He was very kindly treated by some Dutch Sisters in a convent hospital. But he was delirious for a long time, and when he became more normal they wanted to communicate with his people in England, but this didn’t appeal to the dramatic sense of Ernie. “I thought I’d spring a surprise packet on you,” he said, grinning. We asked about Martin, but Ernie said he never saw him again. He went away while Ernie was delirious, and they said he had gone to Rotterdam to take ship somewhere. He thought Holland was a dull place. During the relation of this narrative my attention was divided between watching the face of Ernie and the face of Ernie’s mother. I am quite convinced that she did not listen to the story at all. She never took her eyes from his face, and although her tongue was following the flow of his remarks, her mind was occupied with the vision of Ernie when he was a little boy, and when he ordered five tons of coal to be sent to the girls’ school. When he had finished she said: “Did you meet either of them young Stellings?” And Ernie laughed rather uproariously and said no, he didn’t have the pleasure of renewing their acquaintance. On his way home, it appeared, he had reported himself at headquarters, and his discharge was inevitable. “So now you’ll be able to finish the rabbit-hutch,” said Lily’s husband, and we all laughed again, with the exception of Mrs. Ward. * * * * * I found her later standing alone in the garden. It was a warm Spring night. There was no moon, but the sky appeared restless with its burden of trembling stars. She had an old shawl drawn round her shoulders, and she stood there very silently, with her arms crossed. “Well, this is splendid news, Mrs. Ward,” I said. She started a little, and coughed, and pulled the shawl closer round her. She said, “Yes, sir,” very faintly. I don’t think she was very conscious of me. She still appeared immersed in the contemplation of her inner visions. Her eyes settled upon the empty house next door, and I thought I detected the trail of a tear glistening on her cheeks. I lighted my pipe. We could hear Ernie, and Lily, and Lily’s husband still laughing and talking inside. “She used to make a very good puddin’,” Mrs. Ward said suddenly, at random. “Dried fruit inside, and that. My Ernie liked it very much....” Somewhere away in the distance—probably outside “The Unicorn”—some one was playing a cornet. A train crashed by and disappeared, leaving a trail of foul smoke which obscured the sky. The smoke cleared slowly away. I struck another match to light my pipe. It was quite true. On either side of her cheek a tear had trickled. She was trembling a little, worn out by the emotions of the evening. There was a moment of silence, unusual for Dalston. “It’s all very ... perplexin’ and that,” she said quietly.