may be, poor dear," said
the visitor soothingly.

"No, Mrs Shuckleford," said Mrs Cruden brightly. "Indeed, I ought not
to be in bad spirits to-day. We've had quite a little family triumph
to-day. Horace has had an article published in the _Rocket_, and we are
so proud."

"Ah, yes; he's the steady one," said Mrs Shuckleford. "There's no
rolling stone about 'Orace."

"No," said the mother warmly.

"If they was only both alike," said the visitor, approaching her subject
delicately.

"Ah! but it often happens two brothers may be very different in temper
and mind. It's not always a misfortune."

"Certainly not, Mrs Cruden; but when one's good and the other's
wicked--"

"Oh, then, of course, it is very sad," said Mrs Cruden.

"Sad's no name for it," replied the visitor, with emotion. "Oh, Mrs
Cruden, 'ow sorry I am for you."

"You are very kind. It is a sad trial to be separated from my boy, but
I've not given up hopes of seeing him back soon."

Mrs Shuckleford shook her head.

"'Ow you must suffer on 'is account," said she. "If your 'eart don't
break with it, it must be made of tougher stuff than mine."

"But after all, Mrs Shuckleford," said Mrs Cruden, "there are worse
troubles in this life than separation."

"You're right. Oh, I'm so sorry for you."

"Why for me? I have only the lighter sorrow."

"Oh, Mrs Cruden, do you call a wicked son a light sorrow?"

"Certainly not, but my sons, thank God, are good, brave boys, both of
them."

"And who told you 'e was a good, brave boy? Reggie, I mean."

"Who told me?" said Mrs Cruden, with surprise. "Who told me he was
anything else?"

"Oh, Mrs Cruden! Oh, Mrs Cruden!" said Mrs Shuckleford, beginning to
cry.

Mrs Cruden at last began to grow uneasy and alarmed. She sat up on the
sofa, and said, in an agitated voice,--

"What _do_ you mean, Mrs Shuckleford? Has anything happened? Is there
any bad news about Reginald?"

"Oh, Mrs Cruden, I made sure you knew all about it."

"What is it?" cried Mrs Cruden, now thoroughly terrified and trembling
all over. "Has anything happened to him? Is he--dead?" and she seized
her visitor's hand as she asked the question.

"No, Mrs Cruden, not dead. Maybe it would be better for 'im if he
was."

"Better if he was dead? Oh, please, have pity and tell me what you
mean!" cried the poor mother, dropping back on to the sofa with a face
as white as a sheet.

"Come, don't take on," said Mrs Shucklefo