Mrs. Shafto came to him at once, with a look of great surprise on her pleasant face.
"Hush!" he said. "Shut the door. Don't let little Gip know. Mother's there, out in the yard, and I'm scared to death almost. What must I do? She hasn't stirred since I came in more than an hour ago; and I'm more scared now than when I first see her sitting agen the wall there."
"Are you sure it's your mother?" asked Mrs. Shafto, looking through the window at the miserable creature.
"Ay, I'm sure and certain," he answered, bitterly. "She's found us just at the last, and she's come to hinder little Gip and me going to Canada. If she'd only leave Gip alone, I'd stay behind; but I could never go without little Gip."
"No, no," said Mrs. Shafto, "she'll never hinder you from going with us. I know how a mother feels; and the worst of mothers wouldn't do such a thing as that. We'll go and talk to her; and we'll tell her Mr. Mason will help her, and take care of her. And if she can give up drink, we'll send money for her to come after us by-and-by; and, it may be, some day you'll be proud of your own mother yet, Sandy."
She had opened the outer door, and was leading him across the grave-yard to the corner where his mother lay asleep. Sandy almost resisted the gentle force of her hand upon his arm; but when they were quite close to the figure, and it did not move, though the wind ruffled the ragged shawl a little, the vague fear that had taken possession of him grew stronger, and began to have a definite meaning. Even a drunken sleep was seldom as death-like as this.
"Mother!" he cried in a voice that trembled, "Mother!"
There was no answer. His mother did not lift up her fallen head.
Mrs. Shafto stooped, and laid her hand upon the thin shrivelled fingers which hung down by the woman's side.
"Sandy! Why, Sandy!" she said quickly, "your mother's dead!"