I was at her side in a moment. 'There noo,' she said, 'I've dune;' and she choked down a sob. 'What I wanted to tell ye was that Nathan's very anxious to see ye; he wants to speak to ye aboot something. It's the first time he's speirt for onybody, an' I'm gled it's you. I ha'ena to gang in wi' ye, for he wants to see ye your lane.'

I pulled in my big chair nearer to the fire, put my mother's kirk hassock in front of it, and after I had seated Betty comfortably I went ben to Nathan's back-room.

A week or two ago, at his request, we had turned the bed round so that from where he lay he could see into the garden. I was present when Joe and Deacon Webster made the alteration; and when Nathan and I were alone and he had looked his 'e'efill' on the scene of his lifelong labour of love, he said, 'I'll no' weary noo, Maister Weelum. The flo'ers and the yirth ha'e aye a hamely look to me.'

And to-night, when I approached his bed, his eyes were fixed on the darkened shadowy plots outside. I didn't speak for a minute, and neither did he. Then, thinking he was unaware of my presence, I said, 'Nathan, I am here, beside you.'

'Ay, I ken.'

'Shall I bring in your lamp? It's getting dark now.'

'No, no, if ye please, dinna licht the lamp. I want to see—to see oot as lang as I can.'

I sat down beside him, and together we watched in silence the shadow of the night's wing creeping around bush and tree. And when everything was shrouded, and nothing was visible through the blue-black window-panes, Nathan's head turned on the pillow toward me. 'Man, Maister Weelum,' he said, 'it's quiet, quiet wark that. I'll never see it again—no, never again. Ye dinna mind sittin' in the dark?'

'No, Nathan.'

'Ay, the licht hurts my een; an'—an' I've never said muckle a' my life, but I've often thocht oot lang screeds in the darkness, an' mebbe it'll help me oot wi' what I've to say to ye the noo. Ay, the Hebrons dinna speak muckle, Maister Weelum; but this is a forby time wi' me, an' I've something to ask o' ye. I hardly expec'it the ca' at this time o' the year. The back-en's the time o' liftin'. I aye thocht, somewey, that when my time cam' it wad be when the growth was a' by, the aipples pu'd, and the tatties pitted; and it seems awfu' queer that I should ha'e to gang when the buds are burstin', an'—an' the gairden delvin' on—imphm!—but it's His wull. "The young may, the auld must."—Imphm!—Ay, are ye listenin', Maister Weelum?'