"A proper question!--And, see! The old gentleman's asleep again! Good! Wheel him a mite away, would ye mind, Miss Narcissa? He'll dream a bit better if he isn't under me voice. Thanks!--Well, then, first o' all, I'll have ye take note o' this man's general appearance, like. He was young, as men go, bein' only thirty-one; though"--with a laugh and a shake of the head--"ye think him fairly old, don't ye? Ha! But the day'll come when thirty-one'll seem t' ye like a baby right out o' the cradle! Yes, indeed!--But t' go back t' the man: thirty-one he was----" "Was?" inquired Johnnie. "Is he dead? Or--or maybe now he's thirty-two?" "He'll be thirty-one," said Father Pat, "to the very end o' time. For he is dead, lad dear, though God knows I wish I could tell ye otherwise, but we'll not be questionin' His mercy nor His judgment. And when all is said and done, his brave death is somethin' t' give thanks for, as ye'll admit fast enough when ye've heard.--Well, thirty-one, he was, and about me own height. But not me weight. No, he was a lighter-weighing man. He had sandyish hair, this gentleman, and a smooth face. His eyes were gray-and-blue. And from what I hear about him, he smiled a good deal, and was friendly t' ev'rybody, with a nice word and cheery how-dy-do. His skin was high-colored like, and his chin was solid and square, and he had a fine straight nose, and--but have ye got it all?" "Yes, sir!" Johnnie scarcely remembered that any one else was with them. "Slim, and light-haired (like me), and no whiskers, and kind of gray eyes, and all his face nice. But I can't see it _'xac'ly_ as I'd like t', 'cause maybe what I see and what he looked like ain't just the same." "In that case," replied the Father, "it's a good thing, I'm thinkin', that I brought along a photograph!" There it was in his hand. He held it (small and round, it was) cupped by a big palm; and Johnnie, leaning forward, studied the pictured countenance carefully. "That's right," went on the priest; "look at it close--close!" "I--I like him," Johnnie said, after a little. "And I'm awful sorry he's dead.--But please go on, Father Pat. I want t' hear 'bout him. Though if the story's very sad, why, I'm 'fraid that Cis'll cry." "I won't," promised Cis. "But--but if the story tells how he died, I don't think I'll look at the picture--not just yet, anyhow." The priest laid the photograph, face down, upon the table. "It isn't that Miss Narcissa'll cry," he argued; "but, oh, what'll we say t' this young lady when she sees _us_ weep?--for, little lad dear, this is a tale--" He broke off, then and there, as if about to break down on the spot. But coughed, and changed feet, thus getting control of himself once more, so that he was able to go on. "This young man I'm tellin' about lived in Buffalo," continued the Father. "Now that city is close t' the noble Falls that ye're so fond o' visitin' with Grandpa. Well, one day in the Spring----" "Scuse me! Last spring?" Johnnie interrupted.