Making a careful examination, the doctor asked more questions. When he had finished and had skilfully replaced the bandages, the wounded man asked, “What about it, Dr. Coughlan?” The kind hearted physician jerked out a volley of scientific words and phrases that meant nothing, and busied himself with his medicine case. When his patient had taken the medicine, the doctor watched him for a few minutes, and then asked, “Feel stronger, Howard?” The artist nodded. “Tell me the truth, now, Doctor. I know that I am going. But how long have I? Wait a minute first. Where’s Pete? Come here, my boy.” The lad drew near. “Father.” Mr. Howitt seated himself on the bedside. “You’ll be strong, father? We are ready now, Dr. Coughlan.” “Yes, tell us, David,” said the shepherd, and his voice was steady. The physician spoke, “Matter of hours, I would say. Twenty-four, perhaps; not more; not more.” “There is no possible chance, David?” asked the shepherd. Again the little doctor took refuge behind a broadside of scientific terms before replying, “No; no possible chance.” A groan slipped from the gray bearded lips of the father. The artist turned to the picture and smiled. Pete looked wonderingly from face to face. “Poor father,” said the artist. “One thing more, Doctor; can you keep up my strength for awhile?” “Reasonably well, reasonably well, Howard.” “I am so glad of that because there is much to do before I go. There is so much that must be done first, and I want you both to help me.” CHAPTER XL. THE SHEPHERD’S MISSION. During the latter part of that night and most of the day, it rained; a fine, slow, quiet rain, with no wind to shake the wet from burdened leaf or blade. But when the old shepherd left the cave by a narrow opening on the side of the mountain, near Sammy’s Lookout, the sky was clear. The mists rolled heavily over the valley, but the last of the sunlight was warm on the knobs and ridges. The old man paused behind the rock and bushes that concealed the mouth of the underground passage. Not a hundred feet below was the Old Trail; he followed the little path with his eye until it vanished around the shoulder of Dewey. Along that way he had come into the hills. Then lifting his eyes to the far away lines of darker blue, his mind looked over the ridge to the world that is on the other side, the world from which he had fled. It all seemed very small and mean, now; it was so far—so far away.