the room opposite his, and ever
since the night he had developed the whooping cough she had kept her
door ajar and that was the reason she knew that her boy had not been
sleeping well for many a night. And to-night she lay awake listening
to the incessant creak of his old roped bed, and sharing his misery.
She knew she could not bear it much longer, she must rise and tell him
he was free. And then she heard him bounding from his bed, and the
notes of the song as it swept gloriously past and died away.

She rose from her bed and lit the lamp. She dressed herself fully, for
she knew there was no more sleep for her that night. She was trembling
from head to foot, and praying for strength to carry out her heavy
task. She had something of the feeling of the patriarch when the
imperative Voice called, "Take now thy son, thine only son, Isaac, whom
thou lovest, and offer him for a burnt offering." She dropped on her
knees before her bed. She knelt a long time, and then, strengthened,
obedient to the Voice that summons all great souls, she rose and walked
into Gavin's room.

Gavin was still kneeling by the window when she entered. His hair,
touched by the moonlight, was soft and wavy, he looked very young and
grief-stricken. For a moment the vision of him lying wounded and
helpless in a trench, uncared for, shook her brave resolve. A great
lump rose in her throat. She braced herself and said softly, "Gavin,
Laddie!"

Gavin leaped to his feet. "Auntie Elspie!" he cried in amazement, his
eyes dazzled by the light, "why, you are dressed! You're not sick?" he
cried anxiously, taking the lamp from her hand.

"No, no," she said; "I'm jist all right. Put the lamp down, hinny, I
want to talk with you." She sat down on the edge of his bed and he
placed the lamp on his high old dresser and came and sat beside her
wonderingly.

"I couldn't help hearing you tossing about. You're not sleepin',
Gavie, you're worryin', lad."

"No, no, Auntie Elspie," he cried hastily, "I'm all right, I'm not
sick. You go back to bed, do. You'll catch cold."

But the woman only gazed at him mournfully. "Eh, eh, hinny, I ken all
about it," she whispered, lapsing into broader Scotch in her agitation.
"Ye can't hide things from your Auntie Elspie. Ye're wearyin' to be
away to the war, I ken as well as if ye telled me."

There was a wail in her voice that wrung Gavin's heart. "Oh, Auntie
Elspie," he cried, "oh, no, no! I'll never le