Dully he got his time-check from the keeper.
" Curse her, " he said, " and that 's the end of whores " —
He stumbled drunkenly across a sleeper —
" Give all you have and get kicked out a-doors. "
He cashed his time-check at the station stores.
" Bett'ring yourself, I hope, Jim, " said the master;
" That's it, " said Jim; " and so I will do, blast her. "

Beyond the bridge, a sharp turn to the right
Leads to " The Bull and Boar, " the carters' rest;
An inn so hidden it is out of sight
To anyone not coming from the west,
The high embankment hides it with its crest.
Far up above the Chester trains go by,
The drinkers see them sweep against the sky.

Canal men used it when the barges came,
The navvies used it when the line was making;
The pigeons strut and sidle, ruffling, tame,
The chuckling brook in front sets shadows shaking.
Cider and beer for thirsty workers' slaking,
A quiet house; like all that God controls,
It is Fate's instrument on human souls.

Thither Jim turned. " And now I'll drink, " he said.
" I'll drink and drink — I never did before —
I'll drink and drink until I'm mad or dead,
For that's what comes of meddling with a whore. "
He called for liquor at " The Bull and Boar "
Moody he drank; the woman asked him why
" Have you had trouble? " " No, " he said, " I'm dry.

" Dry and burnt up, so give's another drink;
That's better, that 's much better, that 's the sort. "
And then he sang, so that he should not think,
His Binger-Bopper song, but cut it short.
His wits were working like a brewer's wort
Until among them came the vision gleaming
Of Ern with bloody nose and Anna screaming.

" That 's what I'll do, " he muttered; " knock him out,
And kick his face in with a running jump.
I'll not have dazzled eyes this second bout,
And she can wash the fragments under pump. "
It was his ace; but Death had played a trump.
Death the blind beggar chuckled, nodding dumb,
" My game; the shroud is ready, Jimmy — come. "

Meanwhile, the mother, waiting for her child,
Had tottered out a dozen times to search.
" Jimmy, " she said, " you'll drive your mother wild;
Your father's name 's too good a name to smirch,
Come home, my dear, she'll leave you in the lurch;
He was so good, my little Jim, so clever;
He never stop a night away, not ever.

" He never slept a night away till now,
Never, not once, in all the time he's been.
It 's the Lord's will, they say, and we must bow,
But O it 's like a knife, it cuts so keen!
He'll work in 's Sunday clothes, it'll be seen,
And then they'll laugh, and say " It isn't strange;
He slept with her, and so he couldn't change."

" Perhaps. " she thought, " I'm wrong; perhaps he's dead;
Killed himself like; folk do in love, they say.
He never tells what passes in his head,
And he 's been looking late so old and grey.
A railway train has cut his head away,
Like the poor hare we found at Maylow's shack.
O God have pity, bring my darling back! "

All the high stars went sweeping through the sky,
The sun made all the orient clean, clear gold,
" O blessed God, " she prayed, " do let me die,
Or bring my wand'ring lamb back into fold.
The whistle's gone, and all the bacon 's cold;
I must know somehow if he 's on the line,
He could have bacon sandwich when he dine. "

She cut the bread, and started, short of breath,
Up the canal now draining for the rail;
A poor old woman pitted against death,
Bringing her pennyworth of love for bail.
Wisdom, beauty, and love may not avail.
She was too late. " Yes, he was here; oh, yes.
He chucked his job and went. " " Where? " " Home. I guess. "

" Home, but he hasn't been home. " " Well, he went.
Perhaps you missed him, mother. " " Or perhaps
He took the field path yonder through the bent.
He very likely done that, don't he, chaps? "
The speaker tested both his trouser straps
And took his pick. " He 's in the town, " he said.
" He'll be all right, after a bit in bed. "

She trembled down the high embankment's ridge
Glad, though too late; not yet too late, indeed.
For forty yards away, beyond the bridge,
Jimmy still drank, the devil still sowed seed.
" A bit in bed, " she thought, " is what I need.
I'll go to " Bull and Boar" and rest a bit,
They've got a bench outside; they'd let me sit. "

Even as two soldiers on a fortress wall
See the bright fire streak of a coming shell,
Catch breath, and wonder " Which way will it fall?
To you? to me? or will it all be well? "
Ev'n so stood life and death, and could not tell
Whether she'd go to th' inn and find her son,
Or take the field and let the doom be done.

" No, not the inn, " she thought. " People would talk.
I couldn't in the open daytime; no.
I'll just sit here upon the timber balk,
I'll rest for just a minute and then go. "
Resting, her old tired heart began to glow,
Glowed and gave thanks, and thought itself in clover.
" He 's lost his job, so now she'll throw him over. "

Sitting, she saw the rustling thistle-kex,
The picks flash bright above, the trollies tip,
The bridge-stone shining, full of silver specks,
And three swift children running down the dip.
A Stoke Saint Michael carter cracked his whip,
The water in the runway made its din.
She half heard singing coming from the inn.

She turned, and left the inn, and took the path,
And " Brother Life, you lose, " said Brother Death,
" Even as the Lord of all appointed hath
In this great miracle of blood and breath. "
He doeth all things well as the book saith,
He bids the changing stars fulfil their turn,
His hand is on us when we least discern.

