MORNING SERIAL

THERE was an awkward silence in the house that evening when he entered. His mother and father sat at the table. A place had been prepared for him. But he wanted nothing. He felt no hunger. A deep, aching pain gripped him in the pit of his stomach. His father looked up. “You had bad news at the foundry, Ieuan. I’m sorry.”

“Yes, it was a shock, indeed,” said his mother. “Terrible accident. The poor chap didn’t have a chance, so I was told. Burned to a cinder, and they say he was screaming something awful, Dick.”

“He was your friend, Ieuan,” the father said gravely. “I just can’t say how bad I feel about it all.”

Ieuan sat down. He rested his head on his arms.

“The foundry killed him, Dad. I – I just can’t stick it any more.”

His mother’s lips pursed. “Come now, Ieuan — don’t talk like that, boy. I’m sorry for the poor chap — very sorry. But you must remember that’s how life is. No one knows what’s in front of him, and we must thank God for such a mercy. You shouldn’t let yourself get upset like this, Ieuan. You’ll only make yourself ill.”

“I saw him, Mam. I saw him lying there on the ground. He called on Christ and –”

“Of course, of course. The poor fellow must ha’ suffered agonies. But you must pull yourself together, stop worrying about the foundry. It’s an awful thing to say, but what is to be, will be.

Leave yourself go to pieces, Ieuan, and where will it get you? Life is short enough, and you can’t afford to be making yourself ill like this. Go and have a wash, now. You’ll feel better then, and after you’ve had something to eat.”

She filled a pan with hot water from the kettle and got a towel ready for him.

“Today the poor fellow died,” she said, half to herself. “That means his funeral will be on Friday afternoon. You’ll have to have a new hat, Ieuan – a bowler. It’s a bit of an expense, but I think I’ll be able to manage somehow.

Ieuan stared fixedly in front of him.

“Don’t worry, Mam. Frank wouldn’t mind if I wore a hat or not,” he said bitterly.