Ah, but are not _you_ fretting a little, my dear one? Look at yourself in the mirror, and you will see that your face is as white as your hair, my poor old comrade. ~His Wife.~~ Oh, perhaps I _am_ worrying a little; but, none the less, I feel _sure_ that our boy will recover. ~The Man.~~ Ah, how you hearten my spirits, as always you have done! How you charm away my sorrows with your sincerity and goodness! O little armour-bearer, the never-failing keeper of my faltering sword, thy old knight is in pitiful case now--his trembling hand can scarce hold his weapon. But what see I here? My son's old toys! Who put them there? ~His Wife.~~ My dear one, you forget. You yourself put them there, long ago; for you said that you could work better if those innocent, childish toys lay beside you. ~The Man.~~ Yes, yes, I was forgetting. Yet I lean scarcely bear to look upon them now; even as a condemned criminal cannot bear to look upon the instruments of torture and death. When a son is dying his toys become things of horror to the father who is to be left behind. Wife, wife, I cannot bear to see them! ~His Wife.~~ Ah, it was in the far-off, early days when we were poor--as poor as we are now--that we bought them for him. I too feel hurt to see them there--poor darling little toys! ~The Man.~~ I cannot help it; I must take them in my hands once more. Here is the little horse without a tail. "Gee up, gee up, little horse! Where are you galloping to?" "Oh, a long way off, Papa--a long way off, to where there are fields and forests of green." "Will you take me with you on your little horse?" "Oh yes, oh yes, Papa! Climb on to his back, dearest Papa!---- ----" And here is the little pasteboard helmet which I tried on my own head the day that we bought it in the shop and made so merry over it. "Who are you?" "I am a knight, Papa--the most powerful, daring knight." "And where are you going to, little knight?" "To slay a dragon, dear Papa, and to set his prisoners free." "Go then, go then, little knight--------" [_The Man's Wife bursts into tears._] And here, too, is our old friend, the clown doll, with his dear, silly face. But how ragged he looks now!--as though he had been through a hundred fights! Yet he is as red-nosed and smiling as ever. Now, sound your cymbals, my little friend, as you were used to do. You cannot, eh? You say that you cannot?--that you have only one cymbal left? Very well, then. Down upon the floor you go! [_He throws down the doll._] ~His Wife.~~ Oh, what are you doing? Remember how often our boy has kissed its merry face. ~The Man.~~ Yes, I did wrong. Forgive me, my dear. And do you too pardon me, my little friend of old times. [_He stoops with some difficulty and picks up the doll._] So thou art still smiling? Ah well, I will lay thee aside awhile. Be not angry with me, but I cannot bear thy smiles just now--thou must go and smile elsewhere. ~His Wife.~~