‘Boy, about ship, and pull back for the box.’
‘Dear uncle!’
‘It will make a good wood-box, boy. And faithful old Yorpy can sell the
old iron for tobacco-money.’
‘Dear massa! dear old massa! dat be very fust time in de ten long ’ear
yoo hab mention kindly old Yorpy. I tank yoo, dear old massa; I tank yoo
so kindly. Yoo is yourself agin in de ten long ’ear.’
‘Ay, long ears enough,’ sighed my uncle; ‘Esopian ears. But it’s all
over now. Boy, I’m glad I’ve failed. I say, boy, failure has made a good
old man of me. It was horrible at first, but I’m glad I’ve failed.
Praise be to God for the failure!’
His face kindled with a strange, rapt earnestness. I have never
forgotten that look. If the event made my uncle a good old man, as he
called it, it made me a wise young one. Example did for me the work of
experience.
When some years had gone by, and my dear old uncle began to fail, and,
after peaceful days of autumnal content, was gathered gently to his
fathers--faithful old Yorpy closing his eyes--as I took my last look at
his venerable face, the pale resigned lips seemed to move. I seemed to
hear again his deep, fervent cry--‘Praise be to God for the failure!’
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