The sight was so familiar, so natural, that the same idea occurred to him now involuntarily, and for an instant it was as though he had dreamed of his father's death; he even wondered what was this terrible grief that had overwhelmed him, and thought that he must go and tell his father about it.

He took the hat in his hands, turning it about tenderly, catching the faint odour of the Old Gentleman's hair oil that hung about it.

It all brought back his father to him as no picture ever could; he could almost _see_ the kind old face underneath the broad curl of the brim.

His grief came over him again keener than ever and he put his arms clumsily about the old hat, weeping and whispering to himself: "Oh, my poor, dear old dad--I'm never going to see you again, never, never! Oh, my dear, kind old governor!" He took the hat up to his room with him, putting it carefully away.

Then he sat down before the window that overlooked the little garden in the rear of the house, looking out with eyes that saw nothing..