"No, Mary. I killed a giant, who was carrying off a beautiful
princess; and this, you see, he wore as a ring on one of his fingers:
so I thought it would just suit your wrist."

"Oh, Tom--Mr. Thurnall--what nonsense!"

"Come, come," said his father: "instead of telling us these sort of
stories, you ought to give an account of yourself, as you seem quite
to forget that we have not heard from you for more than two years."

"Whew! I wrote," said Tom, "whenever I could. However, you can have
all my letters in one now."

So they sat round the fire, and Tom gave an account of himself;
while his father marked with pride that the young man had grown and
strengthened in body and in mind; and that under that nonchalant,
almost cynical outside, the heart still beat honest and kindly.
For before Tom began, he would needs draw his chair closer to his
father's, and half-whispered to him,--

"This is very jolly. I can't be sentimental, you know. Knocking about
the world has beat all that out of me: but it is very comfortable,
after all, to find oneself with a dear old daddy and a good coal
fire."

"Which of the two could you best do without?"

"Well, one takes things as one finds them. It don't do to look too
deeply into one's feelings. Like chemicals, the more you analyse them,