And, each night after that, I heard the boy Was mending quickly; and would soon be well: Till one night I was startled by the bell: Tin-tinkle-tinkle-tinkle, loud and clear; And tried to hush it, lest the lad should hear. But, when the father saw me clutch the thing, He said, the boy had missed it yesterday; And wondered why he could not hear it ring; And wanted it; and had to have his way. And then, with brown eyes burning with deep joy, He told me, that his son was going West-- Was going home ... the doctor thought, next week, He’d be quite well enough: the way was long; But trains were quick; and he would soon be there And on the journey he’d have every care, His mother being with him ... it was best, That she should go: for he would find it strange, The little chap, at first ... she needed change... And, when they’d had a whiff of Western air! ’Twould cost a deal; and there was naught to spare But, what was money, if you hadn’t health: And, what more could you buy, if you’d the wealth... Yes! ’twould be lonely for himself, and rough; Though, on the whole, he’d manage well enough: He’d have a lot to do: and there was naught Like work to keep folk cheerful: when the hand Was busy, you had little time for thought; And thinking was the mischief ... and ’twas grand To know that they’d be happy. Then the bell Went tinkle-tinkle; and he turned to sell. One night he greeted me with face that shone, Although the eyes were wistful; they were gone-- Had gone this morning, he was glad to say: And, though ’twas sore work, setting them away, Still, ’twas the best for them ... and they would be Already in the cottage by the sea... He spoke no more of them; but turned his head; And said he wondered if the price of bread... And, as I went again into the night, I saw his eyes were glistening in the light. And, two nights after that, he’d got a letter: And all was well: the boy was keeping better; And was as happy as a child could be, All day with the primroses and the sea, And pigs! Of all the wonders of the West, His mother wrote, he liked the pigs the best. And now the father laughed until the tears Were in his eyes, and chuckled: Aye! he knew! Had he not been a boy there once, himself? He’d liked pigs, too, when he was his son’s years. And then, he reached a half-loaf from the shelf; And twisted up a farthing’s worth of tea, And farthing’s worth of sugar, for the child, The same poor child who waited patiently, Still shaken by a hacking, racking cough.