d said to me, `If I mistake not, you are Masterman Ready, who
ran away to sea; are you not?' `Yes, sir,' replied I, very sorrowfully,
`I am.' `Well, my man,' said he, `cheer up; when you went away you were
young and thoughtless, and certainly had no idea that you would have
distressed your mother as you did. It was not your going to sea, but
the report of your death, which preyed so much upon her mind; and that
was not your fault. You must come with me, as I have something to say
to you.'

"`I will call upon you to-morrow, sir,' replied I; `I cannot do anything
until I talk to the neighbours and visit my poor mother's grave. It is
very true that I did not intend to distress my mother; and that the
report of my death was no fault of mine. But I cannot help feeling
that, if I had not been so thoughtless, she would be still alive and
happy.' The gentleman gave me his address, and I promised to call upon
him next morning. I then went to the house my mother used to live in.
I knew that she was not there; yet I was disappointed and annoyed when I
heard merry laughter within. I looked in, for the door was open; in the
corner where my mother used to sit, there was a mangle, and two women
busily at work; others were ironing at a large table; and when they
cried out to me, `What do you want?' and laughed at me, I turned away in
disgust, and went to a neighbouring cottage, the inmates of which had
been very intimate with my mother. I found the wife at home, but she
did not know me; and I told her who I was. She had attended my mother
during her illness, till the day of her death; and she told me all I
wished to know. It was some little relief to my mind to hear that my
poor mother could not have lived, as she had an incurable cancer; but at
the same time the woman told me that I was ever in her thoughts, and
that my name was the last word on her lips. She also said that Mr
Masterman had been very kind to my mother, and that she had wanted
nothing. I then asked her to show me where my mother had been buried.
She put on her bonnet, and led me to the grave, and then, at my request,
she left me. I seated myself down by the mound of turf which covered
her, and long and bitterly did I weep her loss and pray for forgiveness.

"It was quite dark when I left the spot and went back to the cottage of
the kind woman who had attended my mother. I conversed with her and her
husband till late, and then, as they offered me a bed,