The arms that had so often helped her on that journey were now cold in death, but there were others only less loving, and she went slowly from room to room like one bidding good-bye, and in mine she said, 'The beautiful rows upon rows of books, ant he said every one of them was mine, all mine!' and in the east room, which was her greatest triumph, she said caressingly, 'My nain bonny room!' All this time there seemed to be something that she wanted, but the one was dead who always knew what she wanted, and they produced many things at which she shook her head.

They did not know then that she was dying, but they followed her through the house in some apprehension, and after she returned to bed they saw that she was becoming very weak.

Once she said eagerly, 'Is that you, David ?' and again she thought she heard her father knocking the snow off his boots.
Her desire for that which she could not name came back to her, and at last they saw that what she wanted was the old christening robe.

It was brought to her, and she unfolded it with trembling, exultant hands, and when she had made sure that it was still of virgin fairness her old arms went round it adoringly, and upon her face there was the ineffable mysterious glow of motherhood.

Suddenly she said, 'Wha's bairn's dead?
is a bairn of mine dead ?' but those watching dared not speak, and then slowly as if with an effort of memory she repeated our names aloud in the order in which we were born.