Old Adam lay upon his bed in his ordinary dress, with his long, brown lean fingers lying crossed upon the homely cover, as if they were clutching it--but in reality they grasped nothing. A feeble tremble was in his frame as he lay vacantly looking up to the rafters above him; and his ashy face, though it was indeed scarcely paler than usual, struck Violet with terror, as if it had been the very face of death. “Oh Dragon, my Harry!” cried poor little Lettie. “They tell me the horse had thrown him, and dragged him alang the road wi’ ae fit aye the stirrup--was that true, Missie? and I aye kent mysel it was a thrawart beast, and no to be depended on,” said Dragon. “I’ve been lying here thinking on the puir lad, this haill morning; and I was just putting it ower in my mind if it wadna be best to crave the Lord to take _me_, and spare the young life; but I never can win that length though I try--for I aye mind I’m a harmless auld body, doing ill to nae man, and what for should I ask to die?” “Would God do that, Dragon? Would God take somebody else, and leave Harry? Oh! will ye ask Him to take me?” cried Harry’s little sister, “for he’s very ill, and Martha thinks he will die. Dragon, if God would take you and me, and save Harry, would you no come? and God would aye let us see the sun shining on the water, and a’ body blythe in Allenders--Dragon, if we were in heaven!” And Violet’s passionate cry, and voice choked with sobbing, again awoke the old man’s torpid heart. He raised himself from his bed feebly, and leaning on his elbow, looked at the little figure kneeling by his bed-side, with its clasped hands, and gleaming eyes,--and Adam Comrie slowly shook his head.