He felt on the coverlet and found Nancy’s hand there. It was cold, almost hard. “Nancy,” he said, “it is Kennie, your own boy Kennie; don’t be afraid.”
It did not take long for Kenneth to light a roaring fire on the hearth. As soon as it burned up he held the iron lamp over it to melt the frozen oil; then he hung it up. The water in a bucket was frozen, and even some milk that stood on a little table near Nancy’s bed was solid.
The inside of that cot was dreary in the extreme, but Kenneth soon made it more cheerful.
Poor old Nancy smiled her thanks and held out her hand to her boy, as she always called Kennie. He chafed it while he entreated her to tell him how she felt.
“Happy! happy! happy!” she replied, “but, poor boy, you are shaking.”
Kenneth was, and he felt his heart so full that tears would have been a relief, but he wisely restrained himself.
He melted and warmed the milk, and made her drink some. Then, at her own request, he raised her up in the bed.
“Dinna be sorry,” she said, “when poor auld Nancy’s in the mools. It is the gate we have a’ to gang. But oh! dear boy, it’s the gate to glory for poor Nancy. And so it will be for you, laddie, if you never forget to pray. Prayer has been the mainstay and comfort o’ my life; God has always been near me, and He’s near me now, and will see me safe through the dark waters o’ death. Here’s a little Bible,” she said. “It was Nancy’s when young. Keep it for her sake, and oh! never forget to read it.
“Now, laddie, can you find your way to Dugald’s? Send him here. There is an aulder head on his shoulders than on yours, and I have that to say a man should hear and remember.”
“I’ll go at once,” said Kenneth, “and come back soon, and bring the doctor too, Nancy. I won’t say good-night, I’ll be back so soon.”