t taking her home. "We'll
surely be able to go home this year, Will." "You promised to take me
home by the end of the year." "Mother says in her last letter, that Jack
says there's more building going on about London than ever." "You'll
do just as well in London as you'll do here." "What chance have the
children got in a hole like this?" And the rest of it--every night. When
he took a new contract, it would be, "What did you want to take that new
contract for, Will, when we're going home? You know you promised me you
wouldn't take any more contracts." First he'd try to cheer her, then
he'd argue; but she'd only sit with the knit in her forehead deep,
looking as obstinate as a mule. Then she'd sit down to a little
harmonium he'd bought her and play and sing "Barney, take me Home
again," and "The Old Folks at Home," and "Swannie Ribber," till I felt
like hanging myself--and I wasn't an exile. Sometimes Johnson would
flare up and there'd be a row and he'd go to the pub. Gentle persuasion,
argument, or swearing, it was all the same with her.

Bosses and men were different towards each other in Solong to what they
are in London; besides, when I wasn't Johnson's sub-contractor I was
his foreman--so we often had a few drinks together; and one night over a
beer (and after a breeze at home, I think) he said to me:

"I can't make it out, Harry; there was nothing but struggle and worry
and misery for us in England, and London was smothering me, my chest was
bad and the wife was always in ill-health; but I suppose I'll have to
take her home in the end or else she'll go melancholy mad!" And he drew
a breath that was more like a gasp than a sigh.

"Why not send her home for a trip, or a year or so, boss?" I asked. "As
likely as not she'll be just as eager to get back; and that will be the
end of it."

"I couldn't do that, Harry," said Johnson. "I couldn't stay here and
work alone. It would be like beginning life again; I've started twice
and couldn't start the third time. You'll understand when you're
married, Harry."

Well, in the end, she wore Johnson out--or wore into him rather. He
drank more, and once or twice I saw him drinking alone. Sometimes he'd
"round on us" at work for nothing at all, and at other times he'd take
no interest in the jobs--he'd let the work go on anyhow. Some thought
that Johnson was getting too big for his boots, that's how men are
misjudged. He grew moody and melancholy and thin again. Johnson was
h