“Never mind,” said my father cheerfully. “The moon is up already, and we shall get home I trust before the snow begins to fall. Will you tell the man to get the horses out?” When she returned from taking the message, she came up to my father and said, in a loud whisper, “Is he in a bad way, sir?” “He is dying,” answered my father. [Illustration] “I know that,” she returned. “He’ll be gone before the morning. But that’s not what I meant. Is he in a bad way for the other world? That’s what I meant, sir.” “Well, my good woman, after a life like his, we are only too glad to remember what our Lord told us--not to judge. I do think he is ashamed and sorry for his past life. But it’s not the wrong he has done in former time that stands half so much in his way as his present fondness for what he counts his own. It seems like to break his heart to leave all his little bits of property--particularly the money he has saved; and yet he has some hope that Jesus Christ will be kind enough to pardon him. I am afraid he will find himself very miserable though, when he has not one scrap left to call his own--not a pocket-knife even.” “It’s dreadful to think of him flying through the air on a night like this,” said she. “My good woman,” returned my father, “we know nothing about where or how the departed spirit exists after it has left the body. But it seems to me just as dreadful to be without God in the world, as to be without him anywhere else. Let us pray for him that God may be with him wherever he is.” So saying, my father knelt down, and we beside him, and he prayed earnestly to God for the old man. Then we rose, mounted our horses, and rode away. We were only about halfway home, when the clouds began to cover the moon, and the snow began to fall. Hitherto we had got on pretty well, for there was light enough to see the track, feeble as it was. Now, however, we had to keep a careful lookout. We pressed our horses, and they went bravely, but it was slow work at the best. It got darker and darker, for the clouds went on gathering, and the snow was coming down in huge dull flakes. Faster and thicker they came, until at length we could see nothing of the road before us, and were compelled to leave all to the wisdom of our horses. My father, having great confidence in his own little mare, which had carried him through many a doubtful and difficult place, rode first. I followed close behind. He kept on talking to me very cheerfully--I have thought since--to prevent me from getting frightened. But I had not a thought of fear. To be with my father was to me perfect safety. He was in the act of telling me how, on more occasions than one, Missy had got him through places where the road was impassable, by walking on the tops of the walls, when all at once both our horses plunged into a gulf of snow. The more my mare struggled, the deeper we sank in it. For a moment I thought it was closing over my head. “Father! father!” I shouted.