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8 very still around her -- still in the neat kitchen, & still out in the dreaming, June sunshine. As she is there seated alone, she hears the door-bell ring. It is a single stroke, -- not loud, nor startling, but low, soft & almost sad. She rises from the table, brushing the few crumbs from her clean chequered apron. Passing through the sitting room, she enters the hall, unlocks and opens the front door. A tall, well-dressed gentleman stands on the broad step before her. He bows politely, & after the usual salutations, he adds,-- "This is Mrs Mason, I believe." "It is, sir." answers the widow. Here he hesitates, as if at a loss what to say. He has a cane in his hand, with which, for a brief moment, he toys nervously with a leaf lying at his feet. Then he speaks, saying,-- "Madam, you must be as calm--" "Oh, sir," she cries, interrupting him, a sudden fear coming over her, "has there anything happened?" "It pains me deeply, Mrs Mason, to tell you that a sad accident has occurred:--that, not an hour ago, your son Johnnie fell from a high scaffold & was instantly killed!" he answers, gently, & looking pityingly into her troubled face. ""Fell -- scaffold -- instantly killed!" iterates the unclear mother, in broken accents. "It is even so, Madam. His remains are now on the