The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1895-11-02

she came back, whom did she find
but Eilidh seated on the hearth, with
the peats glowing under the kettle
before her, and a neighbor who had
helped her home sitting beside her.
Hor, too astonished to speak, stood
in the doorway, and Eilidh, glancing
at her, went on with her narrative.
"And it is true what | am telling
you, Mistress MACPHERSON. The
beautiful rooms all shining with
wood all round them; it did make
my eyes blink with the shining that
was upon them; and the beds, never
did you nor any other upon the island
no, nor at Castlebay, and | will say
at Stornaway, itself, nor even at Oban
that l will say, and you may believe
it, but such beds never did you or
any other see, with the iron rails all
painted and the quilts blue and white;
and the sheets, it was the whiteness
of snow, and so soft it was like bed
of wool that is all pulled for the
spinning, that soft it was, and not
move could you make but it did rock
as if it was boat upon wave, and
you may believe me, but it was sea-
sick it did make me feel with the soft
ness and the springiness moreover;
and waited on hand and foot"
HSure and it is yourself, Eilidh,
that was the foolish woman to come
away again out of the beautiful hos
pital, but maybe it was that they
would not keep you; it is many and
many of us, God knows, that need
the medicine, and the food, and the
clever nursing, and it is not room that
they can have for us all, said Mis-
tress MacP
"Yes, but the nurses themselves
said, My poor Eilidh, it is not for
very long that you will be upon this
earth. 1t is the will of GOD that you
should go to Him, and we cannot
manage to keep you here, for while
the rooms they are SO full it is not
much rest that we can have at night
and it was the truth that she spoke,
for all night it was one of the ladies
that was always there, and it is my
belief that it was one of their own
beds that would have been mine if
there was no other, but it was home
that | must get to die, and it was the
head lady herself that / did tell that
it was home | must get to die.
"'But it is only to the potatoes you
will go, Eilidh,' she said, and you
will miss the meat and wine; it is
weak you will get quicker, she did
say to me, and it was her hand that
did take and kiss; but it was home
that | must get and die, said, and
it is Nor that | will be wanting with
me in the long, long nights, and it is
the peats that [ will be smelling and
the lew calf that | will not be able
to die without seeing, and it is Nor
that [ will be with when l do die"
The hard featured, rough-looking
old woman suddenly came in, sat on
a boulder beside the broken box the
sick woman sat on (the visitor had
the tbree-legged stooD and stopped
to put another peat on the ashes that
burnt on the shelving rock that
formed the floor of the hut. The
faint blue peat smoke curled amid
the blackened rafters overhead, and
made the light from the foot.square
window DINNER still. Through the
open doorway the COW munched in
its stall, and tiny calf stood feebly
beside it. There was no furniture
save some bits of drift wood, an old
spinning wheel, and a kettle sus-
pended by chain over the fire in the
middle. The sick woman looked
proudly around her.
st was home that | would come to
die" she said.
The visitor was not of soft grained
type-few of the islanders are; life is
too keen struggle, too full of down
right hardships and privations to
breed a delicate tone of mind and
body.
"And it is the stupid one that
think you are, Eilidh, to leave all
that beautiful new house, with the
beds, and the meat, and the wine,
when it is to but the bare rocks, and
the peats, and the potatoes that you
come to, and God knows that it is
not enough for herself that Nor has,
and moreover it was not as if it was
your own house, for it is to Nor and
Nor alone that this house will belong
and it is the factor that can tell you
the same, for it is Nor that has paid
the rent ever since it was Ian Don
nallach, the good man, rest his soul,