The girl lifted the Bible from the bed. "She knows the place I want—it's John the fourteenth," David said, his face turned to Harvey's. "We love all the places—they're all beautiful. There's lovely shade in the Psalms when the hot sun's beatin' down—an' it's all good; but John the fourteenth's like a deep, clear spring, an' that's where we stay the most—weary travellers loves a spring," and the dying man turned his eyes eagerly on the book Madeline had opened.
"Let not your heart be troubled.... In My Father's house are many mansions; if it were not so I would have told you." Thus flowed the stream of love; and David closed his eyes, drinking deep indeed of the living tide.
"Ain't that beautiful?" he said, his voice thrilled with passionate gladness. "I like that about the mansions the best, I think. Everybody loves a mansion. I got turned out o' one—the one our Madeline was born in; but this'll be a far better one, an' me an' Madeline an' mother'll live there always, an' nobody can't ever turn us out. It's our Father's," he added reverently.
Mrs. Borland was bending over him. "Don't talk, David," she pleaded; "it's too much for your strength."
He gazed up at her. "I want to give a—a testimony—afore I go," he said falteringly. "I jest want to own up that I always loved God—lots o' folks didn't think so—an' He always loved me, an' picked the path for me. An' He made everythin' to happen as it did; an' I believe I'm thankfuller for the things I didn't want to happen than for the ones I did—He seen the best, 'cause He was higher up. Madeline, sing for me," he appealed with failing breath; "sing a children's hymn—that one about the river," his eyes gently closing as he lay back upon the pillow.
"He always loved that one," his wife whispered brokenly to Harvey. "It's so simple. We can't, David," as she bended over him, "we can't sing now."
"I can, mother," and Madeline's voice was firm. The others' eyes were hidden, but Madeline's were fixed steadfastly on her father's as the crystal notes came low and sweet:
"Soon we'll reach the silvery river
Soon our pilgrimage shall cease;
Soon our happy hearts shall quiver
With the melody of peace,"
and the dying lips broke in once or twice in a plaintive effort to swell the triumph strain.
The singing ceased. But David's eyes still rested on his daughter. Then they were turned on Harvey, as he stood beside her; they seemed, indeed, to rest on both at once. And their meaning could be easily read. Suddenly he motioned them down beside him; the girl was trembling, her pale lips quivering slightly, for she had interpreted her father's look.