"Let me straighten your pillow, mother dear," she said, and suited the action to the word. Her mother clasped the deft hands that arranged things so comfortably, and looked long with yearning fondness into her daughter's face.
"Winnie," she said finally, "could you sing just a little for me?"
Winifred choked back a sob that tried to escape. "I will try," she said.
She brought a little stringed instrument that her mother loved, with which she sometimes accompanied her songs.
"What shall I sing?" she asked, seating herself beside the bed.
"I don't know," hesitated her mother.
"Would you like that little Scotch song from Sankey's book?"
"Oh, yes. That is very sweet."
So Winifred began the plaintive words:
"I am far frae my hame, an' I'm weary aftenwhiles
For the langed-for hame bringin' an' my Faither's welcome
smiles."