but the
cemetery gate lay in the direction of his nod, and that the gate lay
nearer--'if you could speak to her now and then--ah, you can hardly
guess how it would rejoice me some day when I return, bearing'--and
his voice sank here--'bearing, please God, my sheaves with me!'

"'But why,' I urged, 'go farther, when work like this lies at your
hand?'

"'I have thought of that; but only for a moment. It may sound
presumptuous to you; I am very young; but there is bigger work for me
ahead, and I am called. I cannot argue about this. I _know_.
I have a sign. Look up at the mountain, yonder--high up, above the
quicksilver mines. Do you see those bright lights flashing?'

"Sure enough, above the disused works a line of sparkling lights led
the eye upwards to the snow-fields, as if traced in diamonds.
The phenomenon was certainly astonishing, and I couldn't account for
it.

"'You see it? Ah! but you didn't observe it till I spoke. Nobody
does. Miss Montmorency, when I pointed it out, declared that in all
the time she has lived here she never once noticed it. Yet the first
night I came here I saw it. My window looks westward, and I pulled
the curtain aside for a moment before getting into bed. It had been
dark as pitch when the coach dropped me; but now the moon was up,
over opposite; and the first thing my eyes lit on was this line of
lights reaching up the mountain. When I woke, next morning, it was
still there, flashing in the sun. I think it was at breakfast, when
I asked Miss Montmorency about it, and found she'd never remarked it,
that it first came into my head 'twas meant for me. Anyhow, the
idea's fixed there now, and I can't get away from it. I've asked
many people, and there's not one can explain it, or has ever remarked
it till I pointed it out.'

"His hand trembled on his stick, and a fit of coughing shook him.
While we stood still I heard a banjo in a saloon across the road
tinkle its long descent into the chorus of 'Juliana'--"

'Was it weary there
In the wilderness?
Was it weary-y-y, 'way down in Goshen?'

The chorus came roaring out and across the street; ceased; and the
banjo slid into the next verse.

"'I wish they wouldn't,' said the Bishop, taking the handkerchief
from his lips and speaking (as I thought) rather peevishly.

"'It's a weariful tune.'

"'Is it? Now I don't know anything about music. It's the words that
make me feel wisht.'

"'And now,' s