At this point Mrs. Mavor, whom I had quite forgotten, put her hand on my arm. ‘Go and tell him,’ she panted, ‘I want them to come on Thursday night, as they used to in the other days—go—quick,’ and she almost pushed me out. I gave Craig her message. He held up his hand for silence.
‘Mrs. Mavor wishes me to say that she will be glad to see you all, as in the old days, on Thursday evening; and I can think of no better place to give formal expression to our pledge of this night’
There was a shout of acceptance; and then, at some one’s call, the long pent-up feelings of the crowd found vent in three mighty cheers for Mrs. Mavor.
‘Now for our old hymn,’ called out Mr. Craig, ‘and Mrs. Mavor will lead us.’
He sat down at the organ, played a few bars of ‘The Sweet By and By,’ and then Mrs. Mavor began. But not a soul joined till the refrain was reached, and then they sang as only men with their hearts on fire can sing. But after the last refrain Mr. Craig made a sign to Mrs. Mavor, and she sang alone, slowly and softly, and with eyes looking far away—
‘In the sweet by and by,
We shall meet on that beautiful shore.’
There was no benediction—there seemed no need; and the men went quietly out. But over and over again the voice kept singing in my ears and in my heart, ‘We shall meet on that beautiful shore.’ And after the sleigh-loads of men had gone and left the street empty, as I stood with Craig in the radiant moonlight that made the great mountains about come near us, from Sandy’s sleigh we heard in the distance Baptiste’s French-English song; but the song that floated down with the sound of the bells from the miners’ sleigh was—
‘We shall meet on that beautiful shore.’
‘Poor old Shaw!’ said Craig softly.
When the last sound had died away I turned to him and said—