"Yes, I know. I’ve made inquiries," replied his father. "How is Susie?" "She’s in the Children’s Hospital, and getting better. The doctor says she is going to walk in a few months. O father, I can hardly believe you are here!" "Can’t you? Just feel this!" And he squeezed the boy’s arm. "How is mother living?" "By her needle. She does beautiful needlework." "I know! I know!" said the man abruptly. "Isn’t this Brook Street? You go on, and I’ll wait here a bit. But don’t be long, Jim, don’t be long! My patience will soon bubble over. I’ve been burning to get a peep at her." Jim smiled brightly, ran a few yards, and then walked soberly to the house. His mother was busy with her work, and she looked up at him in surprise. "What is it, my boy?" she asked. "Why aren’t you at the shop?" "It’s all right, mother," answered the lad; "there’s no bad news. Mr. Broad said I might come. I’ve something to tell you—something pleasant, that will make you very happy." "Yes?" she said wonderingly, and looking straight into his eyes. "A marvellous thing, mother—more marvellous than you ever dreamed of. Only Susie said it could be true, and even her faith failed." The woman had put down her work. Her face was white, her lips twitched nervously. "Jim," she said pathetically—"Jim, this can only be one thing. Tell me quickly! O Jim, I can’t bear it!" "It’s true, mother!" cried the boy. "It is the one thing. Yes, father is alive; there’s news of him. He’s coming home—coming to Beauleigh!" Mrs. Hartland slipped to the floor, clasped her hands, and offered up a silent prayer to Heaven. She could not speak, but the joy and the praise and the thanksgiving were all there. And then! Then they heard a click at the little gate, and a firm step on the path, and the front door was gently pushed open. "O mother," cried Jim, "try to bear up! It is father!" He came along, slowly and with even steps at first; but, in his own words, his patience bubbled over, his feet broke into a run, and the next instant he was within the kitchen clasping his wife in his arms. "Mary!" "John!" Nothing more than that was heard for a long time, but no words were required to express their joy. Later in the evening there were numerous questions to be asked and answered, and the returned sailor’s account of his wonderful escape to be given. I cannot set the story down in his own words, though it was full of interest to his eager listeners, but the outline is simple enough. The man Davies’s account proved correct in the main, though John Hartland was astonished to find he had survived. As for himself, being a good swimmer, he had struck out for the shore, which, for a time, it appeared he would in all likelihood reach. Then his strength failed, and he could do no more than turn on his back and endeavour to float in the rough sea.