'Ay, the licht hurts my een; an'--an' I've never said muckle a' my life, but I've often thocht oot lang screeds in the darkness, an' mebbe it'll help me oot wi' what I've to say to ye the noo. Ay, the Hebrons dinna speak muckle, Maister Weelum; but this is a forby time wi' me, an' I've something to ask o' ye. I hardly expec'it the ca' at this time o' the year. The back-en's the time o' liftin'. I aye thocht, somewey, that when my time cam' it wad be when the growth was a' by, the aipples pu'd, and the tatties pitted; and it seems awfu' queer that I should ha'e to gang when the buds are burstin', an'--an' the gairden delvin' on--imphm!--but it's His wull. "The young may, the auld must."--Imphm!--Ay, are ye listenin', Maister Weelum?' I rose from my chair, and I stroked the gray hair back from his forehead. 'Yes, Nathan, I'm listening; but you must not give up hope; you're really not an old man, and'---- 'No' an auld man! Imphm! I've--I've been an auld man a' my days. I canna mind o' ever bein' young. I was ten--only ten--when my faither was ta'en awa', an' I had to mak' the handle o' his spade fit my wee bit haun. Ay, I had to, for the weans had to be brocht up, an'--an', thank God, I managed it! But it killed the youth that was in me. Ay, an', as I was gaun to say, I'm seein' things differently lyin' here. Coontin' the times ye've been at the kirk'll no' quieten your fears. Thinkin' o' the guid ye've dune or tried to do micht, an' my crap o' that's a very sma' yin. Still, I maun ha'e pleased the Almichty in some wey, or He wadna ha'e been sae kind to me; He wadna ha'e gi'en me Betty. Oh, man, Maister Weelum, I wish I could tell ye a' that Betty's been to me! I'm vexed I canna. I'm a Hebron, an' I needna try; but ye ken yoursel' in a sma' wey. She nursed ye--ay, an'--an' noo this is what I want to ask ye--when I'm away, Maister Weelum, will ye see that my--that Betty's a' richt--eh? Is that askin' an awfu' lot?' 'Oh, Nathan,' I said, and I knelt down at his bedside and took his softened hand in mine, 'Betty is to me a sacred trust, and if it be God's will that you must leave her, I will be with her till she goes out to meet you again.' He pressed my hand. 'Thank ye, Maister Weelum. I--I thocht ye would; but I juist wanted to mak' sure. That's a', I think--a' at least as far as this world's concerned. There's a lot--an awfu' lot I should do, but I canna. I doot I've been careless. I've left the want to come at the wab's en', an' I ha'e nae time to mak' it guid noo. I maun juist leave it to Him. Guid-nicht, Maister Weelum, an' ye'll tell her--ye ken whae I mean--that I was gled a Hebron was o' service to her. Guid-nicht. God bless ye, man! Guid-bye.' * * * * * 'Guid-nicht--God bless ye!--Guid-bye.' These words kept ringing in my ears as I sat by my fire, and during the quiet hours my sorrowing thoughts strayed again and again into that wee back-room where Betty sat watching, and where Nathan lay dying.