It was not snowing when he started. The morning clouds were even touched with red, but there were others hanging low down, grey clouds with wind-frayed edges, that looked heavy still with snow.
Lois went with the old man as far as the gate, over the path, where already, people coming and going, had beaten a track across the snow. There she parted from him.
'It makes me sad to see you going away alone,' she said, leaning over the gate, which he had already passed through, and holding his hand across it.
'It is good to be alone,' said Willie, quietly.
'But the journey will be so long—so toilsome.'
'Then, Lois, I shall sleep the sounder at the end,' answered the old man with a smile.
'Ah,' said Lois, 'you are tired already.'
'Already,' he repeated musingly. 'Am I already tired? Is it not nearly time for rest? Lois,' he went on, 'there was an old man who made a prayer once, and I think since then it has ever been the best-loved prayer of all the old and the weary. You know it?'
'I think I do,' said Lois.
'Yes, you know it well.' But still, as if he could not resist repeating the dear words, Willie uncovered his head, saying in an earnest voice, 'Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, according to Thy word.' Then he turned to Lois with his child-like smile, and continued: 'I have prayed it so very often, Lois, that I sometimes think the answer must come soon.'