ellow, childish epistle I am stung with
remorse that it is full of the narrow sectarianism that still held me in
its grip. The other is dated Antrim, July, 1884, and is her answer to my
sectarian appeal.

"Dear boy," she says, "Antrim has had many soldier sons in far-off
lands, but you are the first, I think, to have the privilege of visiting
the Holy Land. Jamie and I are proud of you. All the old friends have
read your letter. They can hardly believe it. Don't worry about our
souls. When we come one by one in the twilight of life, each of us,
Jamie and I, will have our sheaves. They will be little ones, but we are
little people. I want no glory here or hereafter that Jamie cannot
share. I gave God a plowman, but your father says I must chalk half of
that to his account. Hold tight the handles and plow deep. We watch the
candle and every wee spark thrills our hearts, for we know it's a letter
from you.

"Your loving mother."

CHAPTER IX

"BEYOND TH' MEADOWS AN' TH' CLOUDS"

When the bill-boards announced that I was to deliver a lecture on
"England in the Soudan" in the only hall in the town, Antrim turned out
to satisfy its curiosity. "How doth this man know, not having learned,"
the wise ones said, for when I shook the dust of its blessed streets
from my brogues seven years previously I was an illiterate.

Anna could have told them, but none of the wise knew her, for curiously
enough to those who knew of her existence, but had never seen her, she
was known as "Jamie's wife." Butchers and bakers and candlestick makers
were there; several ministers, some quality, near quality, the
inhabitants of the entries in the "Scotch quarter" and all the newsboys
in town. The fact that I personally bribed the newsboys accounted for
their presence. I bought them out and reserved the front seats for them.
It was in the way of a class reunion with me. Billy O'Hare had gone
beyond--where there are no chimneys, and Ann where she could keep clean:
they were both dead. Many of the old familiar faces were absent, they
too had gone--some to other lands, some to another world. Jamie was
there. He sat between Willie Withero and Ben Baxter. He heard little of
what was said and understood less of what he heard. The vicar, Mr.
Holmes, presided. There was a vote of thanks, followed by the customary
seconding by public men, then "God save the Queen," and I went home to
tell Anna about it.

Jamie took one arm and Withero clung to t