Two Letters
Annie was busy at the washtub, and it was her mother, who had come to live with her and her baby while her husband was at the Front, that answered the postman's knock and brought in the parcel.
"Annie, here's a parcil thro' France. It'll be thy Jim that's sent it. I can tell his writin' onywhere, though his hand do seem a bit shaky like."
"What's he sendin' naa, I'd like to know?" asked Annie, in a tone of real or feigned indifference. "He's allus wearin' his brass on all maks o' oddments that he's fun i' them mucky trenches, or bowt off uther lads. Nay, tha can oppen it thisen, muther; my hands is all covered wi' suds."
Annie's mother undid the parcel and took out a large German helmet, but it somehow failed to arouse much enthusiasm on the part of either mother or daughter. Jim had already gone far towards converting his wife's kitchen into an arsenal, and, as Annie said, "there was no end o' wark sidin' things away an' fettlin' up t' place."
At the bottom of the helmet was an envelope addressed to "Mrs Annie Akroyd, 7 Nineveh Lane, Leeds," and the mother handed it to her daughter.
"I'm ower thrang to read it naa," said Annie; "it'll hae to wait while I've finished weshin'."
"Eh! but tha'll want to know how thy Jim's gettin' on. Happen he'll be havin' short leave sooin. I'll read it to thee misen."
She opened the envelope and began to read the letter. It ran as follows:—