I maun be gaun."

It is long now since Issie's grandfather followed her through the gate.
He too found it beautiful; for I walked with him till even I could see
its glory. It swung wide open, for he was welcome home; and I caught a
glimpse of the splendour just beyond. I heard, too, rapturous snatches
of the song they sing in that better land. It may have been fancy, yet I
am sure I heard the old precentor's voice, and Issie's holy strain was
clearer still; but it was the new song, and these two blended wondrous
well.

XXVI

_LOVE'S SINGING SACRIFICE_

Death is kinder than we think. None other knew the way by which the
little foundling's mother had gone forth. But death knew it well, having
often passed over it before; and the orphan's cry was more than he could
bear. So he took him in his kindly arms and bore him on to his mother,
smiling at the cruel names by which he was accustomed to be called.

It is death's way to take the jewel only, for the road is long; and who
will may have the casket. Wherefore the affrighted undertaker bore the
latter by night to its resting-place, for he knew that path and had
often trodden it before. But he was not a deep sea pilot, like the
other.

Angus was left alone. A faithful man, himself a smallpox graduate, was
his only companion. Strict care was kept before the door of the now
deserted house, for panic hath its home in the heart of that dread
disease, though not so dreadful as we think.

Some of the misguided folk of New Jedboro fumigated themselves at every
mention of Angus' name, sleeping meantime side by side with some
consumptive form, knowing not that death slept between them. But the
great science of life is, and hath ever been, the recognition of life's
real enemies.

Angus was alone--and fallen. The foundling's plague was upon him, and
there was none to care for him but the faithful servant, smallpox-proof
as he happily knew himself to be.

The very night of the poor waif's hasty burial, a note was handed in at
our kitchen door. It was from the health officer of New Jedboro:

"Can you find a nurse for Mr. Strachan?" it ran. "He has no one with him
but Foster, who has had the disease, and I need not tell you the
necessity for a woman's care. I have tried the hospital, but no nurse
will volunteer. Whoever goes, of course, will be under quarantine, as
the guard has orders to let no one enter or leave the house. Perhaps you
may know of some poor woman, or