It is one thing to desire a conversation to be changed, and another to
change it. After some little silence my father said, "And may I ask what
name your mother gave you?"

"My name," he answered, laughing, "is George, and I wish it were some
other, for it is the first name of that arch-impostor Higgs. I hate it
as I hate the man who owned it."

My father said nothing, but he hid his face in his hands.

"Sir," said the other, "I fear you are in some distress."

"You remind me," replied my father, "of a son who was stolen from me when
he was a child. I searched for him, during many years, and at last fell
in with him by accident, to find him all the heart of father could wish.
But alas! he did not take kindly to me as I to him, and after two days he
left me; nor shall I ever again see him."

"Then, sir, had I not better leave you?"

"No, stay with me till your road takes you elsewhere; for though I cannot
see my son, you are so like him that I could almost fancy he is with me.
And now--for I shall show no more weakness--you say your mother knew the
Sunchild, as I am used to call him. Tell me what kind of a man she found
him."

"She liked him well enough in spite of his being a little silly. She
does not believe he ever called himself child of the sun. He used to say
he had a father in heaven to whom he prayed, and who could hear him; but