An opportunity soon befell. It was late at night--very late. The woman was sleeping off a bout of intemperance somewhere below; and the boy, with the innocence and ignorance of his years in all that the solemn time foreboded, was bustling about the room with mighty eagerness, because he knew that he ought to be in bed. “I'm staying up to intend on you, father,” said the boy. The father answered with a sigh. “Don't you asturb yourself, father. I'll intend on you.” The father's sigh deepened to a moan. “If you want anything 'aticular, just call me; d'ye see, father?” And away went the boy like a gleam of light. Presently he came back, leaping like the dawn. He was carrying, insecurely, a jug of poppy-head and camomile, which had been prescribed as a lotion. “Poppy heads, father! Poppy-heads is good, I can tell ye.” “Why arn't you in bed, child?” said the father. “You must be tired.” “No, I'm not tired, father. I was just feeling a bit of tired, and then I took a smell of poppy-heads and away went the tiredness to Jericho. They _is_ good.” The little white head was glinting off again when the father called it back. “Come here, my boy.” The child went up to the bedside, and the father ran his fingers lovingly through the long fair hair. “Do you think, Philip, that twenty, thirty, forty years hence, when you are a man--aye, a big man, little one--do you think you will remember what I shall say to you now?” “Why, yes, father, if it's anything 'aticular, and if it isn't you can amind me of it, can't you, father?” The father shook his head. “I shall not be here then, my boy. I am going away----” “Going away, father? May I come too?” “Ah! I wish you could, little one. Yes, truly I almost wish you could.” “Then you'll let me go with you, father! Oh, I _am_ glad, father.” And the boy began to caper and dance, to go down on all fours, and leap about the floor like a frog. The father fell back on his pillow with a heaving breast. Vain! vain! What was the use of speaking? The child's outlook was life; his own was death; they had no common ground; they spoke different tongues. And, after all, how could he suffer the sweet innocence of the child's soul to look down into the stained and scarred chamber of his ruined heart?