He did not like to be put away in his coffin in the family vault in this summary way, not even the chief figure there but followed soon by John after him, in order that this cocksparrow should become Lord Frogmore. He knew it was absurd, and he was able to laugh a little at John’s dismissal too, thus accomplished by his little son. But with all the alleviations to be procured in this way, and the evident simplicity of the child who meant no harm, it was still not pleasant to contemplate. “First, there’s you, and when you’re dead, papa, and when papa’s dead, me.” Lord Frogmore laughed to himself and wondered how John would like it: but John was young, and probably would not mind a reference to such a remote possibility, and then it was John’s son, not an unknown little boy, who was the speaker. He wondered if that was the sting of it--an unknown little boy--his nephew, indeed, but young enough to be his great-grandchild--a mite of a boy! To realize a long life like Lord Frogmore’s, an important life, so much in it, so many people dependent upon it, a life which had lasted so long, an institution in the country--and then to think that it was to be swept away to make room for that imp in knickerbockers! It was ludicrous, it was laughable--but the thing which put a sting in it and made it so disagreeable, so taunting, viewing back and back, thrusting duty in among other thoughts of far more importance, was that it was true. “I’ll be Lord Frogmore some day.” It was so. Uncle and father must give way to him. They would be put away with their riches and he would reign. This kept coming back into Lord Frogmore’s mind as he walked about the place and inspected the gardens and shrubberies. It flew in upon his thoughts when they were occupied with matters quite different--little Duke’s look and his childish confidence. “I’ll be Lord Frogmore, some day,” came back to him with a persistency which he disliked very much but could not get rid of. It was quite true--unless in any way Providence should interpose. There was only two ways in which Providence, even Providence, could interpose. One was a very sad way, that little Duke should die; that he should never come to the heritage which he was quite right in thinking certain. The little fellow might die. This was an alternative that Lord Frogmore, though distinctly irritated by Duke, and resentful of his self-confidence, did not like to contemplate. Die--oh, no! He would not have the little fellow die--a creature so full of hope and promise--oh, no! Let him say what childish follies he pleased he must not die. But if not, then he must succeed and be Lord Frogmore. Was it absolutely certain that he must be Lord Frogmore?