Slowly she tottered, stopping with the stitch,
Catching her breath, " O lawks, a dear, a dear.
How the poor tubings in my heart do twitch,
It hurts like the rheumatics very near. "
And every painful footstep drew her clear
From that young life she bore with so much pain.
She never had him to herself again.

Out of the inn came Jimmy, red with drink,
Crying: " I'll show her. Wait a bit. I'll show her.
You wait a bit. I'm not the kid you think.
I'm Jimmy Gurney, champion tupper-thrower,
When I get done with her you'll never know her,
Nor him you won't. Out of my way, you fowls,
Or else I'll rip the red things off your jowls. "

He went across the fields to Plaister's End.
There was a lot of water in the brook,
Sun and white cloud and weather on the mend
For any man with any eyes to look.
He found old Callow's plough-bat, which he took,
" My innings now, my pretty dear, " said he.
" You wait a bit. I'll show you. Now you'll see. "

Her chimney smoke was blowing blue and faint,
The wise duck shook a tail across the pool,
The blacksmith's shanty smelt of burning paint,
Four newly-tired cartwheels hung to cool.
He had loved the place when under Anna's rule.
Now he clenched teeth and flung aside the gate,
There at the door they stood. He grinned. " Now wait. "

Ern had just brought her in a wired hare,
She stood beside him stroking down the fur.
" Oh, Ern, poor thing, look how its eyes do stare, "
" It isn't it , " he answered. " It 's a her. "
She stroked the breast and plucked away a bur,
She kissed the pads, and leapt back with a shout,
" My God, he 's got the spudder. Ern. Look out. "

Ern clenched his fists. Too late. He felt no pain,
Only incredible haste in something swift,
A shock that made the sky black on his brain,
Then stillness, while a little cloud went drift.
The weight upon his thigh bones wouldn't lift;
Then poultry in a long procession came,
Grey-legged, doing the goose-step, eyes like flame.

Grey-legged old cocks and hens sedate in age,
Marching with jerks as though they moved on springs,
With sidelong hate in round eyes red with rage,
And shouldered muskets clipped by jealous wings,
Then an array of horns and stupid things:
Sheep on a hill with harebells, hare for dinner.
" Hare. " A slow darkness covered up the sinner.

" But little time is right hand fain of blow. "
Only a second changes life to death;
Hate ends before the pulses cease to go,
There is great power in the stop of breath.
There 's too great truth in what the dumb thing saith,
Hate never goes so far as that, nor can.
" I am what life becomes. D'you hate me, man? "

Hate with his babbling instant, red and damning,
Passed with his instant, having drunken red.
" You've killed him. "
" No, I've not, he 's only shamming.
Get up. " " He can't. " " O God, he isn't dead. "
" O God. " " Here. Get a basin. Bathe his head.
Ernie, for God's sake, what are you playing at?
I only give him one like, with the bat. "

Man cannot call the brimming instant back;
Time 's an affair of instants spun to days;
If man must make an instant gold, or black,
Let him, he may, but Time must go his ways.
Life may be duller for an instant's blaze.
Life's an affair of instants spun to years,
Instants are only cause of all these tears.

Then Anna screamed aloud. " Help. Murder. Murder. "
" By God, it is, " he said. " Through you, you slut. "
Backing, she screamed, until the blacksmith heard her.
" Hurry, " they cried, " the woman's throat 's being cut. "
Jim had his coat off by the water butt.
" He might come to, " he said, " with wine or soup.
I only hit him once, like, with the scoop.

" Splash water on him, chaps. I only meant
To hit him just a clip, like, nothing more.
There. Look. He isn't dead, his eyelids went.
And he went down. O God, his head's all tore.
I've washed and washed: it 's all one gob of gore.
He don't look dead to you? What? Nor to you?
Not kill, the clip I give him, couldn't do. "

" God send; he looks damn bad, " the blacksmith said.
" Py Cot, " his mate said, " she wass altogether;
She hass an illness look of peing ted. "
" Here. Get a glass, " the smith said, " and a feather. "
" Wass you at fightings or at playings whether? "
" Here, get a glass and feather. Quick 's the word. "
The glass was clear. The feather never stirred.

" By God, I'm sorry, Jim. That settles it. "
" By God. I've killed him then. " " The doctor might. "
" Try, if you like; but that 's a nasty hit. "
" Doctor's gone by. He won't be back till night. "
" Py Cot, the feather was not looking right. "
" By Jesus, chaps, I never meant to kill 'un.
Only to bat. I'll go to p'leece and tell 'un.

" O Ern, for God's sake speak, for God's sake speak. "
No answer followed: Ern had done with dust,
" The pleece is best, " the smith said, " or a beak.
I'll come along; and so the lady must.
Evans, you bring the lady, will you just?
Tell 'em just how it come, lad. Come your ways;
And Joe, you watch the body where it lays. "

They walked to town, Jim on the blacksmith's arm.
Jimmy was crying like a child, and saying,
" I never meant to do him any harm. "
His teeth went clack, like bones at murmurs playing,
And then he trembled hard and broke out praying,
" God help my poor old mother. If he 's dead,
I've brought her my last wages home, " he said.

He trod his last free journey down the street;
Treading the middle road, and seeing both sides,
The school, the inns, the butchers selling meat,
The busy market where the town divides.
Then past the tanpits full of stinking hides,
And up the lane to death, as weak as pith.
" By God, I hate this, Jimmy, " said the smith.