MR. WILLINGS. ‘A great brawny fellow.’ The Haggerty Woman groans. ‘“My friend,” I said at once, “welcome back to Blighty.” I make a point of calling it Blighty. “I wonder,” I said, “if there is anything I can do for you?” He shook his head. “What regiment?” I asked.’ Here Mr. Willings very properly lowers his voice to a whisper. ‘“Black Watch, 5th Battalion,” he said. “Name?” I asked. “Dowey,” he said.’ MRS. MICKLEHAM. ‘I declare. I do declare.’ MR. WILLINGS, showing how the thing was done, with the help of a chair, ‘I put my hand on his shoulder as it might be thus. “Kenneth Dowey,” I said, “I know your mother.”’ MRS. DOWEY, wetting her lips, ‘What did he say to that?’ MR. WILLINGS. ‘He was incredulous. Indeed, he seemed to think I was balmy. But I offered to bring him straight to you. I told him how much you had talked to me about him.’ MRS. DOWEY. ‘Bring him here!’ MRS. MICKLEHAM. ‘I wonder he needed to be brought.’ MR. WILLINGS. ‘He had just arrived, and was bewildered by the great city. He listened to me in the taciturn Scotch way, and then he gave a curious laugh.’ MRS. TWYMLEY. ‘Laugh?’ MR. WILLINGS, whose wild life has brought him into contact with the strangest people, ‘The Scotch, Mrs. Twymley, express their emotions differently from us. With them tears signify a rollicking mood, while merriment denotes that they are plunged in gloom. When I had finished he said at once, “Let us go and see the old lady.”’ MRS. DOWEY, backing, which is the first movement she has made since he began his tale, ‘Is he--coming?’ MR. WILLINGS, gloriously, ‘He has come. He is up there. I told him I thought I had better break the joyful news to you.’ Three women rush to the window. Mrs. Dowey looks at her pantry door, but perhaps she remembers that it does not lock on the inside. She stands rigid, though her face has gone very grey. MRS. DOWEY. ‘Kindly get them to go away.’ MR. WILLINGS. ‘Ladies, I think this happy occasion scarcely requires you.’ He is not the man to ask of woman a sacrifice that he is not prepared to make himself. ‘I also am going instantly.’ They all survey Mrs. Dowey, and understand--or think they understand. MRS. TWYMLEY, pail and mop in hand, ‘I would thank none for their company if my Alfred was at the door.’ MRS. MICKLEHAM, similarly burdened, ‘The same from me. Shall I send him down, Mrs. Dowey?’ The old lady does not hear her. She is listening, terrified, for a step on the stairs. ‘Look at the poor, joyous thing, sir. She has his letters in her hand.’ The three women go. Mr. Willings puts a kind hand on Mrs. Dowey’s shoulder. He thinks he so thoroughly understands the situation. MR. WILLINGS. ‘A good son, Mrs. Dowey, to have written to you so often.’ Our old criminal quakes, but she grips the letters more tightly. Private Dowey descends. ‘Dowey, my friend, there she is, waiting for you, with your letters in her hand.’ DOWEY, grimly, ‘That’s great.’