that stand, late
harvest day, bowed and witherin' in the cornfield? Because He reckons not
o' time. Glory, glory, to the Lord o' the harvestin'! But gether in for
me, He says, my bright sheaves, early ripe! my sheaves o' the golden
wine!

"It was the night but two before my grandson died, I seen a death-sign in
a dream, and so I speaks to my son's wife, but 'Fear you not,' I says;
'it was the blessed sign o' blessed death;' and thought o' some one old
and helpless, sick maybe, gettin' release thereby. Why this sheaf, O
Lord?--Glory, glory, to the Lord o' the harvestin'! For I dreamt there
was a bird ketched in my room, and flutterin' here and there, and beatin'
'ginst the window with its wings. And dreamin' I ris up, and there was
such a light along the floor as never any moonlight that I see was half
so solemn or so beautiful. But when I stretched my hand to free the poor,
blind, flutterin' bird, it ris away from me, and spread its wings,
snow-white, and out it flew, and sharp and clear along that shinin'
track. Then when I woke, I knew it was the sign o' blessed death, nor
ever feared. And God will bear me true, it was the very night they
brought my grandson home that, lyin' down to rest a while from watchin'
with the rest, nor ever wonderin' nor layin' it to mind what I had
dreamed afore, but tired and heart-broke only, I seen the long, bright
shinin' track ag'in, a pourin' through the window; and 'My son's son!' I
cries, 'dear boy! dear boy!'--for it was like him playin' on his
violin--'What tunes must be,' I cries, 'that you play so and scarce a day
in heaven!' But when I ris up, callin', it grew dim along the track, and
there was mornin' in the room, and then I heered them cryin' where they
watched.

"Why this sheaf, O Lord?--gether in the sheaves, O Lord, the bright
sheaves, early ripe and ready for the harvestin'. Glory, glory to the
Lord o' the harvestin'!"

Then the Wallencampers sang tremblingly of the "Harvest Home." They were
glad when they saw George Olver stand up in their midst--George Olver,
least subject of them all to dreams or ecstasies, but with his slow,
labored speech, and his sorrowful, bowed head. He took his place beside
the coffin of his friend, looked gently at that face, and squared his
shoulders for a moment then, and held his head with the old manly air:

"When Uncle 'Lihu died," said he; "my friend and me walked home together
from the funeral, and Luther says to me: 'I want you to pro