It was a lovely morning, bright and joyous. The air was full of spring odours, and in the song of the birds I only heard the echo of universal joy. Yet I knew, the moment I entered the cottage, that the hand of Death was about to beckon my old friend away from the good and useful life, that she had led so well and bravely, to the other side of the bourn from which no man returns. Old Bessie met me. "Her's goin' fast," she whispered, and stood a moment in the sunlight, hot tears almost blinding her poor old eyes. Then, as I hesitated, she touched me gently on the arm and murmured, "Come up, come up. Glad her'll be to see you, for all her's done with Homer, and this world too." So I mounted the stairs and again found myself in Mrs. Harley's presence. Outside beyond the Severn and the Wrekin, the sun was shining gaily. Inside the little chamber, all was spotlessly clean, I noted, as I entered the bed-chamber. I saw the dying woman wanted something, from the way in which her face moved. [Sidenote: "A FAIR DAY TO GO HOME"] "Light, light," she murmured as I touched her hand; and then, very low, "A fair day to go Home." "Her's been talking of nothing but goin' home," said Betsy, reverently; "and her's goin' sure, same as gospel truth." "All's at peace," whispered my old friend, and took a long, far look of the great hill of which all Shropshire men are so proud. So, smiling tenderly and loving the distant scene, her head sank back, and she seemed gently to fall asleep. "How peaceful!" I said, awestruck. "The Lord have a-called her, and her work be done," said Betty solemnly, a little later. "'Tis a good thing," she added, "to have done good work, and I think the Lord loved her for all she was lowly and never trod in high places." Then I left Betty, and the triumphant serene face, in the little whitewashed chamber. As I departed, I was conscious of having touched the fringe of a very holy garment. I passed out. And as I met the gladness of the outside world, I knew that some of my old friend's radiance was still lighting my path. After all, I know no better or more blessed things than simple faith, and a noble life, ended by His supreme grace. Mouse followed at my heels, dutifully walking close behind me. It is curious, the way in which a dog that is often our companion, reflects our mood. The great hound knew that I was absorbed, and gave way to no frolic, chased no rabbit, but kept near, watching me out of her topaz eyes solemnly and with marked concern. A great stillness seemed to belong to the afternoon. The sun was hidden beneath tender lavender clouds. I crossed a stile and walked amongst the budding grass. Suddenly out of a wood, for the first time in the year, I heard the mystic voice of the cuckoo, calling, calling as if out of a dream.