RAB AND HIS FRIENDS.

and serious way, showing great knowledge
of the fit words, bearing up like a man,
and doating over her as his “ain Ailie.”
“Ailie, ma woman!” “Ma ain bonnie
wee dawtie!”

The end was drawing on; the golden
bowl was breaking; the silver cord was
fast being loosed—that animula blandula,
vagula, hospes, comesgue, was about to flee.
The body and the soul—companions for
sixty years—were being sundered, and
taking leave. She was walking, alone,
through the valley of that shadow into
which one day we must all enter—and yet
she was not alone, for we know whose rod
and staff were comforting her.

One night she had fallen quiet and, as
we hoped, asleep; her eyes were shut.
We put down the gas and sat watching
her. Suddenly she sat up in bed, and tak-
ing a bedgown which was lying on it rolled
up, she held it eagerly to her breast—to

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