ast;
For He gathers in His bosom witless, worthless lambs like me,
An' carries them Himself to His ain countrie."

Mrs. Gray had been lying with closed eyes through which the tears
forced their way. Now she interrupted:

"What does it say, Winifred? 'He gathers in His bosom?' Please sing
those lines again."

So Winifred repeated:

"'For He gathers in His bosom witless, worthless lambs like me,
And carries them Himsel' to His ain countrie.'"

"Thank you!" murmured the invalid with a sigh. "Is it true, Winnie?"

"Yes, mother, it is quite true."

"That is what--I have been." She was speaking again with difficulty,
and her voice was very low, so that Winifred leaned forward to listen.
"I've been--a 'witless, worthless lamb!' Will He--gather--me?"

"I know He will--if you trust Him!"

"How do you know, Winnie?"

"There is the Scripture, mother. There is the parable of the lost
sheep, and then there is another word; 'All we, like sheep, have gone
astray; we have turned everyone to his own way; and the Lord hath laid
on Him the iniquity of us all.'"

After a moment the weak voice spoke again:

"Winnie, _you_ know Him; will you pray? Tell Him--I've taken--my own
way,--a 'witless, worthless lamb!'"

Winifred slipped to her knees beside the bed and prayed; prayed with
the greatest thankfulness she had ever known because she knew God, and
prayed for the dearest object for which she had made request. She
reminded God with great simplicity that He had laid the iniquity of us
all who have wandered on His Anointed One, and begged Him to make good
the virtue of that act to her poor mother. And the dying lady
listened, and believed.

"Dear mother," said Winifred fondly, "do you not see that He will
gather you?"

Mrs. Gray's head had sunk back contentedly in the pillows. She smiled
faintly.

"Yes, I see it now," she said. "It is very true."

In a few moments she was asleep, and the nurse resumed her watch. But
later in the night a quiet alarm summoned the little household to her
chamber, and they watched for the moment of parting between the spirit
and its fair tenement. Before it came she opened her eyes, and looked
at them placidly. Her lips moved, and Winifred bent forward eagerly to
catch their words.

"I--am--not--afraid'" they pronounced, and then closed their witness
for this world forever.

The death of Mrs. Gray brought the first great sorrow to the house of
Robert Gray. It did