s stunned by the blow, and a feeling of intense gloom
pervaded my mind all day. But next morning the rumour was corrected.
Job, it seems, had gone for a long swim on the Saturday morning, and,
not realising that he had lost strength during the last six months, had
swum too far out of his depth. His strength had given out on the return
journey, and only the arrival of a boatman had saved him from death by
drowning. Relieved as I was by this second account of what had happened,
I was, nevertheless, a prey to the fear that this second encounter with
death would have enhanced that agony of mind which he had endured ever
since the moment when his friend, Abe Verity, had fallen into the
cauldron of molten steel. I waited anxiously for Job's return home and
determined to go and see him on the evening following his arrival.

I was in my bedroom, preparing to start off, when, to my surprise, I
heard Job's voice at my front door. I ran downstairs and was face to
face with a Job Hesketh that I had not known for six months. His head
and shoulders were erect, he had put on flesh, and the cowed look had
entirely vanished from his eyes. I at once congratulated him on his
improved appearance.

"Aye, aye," he answered, "there's nowt mich wrang wi' me."

"Bridlington, I see, has done you a world of good."

"Nay, I've bin farther nor Bridlington," he replied, and the old merry
twinkle, that I knew so well and had missed so long, came into his eyes.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Have you been on board one of the Wilson
liners in the Humber and crossed over to Holland?"

"Farther nor Holland," he replied, with a chuckle. "I've bin to heaven.
I reckon I'm t' first Yorkshireman that's bin to heaven an' gotten a
return ticket given him."

"Sit down, Job," I said, "and stop that nonsense. What do you mean?"

Job seated himself by my study fire, leisurely took from his pocket a
dirty clay pipe and a roll of black twist, which he proceeded to cut and
pound. As he was thus engaged he would look up from time to time into my
face and enjoy to the full the look of impatience imprinted on it.

"Aye, lad," he began at last, "I've bin to heaven sin I last saw thee,
an' heaven's more like Leeds nor I thowt for."

"Like Leeds!" I exclaimed, and, as Job seemed in a jesting mood, I
decided to humour him. "I fancy it must have been the other place you
got to. To think of you not being able to tell heaven from hell."

"Nay, 'twere heaven, reight e