"I was in a bit o' a mullock," Private James Akroyd's letter went on,
"t' last time we were i' t' trenches; 'twern't mich to tell abaat, but
'twere hot while it lasted. There's lads says I'm baan to get a V.C. But
don't thou hark tul 'em; V.C.'s are noan for t' likes o' me.

"Jim."

"Is that all?" asked Annie, as her mother folded up the letter. "Don't
he want to know how mony teeth aar Jimmy's gotten, or owt abaat t'
pot-dogs I bowt i' t' markit."

"Nay, that's all," replied her mother, "without there's summat else i'
t' helmet." As she spoke she searched the helmet, and soon produced
another letter. It also was addressed to "Mrs Annie Akroyd," but in a
woman's hand. She opened the envelope and proceeded to read it aloud.

"Dear Mrs Akroyd,--You will have received a telegram from the War Office
telling you of your husband's death----"

As she heard the dreadful tidings, Annie turned deadly pale for a
moment; then the blood rushed streaming back, till face and neck were
crimson.

"It's a lee," she shouted, "a wicked lee. I ain't gotten no tillygram,
an' he said he were well an' enjoyin' a rest-cure."

Then she snatched the letter from her mother's trembling hands and, with
swimming eyes, read it to herself. It had been written by the hospital
nurse, and continued as follows:--