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 "I suppose there is that sort," responded Gerald, "but it's not—not the most—satisfactory kind to have, I think."

"You may think differently some day," Touchtone answered. "Why, I once knew a man who just about worshiped his son—a fellow, I believe, not much older than you. He was as proud as you please of him—of his looks, his cleverness, the way people took to him, every thing. But he didn't often stop to realize it himself; and when he did stop he might have been dumb for all the knack he had to tell his boy what he thought. You and your father will find each other out, so to speak, some day, depend on it. Come, now, try another nap, like a good fellow. Shall I give that pillow a shake?"

He wanted to end this or any other conversation and encourage his patient toward quiet and sleepiness. But Gerald would talk. So long as he did not increase his fever too decidedly perhaps it was just as well to humor him. Meditations on Mr. Saxton presently turned his thoughts to some of Philip's early experiences. The conversation in the summer-house at the Ossokosee, the overhearing of