‘Tell ‘er,’ he said, with difficulty, ‘’E’s took me ‘ome.’
‘Yes, Billy!’ she cried, gazing into his glazing eyes. He tried to lift her hand. She kissed him again. He drew one deep breath and lay quite still.
‘Thank the blessed Saviour!’ said Mr. Craig, reverently. ‘He has taken him home.’
But Mrs. Mavor held the dead hand tight and sobbed out passionately, ‘Oh, Billy, Billy! you helped me once when I needed help! I cannot forget!’
And Geordie, groaning, ‘Ay, laddie, laddie,’ passed out into the fading light of the early evening.
Next day no one went to work, for to all it seemed a sacred day. They carried him into the little church, and there Mr. Craig spoke of his long, hard fight, and of his final victory; for he died without a fear, and with love to the men who, not knowing, had been his death. And there was no bitterness in any heart, for Mr. Craig read the story of the sheep, and told how gently He had taken Billy home; but, though no word was spoken, it was there the League was made again.
They laid him under the pines, beside Lewis Mavor; and the miners threw sprigs of evergreen into the open grave. When Slavin, sobbing bitterly, brought his sprig, no one stopped him, though all thought it strange.
As we turned to leave the grave, the light from the evening sun came softly through the gap in the mountains, and, filling the valley, touched the trees and the little mound beneath with glory. And I thought of that other glory, which is brighter than the sun, and was not sorry that poor Billy’s weary fight was over; and I could not help agreeing with Craig that it was there the League had its revenge.