Columba seems to have had a presentiment that the following Saturday would be his last day on earth, for, having called his attendant Diormet, he solemnly addressed him—‘This day is called in the sacred Scriptures the Sabbath, a day of rest; and truly to me this day will be a day of rest, for it is the last of my life, and in it I shall enter into my rest after the fatigues of my labours; and this night preceding Sunday I shall go the way of my fathers, for Christ already calls me, and thus it is revealed to me.’ These words saddened his attendant, but the father consoled him. Such is Cummene’s short narrative. Adamnan, who amplifies it, states that Columba had gone with his attendant Diormet to bless the nearest barn, which was probably situated close to the mill and not far from the present ruins. When the saint entered it, he blessed it and two heaps of winnowed corn that were in it, and gave thanks in these words, saying, ‘I heartily congratulate my beloved monks that this year also, if I am obliged to depart from you, you will have a sufficient supply for the year.’ According to Adamnan, it was in answer to a remark which this called forth from his attendant that he made the revelation to him, which he made him promise on his bended knees that he would not reveal to any one before his death. Adamnan then introduces after it the incident that Columba, in going back to the monastery from the barn, rested half-way at a place where a cross which was afterwards erected, and was standing to his day fixed into a millstone, might be observed at the side of the road; and there came to him a white pack-horse, the same that used, as a willing servant, to carry the milk vessels from the cowshed to the monastery. It came up to the saint, and, strange to say, laid its head on his bosom and began to utter plaintive cries and, like a human being, to shed copious tears on the saint’s bosom, foaming and greatly wailing. The attendant, seeing this, began to drive the weeping mourner away; but the saint forbade him, saying, ‘Let it alone, as it is so fond of me—let it pour out its bitter grief into my bosom. Lo! thou, as thou art a man and hast a rational soul, canst know nothing of my departure hence, except what I myself have just told you, but to this brute beast devoid of reason the Creator himself hath evidently in some way made it known that its master is going to leave it;’ and saying this the saint blessed the work-horse, which turned away from him in sadness.