ed oot a psalm:

"'So they from strength unwearied go
Still forward unto strength.'

"The precentor was naethin' graun. I have heard better in St.
Cuthbert's. He was oot mebbe a quarter o' a beat in his time, but the
auld words had their power; 'twas like as if I heard my mither's voice
again, an' I cudna sing for greetin', but my hairt aye keepit time, an'
I resolved then no' to let Kirsty sing the hymes ony mair--but I'm
misdootin' I've been wrang."

Backward rolled the night and onward rolled the day as we kept our vigil
by the dying bed. Ever solemn hour, rehearsal of a darker yet to be! For
that same mystery shall wrap every watcher's heart, and others then
shall stand by the fallen sentinels.

Archie slumbered and waked by turns. We were just beginning to feel the
approach of the magnetic dawn when he awoke from an hour's sleep.

"The nicht's near gane," he said, "an' I'll sleep nae mair; for I aye
likit to greet the mornin' licht."

We gathered closer, the old childish instinct which drove us to the
wharf's very edge when the sails were being hoisted and the anchor
weighed.

He beckoned me closer and I bent to catch his words.

"Ye micht gie thae thochts o' mine to the Session gin the maitter comes
up again--aboot the hymes, ye ken, aboot hoo they micht be made intil a
prayer."

I silently gave the promise.

"An' mair--I dinna forbid ye to sing a bit hyme at the funeral. Let
Wullie Allison lift the tune, for he aye keeps the time. Yon Methody's
hyme wad dae:

"'Hide me, oh, my Saviour hide
Till the storm of life is past,'

for the wind'll be doon then, I'm hopin'.

"The fowk'll think it strange, for they a' ken my convictions, sae ye'd
better close wi' a paraphrase:

"'Then will He own His servant's name
Before His father's face.'

That wad dae fine, for it's a' o' grace thegither."

Archie lay silent for a time, breathing heavily, the tumult of the last
great conflict blending every moment with the peace of the last great
surrender. An instant later, the dying face seemed lightened, like one
who descries the lights of home.

"I canna juist mind the words; is it the outgoin' o' the mornin' He
makes to rejoice?"

"And the evening," I said quickly, "the evening too, Archie."

"Aye," he answered peacefully, "I thocht He wadna forget the gloamin'.
Aye, mair the evenin' than the mornin', I'm thinkin'."

His face was radiant now, for the morning light had