f years, and I know."

Jean nodded.

They were crossing the wide bridge over Tweed and she stopped and,
leaning her arms on the parapet, gazed up at Peel Tower.

"Let's look at Peel for a little," she said. "It's been there such a
long time and must have seen so many people trying to do their best and
only succeeding in making mischief. It seems to say, 'Nothing really
matters: you'll all be in the tod's hole in less than a hundred years. I
remain, and the river and the hills.'"

"Yes," said Pamela, "they are a great comfort, the unchanging
things--these placid round-backed hills, and the river and the grey
town--to us restless mortals.... Look, Jean, I want you to tell me if
you think this miniature is at all like Duncan Macdonald. You remember I
asked you to let me have that snapshot of him that you said was so
characteristic and I sent it to London to a woman I know who does
miniatures well. I thought his mother would like to have it. But you
must tell me if you think it good enough."

Jean took the miniature and looked at the pictured face, a laughing
boy's face, fresh-coloured, frank, with flaxen hair falling over a broad
brow.

When, after a minute, she handed it back she assured Pamela that the
likeness was wonderful.

"She has caught it exactly, that look in his eyes as if he were telling
you it was 'fair time of day' with him. Oh, dear Duncan! It's fair time
of day with him now, I am sure, wherever he is.... He was twenty-two
when he fell three years ago.... You've often heard Mrs. Macdonald speak
of her sons. Duncan was the youngest by a lot of years--the baby. The
others are frighteningly clever, but Duncan was a lamb. They all adored
him, but he wasn't spoiled.... Life was such a joke to Duncan. I can't
even now think of him as dead. He was so full of abounding life one
can't imagine him lying still--quenched. You know that odd little poem:

"'And Mary's the one that never liked angel stories,
And Mary's the one that's dead....'

Death and Duncan seem such a long way apart. Many people are so dull and
apathetic that they never seem more than half alive, so they don't leave
much of a gap when they go. But Duncan--The Macdonalds are brave, but I
think living to them is just a matter of getting through now. The end of
the day will mean Duncan. I am glad you thought about getting the
miniature done. You do have such nice thoughts, Pamela."

The Macdonalds' manse stood on the banks of Tweed, a h