The London Welshman

my father within two years of her marriage, while I have been more of an anxiety than a joy to her. She has toiled and slaved all her life, she has had but little pleasure for herself, she has surrendered everything to me. If I have health and strength, I shall repay her as far as I can, and try and make her feel that she has not laboured altogether in vain." At last the train arrived at Llanelwid, and Herbert was both glad and disappointed to find that his mother was not there to greet him. It is well she has stopped at home," he said bravely to himself, though he felt a little chilled. The journey would tire her out, and she would not be fit to go to the seaside for days and days. Now we shall be able to start the day after to- morrow, and I need have no compunction about Spending Uncle John's legacy." It was a glorious summer's evening, when Herbert set out for home with a brave, swinging gait. The news of his Oxford triumphs was of course known in the village, where the contents of every postcard and telegram are the common gossip of the villagers within a few hours of their receipt. He met several old friends and acquaintances,—sometimes old schoolfellows, who had not grown out of the rusticity in which he also was bred. They congratulated him on his' success with a simple and whole-hearted admiration which Herbert found infinitely touching. He was careful not to wound the feelings of any by curtness of phrase or coldness of demeanour. Mr. Morgans the Shop ran after him to express his joy at the glorious news. We rang the Church and school bells," he said, and the children were given a' half- holiday this afternoon. This is the greatest honour that has ever happened to Llanelwid, and we are all proud of you. And ah how glad must your mother be Have you seen her ?" asked Herbert, when the eager shopkeeper came to a pause in his excited discourse. "Yes," he said, "I saw her this morning. Indeed, I took the telegram to her myself, as I was afraid she might be frightened by the sight of the telegram. She was standing on the front doorstep when I gave it to her. I thought she looked a bit pale and anxious when she saw the telegram, so I told her the news at once in order to reassure her. She was very glad, and thanked me for bringing it her myself. 'I was afraid you might be frightened, Mrs. Lloyd,' I said, 'for lots of people don't like to get the yellow envelopes.' 'Oh, no,' she said, 'I am not afraid of them. I have never had anything but good news in telegrams. The first I ever received contained the news of Herbert's scholarship. I have never had any telegrams except from Herbert, and they have always been to say that he has won some success or is coming home. No, thank the good God, I have only cause to rejoice when I see a tele- gram.' 'And this is the best of all, Mrs. Lloyd,' said 1. 'The Lord has been good to me and my boy,' she said. Good-bye, Mr. Morgans, and thank you very much for your kindness.' With that she went into the house looking very proud and pleased, as ycu might imagine." The news only accentuated Herbert's desire to be at home. He wished Mr. Morgans good night, and paced briskly in the gathering gloom towards the little cottage where his mother dwelt. He half expected to see her—as he had _0. often done before—standing on the doorstep waiting to welcome him, but the front door was closed, there was no one in sight, and there was not even a glimmer of light in the house. Herbert, with a vague dread in his heart, opened the unlocked door, and strode noisily into the house. Mam he cried. Where are you ? Here 1 am at last. You got the telegram all right, I hear? Have you killed the fatted calf for the wanderer? I am as hungry as a hunter. I forgot to eat anything since breakfast. Mam Mam where are you ? There was no answer. Herbert, while still talking, made for the kitchen, where his mother usually sat. The fire was out, and for a moment Herbert peered in the darkness without seeing anything. When his eyes grew accustomed to it he saw in the dim twilight the frail form of his mother sitting as if asleep in her arm-chair. In her hand was clasped the yellow envelope—still unopened—in which his tele- gram was enclosed. "Fancy mother being asleep at this time: he said softly to himself. Then he crept stealthily up to her, and, as he had often done before, he put his arm round her neck, and kissed her ligl tly on the cheek. He started back in a fright, for the neck and cheek were cold as ice. Mam fach he cried out in agony; what is the matter ? There was no reply. Margaret Lloyd was sleeping her last sleep Next week will appear No. 9 of the series, entitled" IANTO THE POACHER."