f "that love
wherewith we mourn this day Thy servant departed." Again the same sigh,
and the minister said Amen. The "wricht" stood in the doorway without
speaking, and four stalwart men came forward. They were the volunteers
that would lift the coffin and carry it for the first stage. One was
Tammas, Annie Mitchell's man; and another was Saunders Baxter, for whose
life MacLure had his great fight with death; and the third was the Glen
Urtach shepherd for whose wife's sake MacLure suffered a broken leg and
three fractured ribs in a drift; and the fourth, a Dunleith man, had his
own reasons of remembrance.

"He's far lichter than ye wud expeck for sae big a man--there wesna
muckle left o' him, ye see--but the road is heavy, and a'il change ye
aifter the first half mile."

"Ye needna tribble yersel, wricht," said the man from Glen Urtach;
"the'll be nae change in the cairryin' the day," and Tammas was thankful
some one had saved him speaking.

Surely no funeral is like unto that of a doctor for pathos, and a
peculiar sadness fell on that company as his body was carried out who
for nearly half a century had been their help in sickness, and had
beaten back death time after time from their door. Death after all
was victor, for the man that had saved them had not been able to save
himself.

As the coffin passed the stable door a horse nieghed within, and every
man looked at his neighbour. It was his old mare crying to her master.

Jamie slipped into the stable, and went up into the stall.

"Puir lass, ye're no gaen' wi' him the day, an' ye 'ill never see him
again; ye've hed yir last ride thegither, an' ye were true tae the end."

[Illustration: "DEATH AFTER ALL WAS VICTOR"]

After the funeral Drumsheugh came himself for Jess, and took her to his
farm. Saunders made a bed for her with soft, dry straw, and prepared for
her supper such things as horses love. Jess would neither take food nor
rest, but moved uneasily in her stall, and seemed to be waiting for some
one that never came. No man knows what a horse or a dog understands and
feels, for God hath not given them our speech. If any footstep was heard
in the courtyard, she began to neigh, and was always looking round as
the door opened. But nothing would tempt her to eat, and in the
night-time Drumsheugh heard her crying as if she expected to be taken
out for some sudden journey. The Kildrummie veterinary came to see her,
and said that nothing could be done when it