My Father My father was a tall, staid, solemn man, who walked slowly with long strides.

He spoke very little, and generally looked as if he were pondering next Sunday's sermon.

His head was grey, and a little bent, as if he were gathering truth from the ground.

Once I came upon him in the garden, standing with his face up to heaven, and I thought he was seeing something in the clouds; but when I came nearer, I saw that his eyes were closed, and it made me feel very solemn.

I crept away as if I had been peeping where I ought not.