the face of her
mother. But, unused as she had been to scenes made solemn by death,
she appeared to know her part in this one.

Intelligence of the disaster that had fallen on the household at
Shoulthwaite Moss was not long in circulating through Wythburn. One
after another, the shepherds and their wives called in, and were taken
to the silent room upstairs. Some offered such rude comfort as their
sympathetic hearts but not too fecund intellects could devise, and as
often as not it was sorry comfort enough. Some stood all but
speechless, only gasping out at intervals, "Deary me." Others, again,
seemed afflicted with what old Matthew Branthwaite called "doddering"
and a fit of the "gapes."

It was towards nightfall when Matthew himself came to Shoulthwaite.
"I'm the dame's auldest neighbor," he had said at the Red Lion that
afternoon, when the event of the night previous had been discussed.
"It's nobbut reet 'at I should gang alang to her this awesome day.
She'll be glad of the neighborhood of an auld friend's crack." They
were at their evening meal of sweet broth when Matthew's knock came to
the door, followed, without much interval, by his somewhat gaunt
figure on the threshold.

"Come your ways in," said Mrs. Ray. "And how fend you, Mattha?"

"For mysel', I's gayly. Are ye middlin' weel?" the old man said.

"I'm a lang way better, but I'm going yon way too. It's far away the
bainer way for me now." And Mrs. Ray put her apron to her eyes.

"Ye'll na boune yit, Mary," said Matthew. "Ye'll na boune yon way for
mony a lang year yit. So dunnet ye beurt, Mary."

Mattha's blubbering tones somewhat discredited his stoical advice.

Rotha had taken down a cup, and put the old man to sit between herself
and Willy, facing Mrs. Ray.

"I met Ralph in the morning part," said Matthew; "he telt me all the
ins and outs aboot it. I reckon he were going to the kirk garth aboot
the berryin'."

Mrs. Ray raised her apron to her eyes again. Willy got up and left the
room. He at least was tortured by this kind of comfort.

"He's of the bettermer sort, _he_ is," said Matthew with a motion of
his head towards the door at which Willy had gone out. "He taks it
bad, does Willy. Ralph was chapfallen a laal bit, but not ower much.
Deary me, but ye've gat all sorts of sons though you've nobbut two.
Weel, weel," he added, as though reconciling himself to Willy's
tenderness and Ralph's hardness of heart, "if there were na fells
there wad