and should then
receive a helper; thus he was never to take leave of Ardmuirland except
to receive his heavenly reward. As we have seen, he died in harness,
before there could be any question of retirement.

And now another difficulty arose. His own native district naturally
laid claim to his mortal remains, and his relatives had speedily made
arrangements for his burial in the family grave. Then, indeed,
Ardmuirland was stirred.

"They wouldna' tak' him leevin'; they'll nae get him deid!" was the
universal cry.

So in the bright springtime, after a late fall of snow had clothed the
countryside in dazzling whiteness, his people bore him to the grave.
An immense gathering--of both Catholics and Protestants--had assembled;
in Bell's expressive phrase--"the country wes full o' men!" Every man
took his turn in helping to bear the coffin shoulder-high all the five
miles which lay between the priest's house and the ancient
burial-ground of St. Michael below the hill. There, surrounded by the
flock he had tended so long and so faithfully, the body of the pastor
awaits with them the general awakening to life eternal.

XI

A SPRIG OF SHAMROCK

"Amid the roses fierce Repentance rears
Her snaky crest."
(_Thomson's Seasons---"Spring"_)

"Shamrock in Scotland!" I seem to hear some captious critic exclaim. I
do not attribute Scottish birth to the particular sprig of shamrock
which is to figure in these pages, dear reader. Like all true
shamrock, it was grown in the Emerald Isle. Nevertheless, it was by
its means that the subject of this story migrated to Ardmuirland; hence
it is responsible for my narrative.

* * * * * *

It was no fault on Bernard Murray's part that all his acquaintances
should without exception imagine that he was of Scottish race. For
every one who knew him well--and they numbered not a few--dubbed him "a
canny Scot." He had not started the fiction, even if he had done
nothing toward contradicting it. For what did it matter to any one
else that his nationality should be so widely misinterpreted? He did
not care a straw. Indeed, it is possible that in his secret heart he
was rather pleased that the illusion had grown up. For it might prove
awkward to be known as Irish; Ireland, among the set in which he moved,
was looked upon as so impossibly retrograde! So when he was hailed as
"a canny Scot" Bernard merely smiled pleasantly and he