"Oh, darling Tommy, so weak he is," she told me, as soon as we had heard all about one another, and finished dinner; "I have only got to hold up my finger, and he does it. And I know the day when it was--'Get away, Sophy;' or 'Do you think I'd put up with such--something--rubbish?' or 'Pack up my traps, if you want to try that game.' And he seems to have something on his mind, that he cannot quite bring himself to tell me, in the few times when he is at all fit to do it. You must understand, that he goes up and down pretty regular, according to the time of day, whenever the weather keeps side with it. Let him have his breakfast, and get up at his leisure, and have the barber in to shave him and the doctor to tell him that his pulse is better, and then let him sit, and see the sun come in, even through a shrubbery of chimney-pots, and tell him that he shall have one pipe, supposing he manages to eat his dinner well, and you should see how happy, and how smiling, he lies back. But, as soon as the dusk comes on, and the daylight goes, and we can find no star to show him, but only dull lamps in the narrowness of the streets, then he seems to lose all hope altogether, and turn over on his back, and put his hands together. And he says, 'Let me die, Sophy; I should like to die, if I thought there was any hope of going up to heaven.' And I say to him, 'William, don't think of such dreadful things; you are not an old man yet, you know.' And then he looks at me, more pitiful than you could endure, if you had known what a lively boy he was; and he doesn't say another word, as if it was all useless, but sighs till you can see his great ribs shake. Oh, Tommy, he brings me down so low sometimes, that I feel only fit to see a clergyman." "Mother, you don't look at all like yourself," I answered, for she had always been so pleasant; "you never must give way to such melancholy thoughts. Uncle Bill will soon be better, in this fine air here; and we'll show him the sun through the trees, every morning, and the cock that flies up into the weeping-ash to crow, and the lambs on the hill, that have just been shorn, and play like a lot of white mice in the distance. And then in the evening, if he feels down-hearted, we'll shut out the darkness before it comes on, and light up the gas, and a dozen best candles, and play a game of cards to amuse him, or tell stories. I can tell stories now, like fun, of all the larks we had at Oxford; and sailors are like children, so easy to amuse." "Well, my dear," said mother, "we will do the best we can; and your cheerful countenance is enough to scare the blues. But he is not long for this world, I am sure of that--poor William! But I do feel so thankful, that he will die among his friends."