It was a terrible thing that this blasphemer who--as she had heard--did not believe there was a Hell and said that the Bible was not the Word of God, should be here in the house sitting on one of their chairs, drinking from one of their cups, and talking to their children.
The children stood by wistfully when Owen put the kitten under his coat and rose to go away.
As Linden prepared to accompany him to the front door, Owen, happening to notice a timepiece standing on a small table in the recess at one side of the fireplace, exclaimed: 'That's a very nice clock.' 'Yes, it's all right, ain't it ?' said old Jack, with a touch of pride.
'Poor Tom made that: not the clock itself, but just the case.' It was the case that had attracted Owen's attention.

It stood about two feet high and was made of fretwork in the form of an Indian mosque, with a pointed dome and pinnacles.

It was a very beautiful thing and must have cost many hours of patient labour.
'Yes,' said the old woman, in a trembling, broken voice, and looking at Owen with a pathetic expression.

'Months and months he worked at it, and no one ever guessed who it were for.

And then, when my birthday came round, the very first thing I saw when I woke up in the morning were the clock standing on a chair by the bed with a card: 'To dear mother, from her loving son, Tom.
Wishing her many happy birthdays.' 'But he never had another birthday himself, because just five months afterwards he were sent out to Africa, and he'd only been there five weeks when he died.