. "Did ye send for the lad?"

"Three days ago."

"When he does come, gie him the words I send him. You ken what they
are."

"I will say and do all you told me."

"But dinna be cross wi' the laddie. Gie him a fair hearing."

"If he is sorry for a' he has done----"

"He willna be sorry. Ye must e'en forgie him, sorry or not--Ye ken
what the Domine said to me--when I spoke--o' forgiving Neil--when
he--was sorry?"

"The Domine said you were to remember, that while we were yet sinners
God loved us, and Christ died for us."

"Ay, while we--were--yet--sinners! that leaves room for Neil--and
everybody else, Christine--Christine--I am weary, bairns--I will go to
sleep now--gude night!"

Death had now become a matter of consent to Margot. She surrendered
herself to her Maker, and bade her children "goodnight!"

Her life had many a hope and aim,
Duties enough and little cares,
And now was quiet and now astir,

until God's hand beckoned her into His school of affliction. Now in
the House not made with Hands she understands the meaning of it all.

The next week was a particularly hard one to Christine. In the long
seclusion of her mother's illness, and in the fascination which study
now had for her, the primitive burial rites of Culraine were an almost
unbearable trial. Every woman who had ever known Margot came to bid
her a last earthly farewell. Some cried, some volubly praised her,
some were sadly silent, but all were alike startled by the mighty
change that affliction and death had made in the once powerful,
handsome, tremendously vitalized woman, who had ruled them all by the
sheer force of her powerful will and her wonderful vitality. Pale and
cold, her raven hair white as snow, her large strong hands, shrunk to
skin and bone, clasped on her breast, and at rest forever--they could
hardly believe that this image of absolute helplessness was all that
was left of Margot Ruleson.

For three days the house was always full, and Christine was troubled
and questioned on every hand. But for three days long a little brown
bird sat on a holly tree by her window, and sang something that
comforted her. And the sweet, strong song was for her alone. Nobody
else noticed it. She wondered if they even saw the little messenger.
On the afternoon of the third day, the Domine, standing at the head of
the coffin, spoke to the men and women who filled the house. His eyes
were dim with tears, but his voice had the strong, res