, feeling some uneasiness, for the flickering smile with which he greeted me had scarcely touched his face before it vanished, leaving him grave and solemn as a judge; so that I stood there with my hand upon the door-latch, wondering swiftly which of my many sins had found me out. "Be seated, Michael," said my father, pointing with his pen-point to a chair in front of him; and down I sat, with some such qualms as I was used to have when paying those private visits to my schoolmaster which were wont to end in certain flagellation. For what seemed quite an age, my father sat there looking at me in a fixed, abstracted way which made me feel still more uncomfortable; then, having laid down his pen and turned the hour-glass, he leaned back in his chair with folded hands and said: "Michael, my son, you have passed another milestone on life’s road; you are eighteen to-day--a man, in fact." Here he paused, as though expecting me to speak: but although his words had mightily relieved me, and made me feel a good inch taller, too, I could think of no answer for them; and so I only nodded--sat a little straighter in my chair, and wondered what was coming next. Perceiving this, he thus continued: "Yes, Michael, you are now old enough to play the man in right good earnest. ’Tis high time that you were up and doing in the world. For, mark you, I would not have a son of mine an idle, useless popinjay." "Nor would I choose the part," I put in bluntly. "Nay, I am sure you would not," rejoined my father proudly. "You come of a wrong stock for that. But, look you, you spoke of choosing parts; what part, what calling, would you choose if you were able?" "Fighting--soldiering, that is," I answered readily. A blazing, warlike gleam leapt suddenly into the old man’s eyes, and as he sat bolt upright in his chair, and glanced with glowing pride at that well-tried sword of his which hung upon the wall, I thought I never saw so fine a man.