"Good-night, Billy," she said. "I'll call you in the morning."
"Thank you," Billy answered. "Good-night!"
As soon as she was gone he crept into bed. A sense of utter loneliness had taken possession of him, and, putting the bedclothes over his head, he gave way to a fit of weeping.
"Oh, mother, mother, mother!" he sobbed, "it's dreadful to think I shall never see you again."
Then suddenly he remembered how Tom Turpin had reminded him that he would be with his mother through all Eternity, and the load of desolation and grief was lifted from his heart.
"'The gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord,'" he whispered to himself, and was comforted.
[CHAPTER III.]
BILLY HAS A FRIGHT.
BILLY'S grandfather was a prosperous market-gardener now-a-days, but before his second marriage he had been only a farm labourer. He had married the widow of the former tenant of Rowley Cottage, and together they had worked hard to save money, and were now in a comfortable position. Billy's father had not got on with his stepmother, so he had never gone home after he had settled in London and married.
Rowley Cottage, which was really a fair-sized house, was situated far down the side of a steep hill, with a hill equally steep facing it. Before the house sloped a flower garden, at the end of which was a shallow, rippling stream, spanned by a wooden footbridge, and beyond the stream was a large vegetable and fruit garden. Surrounding the house and gardens were apple orchards.