Author: Gordon Stables

Publisher: CreateSpace

Published: 2014-08-18

Total Pages: 106

ISBN-13: 9781500844707

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“So you'll be ten years old to-morrow, Archie?”“Yes, father; ten to-morrow. Quite old, isn't it? I'll soon be a man, dad. Won't it be fun, just?”His father laughed, simply because Archie laughed. “I don't know about the fun of it,” he said; “for, Archie lad, your growing a man will result in my getting old. Don't you see?”Archie turned his handsome brown face towards the fire, and gazed at it—or rather into it—for a few moments thoughtfully. Then he gave his head a little negative kind of a shake, and, still looking towards the fire as if addressing it, replied:“No, no, no; I don't see it. Other boys' fathers may grow old; mine won't, mine couldn't, never, never.”“Dad,” said a voice from the corner. It was a very weary, rather feeble, voice. The owner of it occupied a kind of invalid couch, on which he half sat and half reclined—a lad of only nine years, with a thin, pale, old-fashioned face, and big, dark, dreamy eyes that seemed to look you through and through as you talked to him.“Dad.”

Download or read book From Squire to Squatter written by Gordon Stables and published by CreateSpace. This book was released on 2014-08-18 with total page 106 pages. Available in PDF, EPUB and Kindle. Book excerpt: “So you'll be ten years old to-morrow, Archie?”“Yes, father; ten to-morrow. Quite old, isn't it? I'll soon be a man, dad. Won't it be fun, just?”His father laughed, simply because Archie laughed. “I don't know about the fun of it,” he said; “for, Archie lad, your growing a man will result in my getting old. Don't you see?”Archie turned his handsome brown face towards the fire, and gazed at it—or rather into it—for a few moments thoughtfully. Then he gave his head a little negative kind of a shake, and, still looking towards the fire as if addressing it, replied:“No, no, no; I don't see it. Other boys' fathers may grow old; mine won't, mine couldn't, never, never.”“Dad,” said a voice from the corner. It was a very weary, rather feeble, voice. The owner of it occupied a kind of invalid couch, on which he half sat and half reclined—a lad of only nine years, with a thin, pale, old-fashioned face, and big, dark, dreamy eyes that seemed to look you through and through as you talked to him.“Dad.”