e word afore we pairt," suddenly interjected a humble little
elder who had never been known to speak before. "It's in my conscience,
an' I want to pit it oot. We a' ken fine we haena been ower regular at
the prayer meetin'; but we'll try to dae better in the time to come.
It's death-bed repentance, I ken, but it's better than nane."

One by one the delegates shook hands with me and withdrew, after I had
promised them as early a pronouncement as my still unsettled mind could
hope to give. After they had gone, I sat long by myself, pondering all
that had been said, looking for light indeed, but striving to quench all
other beams than those whose radiance was from above.

While thus employed, a feeble footfall was heard upon the steps, and a
gentle knocking called me to the door. It was no other than little
Issie's grandfather who stood before me.

"Come in, come in," I said cordially, for he was dear to me, and we had
the bond of a common sorrow. "Have you forgotten something?"

"No," he answered, "but I hae minded something. I didna speak when a'
the ithers spoke; but I want to tell ye something by yirsel'. I think ye
ought to ken. It has to dae wi' yir decision.

"Ye mind wee Issie? Well, the mornin' ye came back frae Charleston, she
was lyin' white an' still on the pillow. She hadna spoke a' through the
nicht, an' we a' thocht she wad speak nae mair--but at six o'clock yir
train blew afore it came into the station. An' wee Issie stirred on the
pillow. Her lips moved an' I pit doon my ear.

"'He'll be on that train,' she whispered low. 'Wha'll be on the train?'
I askit her. 'The minister,' was a' she said.

"I was alane wi' her, an' I said: 'Mebbe so, Issie.' Then she spoke nae
mair for a little, but soon she said: 'God'll bring him back to open the
gate for me before I go. Grandfather,' she said, 'he first told me of
the gate and he said I would find it beautiful when I got close--and so
it is--but I want him to push it farther open, for I am so weak and
tired. I'm sure God will bring him home in time.'"

My eyes were wet, and I could only take the old man's hand in mine, the
silent token that the greatest argument of all had been kept until the
last.

"There's mair of us," he said, as the sobs shook his feeble frame,
"there's mair of us wha's comin' near the gate. I'm no' far frae it
mysel'. An' I want ye to wait my turn; I want ye to bide wi' us till ye
see me through the gate. A stranger wadna be the same.