Only a fortnight ago he was telling me stories of his boyhood, of seventy years since.

He was without education; his ideas of truth and goodness he had to find within his own heart.

Could anything exceed the noble simplicity of his respect for me, for you boys?
We were poor, but it seemed to him that we had from nature what no money could buy.

He was wrong; his faith misled him.

No, not wrong with regard to all of us; my boy Godfrey was indeed all that he believed.