"'Let me to Thy bosom fly,'
an' I'm dootin' we micht dae waur than jine wi' him."
"There is no more fitting prayer for such an hour as this," I responded, thinking it meet to incline his thoughts towards the encircling glow with which the last great morning was already illumining his face.
But Archie still pursued his line of thought. No such great concession as this was to be left undefined; this codicil to his whole life's will and testament must be explained.
"I ken the hymes never had what I micht ca' a fair chance wi' me. My faither cudna thole them, an' he cudna bide ony ither body to thole them. He aye said the heather wasna dry yet wi' the Covenanters' bluid. Ma ain girlie, wee Kirsty,—she likit them fine, but I forbade her. This was the way it cam aboot—div ye mind the year o' the Exposeetion in Paris? Weel, me an' Kirsty's mither took a jaunt an' gaed till't. We was ower three weeks amang thae foreign fowk, wi' nae parritch an' nae psalm. We gaed frae Paris to the auld hame in Ettrick, an' 'twas like gae'n to Abraham's bosom frae the ither place. Weel, the first Sabbath day, we gaed to the auld Scotch kirk, and we were starvin' for the bread o' life.
"Naethin' had we had but the bit sweeties o' the English kirk near by, wi' their confections—an' ance we gaed to the Catholic, but it was a holiday. Weel, as I was sayin', we gaed to the Ettrick kirk an' the minister came into the pulpit wi' his goon an' bands—fair graun it was.
"'Let us worship God,' he said, an' 'twas like the click o' the gate at hame. Then he gied oot a psalm:
"'So they from strength unwearied go
Still forward unto strength.'
"The precentor was naethin' graun. I have heard better in St. Cuthbert's. He was oot mebbe a quarter o' a beat in his time, but the auld words had their power; 'twas like as if I heard my mither's voice again, an' I cudna sing for greetin', but my hairt aye keepit time, an' I resolved then no' to let Kirsty sing the hymes ony mair—but I'm misdootin' I've been wrang."
Backward rolled the night and onward rolled the day as we kept our vigil by the dying bed. Ever solemn hour, rehearsal of a darker yet to be! For that same mystery shall wrap every watcher's heart, and others then shall stand by the fallen sentinels.