Strange as you may think it, I
die without fear."
"But surely there are matters for regret in your life?" the priest,
who was a conscientious man, inquired earnestly.
"Ah!" said the dying man. "Regret? That's another matter. Have I no
occasion for regret? Have I not? Have I not?"
The priest cheered up. "For opportunities lost," he said. "The lost
opportunities--how sad a theme, how melancholy a retrospect! Tell me
of them."
"I said nothing about lost opportunities," the dying man replied; "I
said that there was much to regret, and there is; but there were no
opportunities that in this particular I neglected. They simply did not
present themselves often enough."
"Tell me of this sorrow," said the priest. "Perhaps I may be able to
comfort you."
The dying man again smiled his grim smile. "My greatest regret," he
said, "and one, unhappily, that could never be remedied, even if I
lived to be a thousand, is--"
"Yes, yes," said the priest, leaning nearer.
"Is," said the dying man, "that I have known so few children."
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Sentry_ (_for the second time, after officer has
answered "Friend," and come up close_).
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