ad, as though a cold wind had struck her.

Winifred did not wait for the unwelcome word.

"No--I think not, mother," she said simply.

"Why not? Is it not dark--what we do not know?"

"But I know God," said Winifred earnestly, "and Jesus Christ. And they
are there--in the things we cannot see. The Apostle Paul said, 'For me
to live is Christ; _to die is gain_.'"

The words brought no comfort. "'To live is Christ,'" repeated the sick
one musingly. "If that were so--?" she was silent for a few moments,
and then broke out hopelessly: "No, no! To live has not been Christ!
It has been myself, and you all, and these things! It is not gain to
die! It is loss!--loss!--loss of everything I know!"

Her voice rose excitedly, and her glistening fevered eyes looked about
restlessly. Winifred feared that the nurse would come, and finding her
worse, end the interview. So she prayed that God would calm the dear
patient and give them both His needed grace for the hour. And He heard.

"Let me straighten your pillow, mother dear," she said, and suited the
action to the word. Her mother clasped the deft hands that arranged
things so comfortably, and looked long with yearning fondness into her
daughter's face.

"Winnie," she said finally, "could you sing just a little for me?"

Winifred choked back a sob that tried to escape. "I will try," she
said.

She brought a little stringed instrument that her mother loved, with
which she sometimes accompanied her songs.

"What shall I sing?" she asked, seating herself beside the bed.

"I don't know," hesitated her mother.

"Would you like that little Scotch song from Sankey's book?"

"Oh, yes. That is very sweet."

So Winifred began the plaintive words:

"I am far frae my hame, an' I'm weary aftenwhiles
For the langed-for hame bringin' an' my Faither's welcome
smiles."

She began with a stern watch upon her own emotions. But, as she
proceeded, from the sadness of the hour rose a longing in her soul for
the "ain countrie" where no blight of death and tears are known, and it
poured itself out in the song. She sang two of the long stanzas.

"I've His guid word o' promise that some gladsome day the King
To His ain royal palace His banished hame will bring.
Wi' heart and wi' een rinnin' ower we shall see
The King in a' His beauty in oor ain countrie.
Like a bairn to its mither, a wee birdie to its nest,
I wad fain be agangin' noo unto my Saviour's bre