And when she was deein', she askit
for it, and she dee'd wi' it in her haun'. An' that verra nicht, when
Donald an' me was sittin' fon'lin' her gowden curls an' biddin' ane
anither no' to greet--for ae broken hairt can comfort anither broken
hairt--he slippit the token frae oot her puir cauld wee haun', an' he
read the writin' that's on't oot lood: 'This do in remembrance of Me,'
an' he says, 'I'll dae it in remembrance o' them baith, mither--o'
Christ an' oor Elsie--an' when I show forth the Lord's death till He
come, I'll aye think o' them baith, an' think o' them baith thegither in
the yonderland--Christ an' oor Elsie--an' me an' you tae, mither, a'
thegither in the Faither's hoose.' An' a' the time o' the funeral he
hauded the token ticht, an' he keepit aye sayin' till himsel', 'Christ
an' oor Elsie--an' us a'.'

"Next Sabbath was the sacrament, an' Donald gaed alane, for I cudna gang
wi' him, and that was the day they tell't the fowk hoo communion cairds
was better, an' hoo they wudna use the tokens ony mair. Then Donald
grippit the seat, an' he rose an' gaed oot o' the kirk, an' cam hame,
an' gaed till his room, an' I didna see his face till the gloamin'. Oh,
minister, dinna think owre hard aboot him. That's why he never gaed mair
to the kirk, for he loved oor Elsie sair."

I pressed her hand in parting, but I spoke no word, for I was thinking
passionately of those golden curls, and that little hand in which the
token lay tightly clasped; but it was our Margaret's face that was white
upon the pillow. Love is a great interpreter.

The next Sabbath morning saw Donald and Elsie in the courts of Zion, and
great peace was upon their brows. When I ascended the pulpit stairs,
they were already in their ancestral pew, now the property of Hector
Campbell, who had abandoned it with joy, only asking that he be given
one in the gallery from which he might see Donald's face.

We opened our service with the Scottish psalm--

"How lovely is Thy dwelling-place,
Oh, Lord of hosts, to me,"

and a strange thing befell us then. Donald was singing huskily,
struggling with a storm which had its centre in his heart, all the more
violent because it was a summer storm and fed from the inmost tropics of
his soul. But it was the part Elsie took in that great psalm which is
still the wonder of all who were there that day, though her voice hath
long been silent in the grave. She had, years before, been reckoned the
sweetest