Describes a Happy Home and a Happier Meeting.  
In a small wayside cottage in the outskirts of one of those picturesque villages which surround London, an old woman sat at the head of a small deal table, with a black teapot, a brown sugar-basin, a yellow milk jug, and a cracked tea-cup before her.
 
At the foot of the same table sat a young man, with a large knife in one hand, a huge loaf of bread in the other, and a mass of yellow butter in a blue plate in front of him.
 
The young man was James Slagg; the old woman was his mother. Jim had no brothers or sisters, and his father chanced to be absent at market, so he had the “old lady” all to himself.
 
“Well, well, Jim,” said Mrs Slagg, with a loving look at her son’s flushed face, “you’ve told me a heap o’ wonderful tales about telegrumphs, an’ tigers, an’ electricity an’ what not. If you was as great a liar as you was used to be, Jim, I tell ’ee plain, lad, I wouldn’t believe one word on it. But you’re a better boy than you was, Jim, an’ I do believe you—indeed I do, though I must confess that some on it is hard to swallow.”
 
“Thank ’ee, mother,” said Jim, with a pleasant nod, as he cut an enormous slice from the loaf, trowelled upon it a mass of the yellow butter, and pushed in his cup for more tea.
 
“It was good of ye, Jim,” said the old woman, “to leave all yer fine friends and come straight away here to see your mother.”
 
“Good o’ me!” ejaculated Jim, with his mouth full—too full, we might say—“what goodness is there in a feller goin’ home, eh? Who’s finer, I should like to know, than a feller’s mother?”
 
“Well, you are a good boy, Jim,” said the old woman, glancing at a superannuated clock, which told of the moments in loud, almost absurd solemnity; “but if you don’t stop talkin’ and go on wi’ your eatin’, you’ll lose the train.”
 
“True, mother. Time and tide, they say, wait for no man; but trains is wuss than time or tide, they won’t even wait for a woman.”
 
“But why go at all to-day, Jim; won’t to-morrow do?”
 
“No, mother, it won’t do. I didn’t mean to tell ’ee till I came back, for fear it should be a mistake; but I can’t keep nothin’ from you, old lady, so I may as well ease my mind before I go. The fact is, I’ve just heard of the whereabouts of John Shanks—Stumps, you know—my old mate, that I’ve told you bolted with all our treasure from Bombay. Ah! mother, if I’d only brought that treasure home wi’ me, it’s a lady you’d have bin to-day. I had all sorts o’ plans for you—a coach an’ six was—”
 
“Never mind your plans, Jim, but tell me about poor Stumps.”
 
“Well, mother, a tramp came past here, an’ had a bit of a talk wi’ me yesterday. You know I ginerally have a bit of a chat wi’ tramps now, ever since that city missionary—God bless him—pulled me up at the docks, an’ began talkin’ to me about my soul. Well, that tramp came here early this mornin’, sayin’ he’d bin in a poor woman’s house in the city, where there was a man dyin’ in a corner. While he was talkin’ with some o’ the people there he chanced to mention my name, an’ observed that the dyin’ man got excited when he heard it, and called to the tramp and asked him about me, and then begged him, for love and for money, which he offered him, to come and fetch me to him as fast as he could, sayin’ that his name was Stumps, and he knew me. So, you see, as the next train is the first that—you needn’t look at the clock so often, old lady; it’s full ten minutes yet, and I’ll back my legs to do it in three.”
 
“Don’t forget to take your Bible wi’ you, dear boy.”
 
Jim Slagg rose with a pleasant nod, slapped the breast of his coat, on which the oblong form of a small book in the pocket could be traced, said “Good-day, mother,” and left the cottage.
 
It was not long before he stood in the dark passage which led to the room described to him by the tramp. The old woman who rented it gave him her unasked opinion of her lodger before admitting him.
 
“You’ve got no notion, sir, what a strange character that young man is.”
 
“O yes, I have; let me see him,” said Slagg.
 
“But, sir,” continued the landlady, detaining him, “you must be careful, for he ain’t hisself quite. Not that he’s ever done anythink wiolent to me, poor young man, but he’s strong in his fits, an’ he raves terribly.”
 
“Has no doctor bin to see him?” asked Slagg.
 
“No; he won’t let me send for one. He says it’s o’ no use, an’ he couldn’t afford to pay for one. An’ oh! you’ve no notion what a miser that poor young man is. He must have plenty of money, for the box as he takes it out on—an’ it’s at his head he keeps it, day and night, ginerally holdin’ it with one hand—seems full o’ money, for it’s wonderful heavy. I could see that when he brought it here, an’ there’s no clo’es in it, that I can see, when he opens it, to get at the few pence he wants now an’ again. An’ he starves hisself, an’ says he’s not fit to live, an’ calls hisself sitch awful names, an’—”
 
“Well, well, show me his room,” said Slagg, with as much decision in his tone as compelled immediate obedience.
 
In the corner of a small room, on a truckle-bed, with scant bedding, lay the emaciated form of John Shanks, alias Stumps, alias James Gibson. He had raised himself on one elbow, and was gazing with great lustrous invalid eyes at the door, when his old comrade entered, for he had been watching, and heard the first sound of footsteps in the passage.
 
“Oh! Jim Slagg,” he cried, extending a hand which bore strong resemblance to a claw, it was so thin. “Come to me, Jim, How I’ve wished an’ longed, an’—”
 
He stopped and burst into tears, for he was very weak, poor fellow, and even strong men weep when their strength is brought low.
 
“Come now, Stumps,” said Slagg, in a serious voice, as he sat down on the bed, put an arm round his old comrade’s thin shoulders, and made him lie down, “if you go to excite yourself like that, I’ll—I’ll—quit the room, an’ I won’t come back for an hour or more.”
 
“No! O no!” exclaimed the sick man; clutching Slagg’s arm with a trembling grip, “don’t leave me, Jim—don’t, don’t! I shall die if you do! I’m dyin’ anyhow, but it will kill me quicker if you go.”
 
“Well, I won’t go. There, keep quiet, my poor old Stumps.”
 
“Yes, that’s it—that’s it—I like to hear the old name,” murmured the sick man, closing his eyes. &ldquo............