little farm right next to us--

Spite uv 'er cares, she ain't the sort to fuss

To see in 'er, an' all the grief she's bore,

Deep sorrer since them days before the war.

"Before the war," she sez. "Yeh mind our Syd?

'Im 'oo was charged with things 'e never did.

It's six long years now since 'e went away

"That was," she sighs, "that was me blackest day.

"Me blackest day!Wot am I sayin' now?

The news about our Syd. . . . An', yet, some'ow . . . .

She sez, an' battles 'ard to brighten up.

An'--Thanks! I think I will 'ave one more cup."

As fur as I can get the strength uv it,

First off, young Jim, 'oo plays it 'igh a bit,

'E run 'is final up at Suvla Bay--

An' Jim's cracked 'ardy since 'e went away.

'Er Jim! These mothers! Lord, they're all the same.

Syd was the son 'oo played the reel man's game;

'Igh-spirited! I've 'eard that tale before.

To 'ear that 'is 'igh spirits run to war.

"Before the war," she sez. "Ah, times was good.

Workin' to make a decent liveli'ood.

'E's 'urt, I know, cos 'e thinks Jim 'urt me.

But I must off 'ome now, an' git Dad's tea."

I seen 'er to the gate. (Take it frum me,

Me talkin' so uv Jim, but when I see

I've got some toys uv 'is," she sez. "But there--

With all yer work, an' little time to spare."

She gives me 'and a squeeze an' turns away,

Smilin', an' wavin', like she felt reel gay,

A lookin'-glass, an' takes a reel good look. . . .

Gawd 'elp yeh, Jim," I thinks. "Yeh must be crook."

II. DUMMY BRIDGE

Dummy Bridge

F I'd 'a' played me Jack on that there Ten,"

Sez Peter Begg, "I might 'a' made the lot."

"'Ow could yeh?" barks ole Poole. "'Ow' could yeh, when

I 'ad me Queen be'ind?" Sez Begg, "Wot rot!

I slung away me King to take that trick.
Which one! Say, ain't yer 'ead a trifle thick?

Now, don't yeh see that when I plays me King

I give yer Queen a chance, an' lost the slam."

But Poole, 'e sez 'e don't see no sich thing,

So Begg gits 'ot, an' starts to loose a "Damn."

'E twigs the missus jist in time to check,
An' makes it "Dash," an' gits red down 'is neck.

There's me an' Peter Begg, an' ole man Poole--

Neighbours uv mine, that farm a bit close by--

Jist once a week or so we makes a school,

An' gives this game uv Dummy Bridge a fly.

Doreen, she 'as 'er sewin' be the fire,
The kid's in bed; an' 'ere's me 'eart's desire.

'Ome-comfort, peace, the picter uv me wife

'Appy at work, me neighbours gathered round

All friendly-like--wot more is there in life?

I've searched a bit, but, better I ain't found.

Doreen, she seems content, but in 'er eye
I've seen reel pity when the talk gits 'igh.

This ev'nin' we 'ad started off reel 'ot:

Two little slams, an' Poole, without a score,

Still lookin' sore about the cards 'e'd got--

When, sudden-like, a knock comes to the door.

"A visitor," growls Begg, "to crool our game."
An' looks at me, as though I was to blame.

Jist as Doreen goes out, I seen 'er grin.

"Deal 'em up quick!" I whispers. "Grab yer 'and,

An' look reel occupied when they comes in.

Per'aps they'll 'ave the sense to understand.

If it's a man, maybe 'e'll make a four;
But if"--Then Missus Flood comes in the door.

'Twas ole Mar Flood, 'er face wrapped in a smile.

"Now, boys," she sez, "don't let me spoil yer game.

I'll jist chat with Doreen a little while;

But if yeh stop I'll be ashamed I came."

An' then she waves a letter in 'er 'and.
Sez she, "Our Jim's a soldier! Ain't it grand?"

"Good boy," sez Poole. "Let's see.I make it 'earts."

"Doubled!" shouts Begg. . . . "An' 'e's been in a fight,"

Sez Missus Flood, "out in them furrin' parts.

French, I suppose. I can't pronounce it right.

'E's been once wounded, somewhere in the leg. . . ."
"'Ere, Bill! Yeh gone to sleep?" asks Peter Begg.

I plays me Queen uv Spades; an' plays 'er bad.

Begg snorts. . . . "My boy," sighs Missus Flood. "My Jim." . . .

"King 'ere," laughs Poole. "That's the last Spade I 'ad." . . .

Doreen she smiles: "I'm glad yeh've 'eard from 'im.". . .

"We're done," groans Begg. "Why did yeh nurse yer Ace?". . .
"My Jim!" An' there was sunlight in 'er face.

"I always thought a lot uv Jim, I did,"

Sez Begg. "'E does yeh credit. 'Ere, your deal."

"That's so," sez Poole. "'E was an all-right kid.

No trumps? I'm sorry that's the way yeh feel.

'Twill take yeh all yer time to make the book." . . .
An' then Doreen sends me a wireless look.

I gets the S.O.S.; but Begg is keen.

"My deal," 'e yaps. "Wot rotten cards I get."

Ole Missus Flood sits closer to Doreen.

"The best," she whispers, "I ain't told yeh yet."

I strains me ears, an' leads me King uv Trumps.
"Ace 'ere!" grins Begg. Poole throws 'is Queen--an' thumps.

"That saves me Jack!" 'owls Begg. "Tough luck, ole sport." . . .

Sez Missus Flood, "Jim's won a medal too

For doin' somethin' brave at Bullycourt." . . .

"Play on, play on," growls Begg. "It's up to you."

Then I reneges, an' trumps me partner's Ace,
An' Poole gets sudden murder in 'is face.

"I'm sick uv this 'ere game," 'e grunts. "It's tame."

"Righto," I chips. "Suppose we toss it in?"

Begg don't say nothin'; so we sling the game.

On my wife's face I twigs a tiny grin.

"Finished?" sez she, su'prised. 'Well, p'r'aps it's right.
It looks to me like 'earts was trumps to-night."

An' so they was. An', say, the game was grand.

Two hours we sat while that ole mother told

About 'er Jim, 'is letter in 'er 'and,

An', on 'er face, a glowin' look that