a while he began again:

"Ye're fair dune, Jess, and so a' am masel'; we're baith gettin' auld,
an' dinna tak sae weel wi' the nicht wark.

"We 'ill sune be hame noo; this is the black wood, and it's no lang
aifter that; we're ready for oor beds, Jess.... ay, ye like a clap at a
time; mony a mile we've gaed hegither.

"Yon's the licht in the kitchen window; nae wonder ye're nickering
(neighing).... it's been a stiff journey; a'm tired, lass.... a'm tired
tae deith," and the voice died into silence.

Drumsheugh held his friend's hand, which now and again tightened in his,
and as he watched, a change came over the face on the pillow beside him.
The lines of weariness disappeared, as if God's hand had passed over it;
and peace began to gather round the closed eyes.

The doctor has forgotten the toil of later years, and has gone back to
his boyhood.

[Illustration: "SHE'S CARRYIN' A LIGHT IN HER HAND"]

"The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want," he repeated, till he came to
the last verse, and then he hesitated.

"Goodness and mercy all my life
Shall surely follow me.

"Follow me ... and ... and ... what's next? Mither said I wes tae haed
ready when she cam.

"'A'll come afore ye gang tae sleep, Wullie, but ye 'ill no get yir kiss
unless ye can feenish the psalm.'

"And ... in God's house ... for evermore my ... hoo dis it rin? a canna
mind the next word ... my, my--

"It's ower dark noo tae read it, an' mither 'ill sune be comin."

Drumsheugh, in an agony, whispered into his ear, "'My dwelling-place,'
Weelum."

"That's it, that's it a' noo; wha said it?

"And in God's house for evermore
My dwelling-place shall be.

"A'm ready noo, an' a'll get ma kiss when mither comes; a' wish she wud
come, for a'm tired an' wantin' tae sleep.

"Yon's her step ... an' she's carryin' a licht in her hand; a' see it
through the door.

"Mither! a' kent ye wudna forget yir laddie for ye promised tae come,
and a've feenished ma psalm.

"And in God's house for evermore
My dwelling-place shall be.

"Gie me the kiss, mither, for a've been waitin' for ye, an' a'll sune be
asleep."

The grey morning light fell on Drumsheugh, still holding his friend's
cold hand, and staring at a hearth where the fire had died down into
white ashes; but the peace on the doctor's face was of one who rested
from his labours.

THE MOURNING OF THE GLEN

V.

THE MOURNING OF THE GLEN.

Dr. MacLure