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Mr. James Lund happened to be there. He was not a little surprised to see me, and wanted to know all particulars as to my wanderings. I offered an explanation as best I could. Mr. Lund provided me with refreshment, which I badly needed, and paid my railway fair to Keighley. When I got into this “Golden Valley of the West Riding,” as Keighley has been called, I had no little difficulty in getting to my home at the North Beck Mills. My feet were intensely sore with my long tramp, and I could scarcely put one before the other—which, of course, is a necessary performance if one wants to walk anywhere. However, I reached home in time—after an absence of something like nine months. I was received there with all the welcome it was possible for a prodigal son to be. My mother said she dreamed the night before I was coming home. I don’t exaggerate facts much when I say there were great rejoicings in the camp at my home-coming. Of course, with paternal regard, my father wanted to know where I had been, and, when I had given him a hurried account of my peregrinations, he strongly recommended me to “jump into a peggytubful o’ water an’ hev a wesh.” I accordingly executed the order of the bath, and donned a suit of clothes, which I had left behind me. My father said, “Well, I don’t want them to lose anything by you at Hull;” and with those few, but expressive remarks, he took my sailor’s suit and pitched it into the North Beck—which ran near by our homestead. I regret I have no proof before me that the clothes ever reached Hull. But we will let byegones be byegones. I was put back to warp-dressing at North Beck Mills, where I remained for a few months.