Yet he also knew that, to David, sickness, pain, and death meant nothing--or, at most, words that had always been lightly, almost unconsciously passed over.

For the first time he wondered if, after all, his training--some of it--had been wise.
For six years he had had the boy under his exclusive care and guidance.
For six years the boy had eaten the food, worn the clothing, and studied the books of his father's choosing.

For six years that father had thought, planned, breathed, moved, lived for his son.

There had been no others in the little cabin.

There had been only the occasional trips through the woods to the little town on the mountain-side for food and clothing, to break the days of close companionship.
All this the man had planned carefully.