It was nearly midday when Tom awoke. The church bells had ceased ringing for nearly an hour, indeed at nearly all the churches the congregations were being dismissed. The Town Hall clock chimed a quarter to twelve, but all else seemed strangely silent. Tom rose in his bed, and rubbed his eyes.

"Where am I?" he gasped; "this is—this is—ay, where am I? Why, I'm home! I'm home!"

Immediately he jumped out of bed, and pulling up the blinds looked out upon the smoky town.

"Dear old Brunford, dear old Brunford," he said; "ay, this is a change!"

"Art 'a' got up, Tom?"

"Ay, mother."

"Make haste, then, I'll have dinner ready for thee by the time thou'rt ready."

"Ay, it's good to be home," said Tom, and then he sighed. "I wonder now, I wonder——" and then he sighed again.

"I mean to go to chapel to-day," he said to his mother when he presently appeared.

"Chapel!" said his mother, "I thought thou'd given up going to chapel."

"I am going to-day, anyhow," said Tom. "It would be grand if you and father would come with me to-night."

"Then us will," said Ezekiel quietly.

That night Tom, together with his father and mother, found their way to the church which he had attended years before. Many eyes were upon him as he was shown into the pew. All the town had heard of Tom Pollard's return, but few expected to see him at church that night. For some time Tom was very self-conscious, and it is to be feared that he thought little of the service; more than once, too, he caught himself gazing furtively around the building, but he did not see the face he longed yet feared to see. Since his return he had asked no questions about Alice Lister, and neither his mother nor his father had volunteered any information about her.

"Well," said Tom, "I must drive her out of my mind. What a fool I was!"

How beautiful it was to be singing the old hymns again! The Sunday before he had been in Ypres, and instead of church bells he had heard the boom of guns; instead of the music of hymns, the shrieking of shells; instead of the scenes of home, and the loved ones, were the blackened ruins of an ancient town which had been ruthlessly destroyed. Oh, how Tom wished the War were over! How he dreaded the idea of going back again! Yet he knew he must go, knew that he and thousands of others must fight on, until those who had made war should be powerless to make it again.

Presently the service was over, and Tom made his way towards the vestibule of the church. Scores of hands were held out to him, hundreds of greetings were offered to him. Many congratulated him on his bravery, and on his distinction.

Then suddenly Tom's heart ceased to beat, for standing before him was
Alice Lister.

Tom felt his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth. He could not speak, while Alice seemed almost as much wrought upon as he.

He looked around as if in expectation of seeing Harry Briarfield, but
Harry was nowhere present. What did it mean?

Afterwards Tom wondered at his temerity; wondered that he should dare to speak to her at all. But some power which was stronger than himself compelled him to do so. He held out his hand to her.

"How are you, Alice?" he said.

Alice gave him her hand, but did not reply, save that her fingers trembled in his.

A thousand hopes, fancies, and fears flashed through his mind and heart; then Alice shyly lifted her eyes to his.

"May I walk home with you, Alice?" he stammered.

"Yes, if you will, Tom," and the two walked away, side by side.

They walked up Liverpool Road together for some time without speaking a word. On every side the crowd passed them, but Tom did not heed, his heart was too full for words, his mind too occupied with wild, turbulent fancies. Presently they passed into a quiet lane where they were apparently alone.

"Alice," said Tom at length, "I'm fair ashamed of myself, I—I'm just a——"

"No," and Alice interrupted him, "you are a hero, Tom, you have done wonderful things."

"Ah, but that is nothing," was Tom's reply, "I could not help doing that, no decent lad could. But the other now—ay, Alice, I am ashamed of myself. I was such a fool too!"

Alice did not speak; perhaps she was delighted at Tom's self-condemnation, or perhaps, which was more likely, she was eagerly waiting for him to say more.

"Is it true what mother told me?" he asked, after what seemed a long silence.

"What did she tell you?"

"That you are engaged to Harry Briarfield."

"No!" replied the girl eagerly, "I never was!"

"Then is it that young parson?"

"No, Tom; who could have told you such lies?"

Lancashire people are very undemonstrative in their love-making, as in most of their things, and although Tom was nearly swept off his feet with joy at what Alice had said, he still walked on by her side quietly, and for some seconds did not speak again.

"I never really cared about Polly Powell," he said presently, "even at the time I—I——"

"I knew, Tom," and the girl almost sobbed as she spoke, "I knew all the time you could never really care for her, and—and that you would come back to me. That was why——"

"Why what?" asked Tom.

"Why there was never anybody else but you, Tom."

