"Well, mother," said Tom when he reached home, "I have made it up with
Alice Lister."
"Tha' never ses!" and Mrs. Pollard's voice was very caressing. "That's one for Polly Powell, anyhow. She wur never thy sort, Tom—a lass wi' a mother like that can never be ony good."
"Ay, and she's the finest lass i' Brunford, is Alice Lister," said
Ezekiel contentedly; "and is she willing to wait for thee, Tom?"
Tom laughed joyfully.
"Maybe they will make an officer of thee," said Mrs. Pollard.
"No," said Tom, "I shall never be an officer, I don't belong to that class; perhaps I will be a sergeant, or something like that, but that's as may be; anyhow, I'll do my bit."
When Tom's leave was up, George Lister said he had business in London, so Alice accompanied him. Truth to tell, the business which George had was only a secondary matter; he saw that Alice wanted to accompany her lover as far as she could, and the business was a pretext. I also made my way to Waterloo Station to see Tom off; that was only a few days ago, and what I saw and heard is fresh in my memory. But however long I may live, I shall never forget the look in Tom's eyes as he stood on the platform with Alice by his side. A great light was burning there, the light of love, and duty, and faith, and chastened joy.
"Don't fear, Alice," said the lad, "I will come back again all right."
"You—you are sure you will take care of yourself, Tom," and Alice's voice was husky, although she was evidently making a great effort to be brave.
"Ay, that I will," said Tom.