ODOUR OF CHRYSANTHEMUMS

" Why, mother, it's hardly a bit dark yet.
The lamp's not lighted, and my father's not
home."

" No, he isn't. But it's a quarter to five ! Did
you see anything of him ? "

The child became serious. She looked at her
mother with large, wistful blue eyes.

" No, mother, I've never seen him. Why ? Has
he come up an' gone past, to Old Brinsley ? He
hasn't, mother, 'cos I never saw him."*

" He'd watch that," said the mother bitterly,
" he'd take care as you didn't see him.* But you
may depend upon it, he's seated in the ' Prince
o' Wales.' He wouldn't be this late."

The girl looked at her mother piteously.

" Let's have our teas* , mother, should we ? " said
she.

The mother called John to table. She opened
the door once more and looked out across the
darkness of the lines. All was deserted : she could
not hear the winding-engines.

" Perhaps," she said to herself, " he's stopped to
get some ripping* done."

They sat down to tea. John, at the end of the
table near the door, was almost lost in the darkness.
Their faces were hidden from each other. The girl
crouched against the fender slowly moving a thick
piece of bread before the fire. The lad, his face a
dusky mark on the shadow, sat watching her who
was transfigured in the red glow.

" I do think it's beautiful to look in the fire," said
the child.

" Do you ? " said her mother. " Why ? "