"Dost 'a' really mean, Tom, as thou'rt coming straight home with thee feyther and me?"
"Ay, I do," replied Tom, "there's no place but home for me to-day."
"Ay, then I mun kiss thee agean," she sobbed, throwing her arms around his neck.
Throughout the whole of the afternoon and evening Ezekiel Pollard's house was besieged with visitors. Reporters came from the newspapers in order to hear any details which had been missed concerning Tom's exploits. Relations whom Tom had not seen for years came to bid him welcome, while the neighbours thronged the doors.
"Ay, it's good to be home again," said Tom, standing on the doorstep and watching the last visitor depart that night, "I never thought that it would be like this."
"Art 'a' tired, lad?" asked his father.
"Just a bit," said Tom. "I couldn't sleep last night, I was thinking all the time about coming home, and now——"
"Ay, lad, I'm proud of thee," said his father for the hundredth time.
"Thou art a fool, lad," said his mother, "but thou'rt noan such a fool as I feared. Thou'st done vary weel too, vary weel."
"Father," said Tom when they had entered the house and closed the door, "do you ever pray now?"