Yours faithfully,
Hugh Pugh.
Llanrhywmawr, December 6.
A Welsh letter was enclosed for the old sailor, over which he pored with tears of joy running down his cheeks.
A few days later Hugh Pugh's daughter's motor throbbed at the door of the workhouse, and the old tar rolled round shaking hands vigorously with the mates: "Good-bye; good-bye, maties; the Lord has brought me out of the stormy waters, and it's smooth sailing now. He'll do the same for you, mates, if you trust Him."
Then the door closed, and the fresh breeze dropped, and it seemed as if the ward grew dark and grey.
THE VOW
Better thou shouldest not vow than thou shouldest vow and not pay.
The heavy machines in the steam-laundry clanked and groaned, and the smell of soap and soda, cleansing the unspeakable foulness of the infirmary linen, rose up strong and pungent, as the women carried out the purified heaps to blow dry in the wind and sunshine.