you 're a better boy than you was, Jim, an' I do believe you—indeed I do, though I must confess that some on it is hard to swallow."
"Thank 'ee, mother," said Jim, with a pleasant nod, as he cut an enormous slice from the loaf, trowelled upon it a mass of the yellow butter, and pushed in his cup for more tea.
"It was good of ye, Jim," said the old woman, "to leave all yer fine friends and come straight away here to see your mother."
"Good o' me!" ejaculated Jim, with his mouth full—too full we might say—"what goodness is there in a feller goin' home, eh? Who 's finer, I should like to know, than a feller's mother?"
"Well, you are a good boy, Jim," said the old woman, glancing at a superannuated clock, which told of the moments in loud, almost absurd solemnity; "but if you don't stop talkin' and go on wi' your eatin', you 'll lose the train."
"True, mother. Time and tide, they say, wait for no man; but trains is wuss than time or tide, they won't even wait for a woman."
"But why go at all to-day, Jim; won't to-morrow do?"
"No, mother, it won't do. I didn't mean to tell 'ee till I came back, for fear it should be a mistake; but I can't keep nothin' from you, old lady, so I may as well ease my mind before I go. The fact