"Do you mean it, Alice? do you really mean it?" and Tom's voice was hoarse and tremulous. "Can you forgive me? I chucked Polly Powell long ago, and I let her know it yesterday when I came home. She met me at the station with the others, and I never knew what a fool I had been till I saw her just as she was. Ay, I must have been mad!"

"I heard all about it," replied the girl, "but it didn't need that to tell me that you would come back to me, Tom."

"Ay," said Tom, "but I feel so ashamed. I feel as though I have nothing to offer you. I am only a poor Tommy with a bob a day, but will you wait for me, Alice, till the war is over?—and then if God spares my life I will work for you night and day, and I will give you as good a home as there is in Brunford."

"I can't help waiting for you," sobbed Alice.

"Can't help! Why?" asked Tom.

"Because—because—— oh, you know."

It was not until an hour later that Tom and Alice appeared at George Lister's house. During that time Tom had told Alice the story of his life since he had parted from her. Told her of the influences which had been at work, how he had been led to pray, and how his heart had all the time been longing for her. In spite of Alice's repeated questions he had said very little about his hour of peril, when he had risked his life to serve his country; that seemed of little importance to him. His one thought was to make Alice know that he was ashamed of himself for leaving her, and that he loved her all the time.

"Ay," said George Lister to his wife when Tom had left the house, "our
Alice is a fool."

"'Appen she is," replied Mrs. Lister, "but yon's a grand lad, a fair grand lad!"

"He may be a grand lad," retorted her husband, "and I don't deny that he has behaved vary weel, but how can he keep a wife? What sort of a home can he give our Alice?"

"A lad that can do what he has done," replied Mrs. Lister, "will make his way anywhere. If God spares his life, he will come back when the war's over, and you will not have any reason to be ashamed of him. He is not earning any brass now, and that's right, for he's serving his King and Country, and doing his duty like a man; but wait till we have licked the Germans, then Tom will let you know."

"I don't deny that he's a sharp, capable lad," said George, "and it's easy to see that our Alice is fair gone on him. That's why she had nowt to do wi' the young parson, and wi' Harry Briarfield. Well, I want Alice to be happy, and marriage without love is a poor thing, however much brass you may have. 'Appen I can put Tom in the way of getting on when the war's over. Ay, he's a grand lad, as you say, and it was real plucky the way he nabbed that German spy and got the papers. No wonder the King thinks such a lot of him."

Upon this George Lister filled his pipe slowly, and there was a look of pride in his eyes.

As for Alice, she sobbed for very joy when she went to her room that night. "Oh, thank God, thank God," cried her heart, "and he is coming early in the morning too!"

"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.

Crowds of soldiers thronged the platform, while hundreds of their friends who came to see them off made it difficult to move; many of the Tommies were shouting and cheering, while others found their way into the carriages as if anxious to be quiet.

"They seem splendid fellows," said Alice, "but some of them are very rough, aren't they?"

"Just a bit rough," replied Tom, "but they are all right. Some of those very chaps who look rough and common are just heroes, you know; they would face any kind of danger to do a pal a good turn. Perhaps you may not think it to look at them, but their hearts are true as gold. This war has made a wonderful difference in them."

Alice pressed his arm convulsively.

"You know that book you lent me the other day," went on Tom, "that book of Kipling's where there is a story about a ship that found herself. It means a lot, does that story. That's what this war has done for a lot of us chaps, it's helped us to find ourselves."

The guard blew his whistle, and there was a slamming of doors.

"Good-bye, Alice," and Tom held her close to his heart. "The war will be over soon, and then, please God, I will come back again."

"Yes, yes, Tom, and—and you know I will be always thinking of you, and praying for you."

"Ay, lass, I do, that's why I'm not a bit afraid. It's not good-bye, Alice, it's only au revoir as the French say. You will be brave, won't you?"

"Yes, Tom," she spoke bravely, although her voice was husky; "and—and,
Tom"—this with a sob—"I shall be loving you—loving you all the time."

Slowly the train left the station. At the carriage windows hundreds of men stood waving their hands, and shouting. They were going back to the grim, cold trenches, going to danger, and possible death; but they were going with brave hearts and the light of resolution in their eyes. Amongst them was Tom. He, too, was waving his hand, although his lips were tremulous.

"God help me to do my bit, and then take me back to her," he prayed.

Will he come back again, or will he be one of those who give their lives for the defence of honour and home? This I know: he with a great host of others will fight on, and hold on until victory is won, the victory which means peace.

*****

Produced by Al Haines

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