a church-meeting. The little church was opposite―a 'chapel' they called it.'
He reflected.
'The pipe was alight. It was a clay pipe and nigger-head tobacco. Mother was at work out in the kitchen at the back, washing up the tea-things, and, when I went in, she said; 'You've been smoking!'
'Well, I couldn't deny it―I was too sick to do so, or care much, anyway.'
'Give me that pipe!' she said.
'I said I hadn't got it.''
'Give―me―that―pipe!' she said.
'I said I hadn't got it.''
'Where is it?' she said.
'Jim Brown's got it.' I said, 'it's his.'
'Then I'll give it to Jim Brown,' she said; and she did; though it wasn't Jim's fault, for he only gave it to me to mind. I didn't smoke the pipe so much because I wanted to smoke a pipe just then, as because I had such a great admiration for Jim.'
Mitchell reflected, and took a look at the moon. It had risen clear and had got small and cold and pure-looking, and had floated away back out amongst the stars.
'I felt better towards morning, but it didn't cure me―being sick and nearly dead all night, I mean. I got a clay pipe and tobacco, and the old lady found it and put it in the stove. Then I got another pipe and tobacco, and she laid for it, and found it out at last; but she didn't put the tobacco in the stove this time―she'd got experience. I don't know what she did with it. I tried to find it, but couldn't. I fancy the
