honour."

John Broom remained by his friend, whose painful fits of coughing,
and of gasping for breath, were varied by intervals of seeming
stupor. When a candle had been brought in and placed near the bed,
the Highlander roused himself and asked:

"Is there a Bible on yon table? Could ye read a bit to me, laddie?"

There is little need to dwell on the bitterness of heart with which
John Broom confessed:

"I can't read big words, McAlister!"

"Did ye never go to school?" said the Scotchman.

"I didn't learn," said the poor boy; "I played."

"Aye, aye. Weel ye'll learn when ye gang hame," said the
Highlander, in gentle tones.

"I'll never get home," said John Broom, passionately. "I'll never
forgive myself. I'll never get over it, that I couldn't read to ye
when ye wanted me, McAlister."

"Gently, gently," said the Scotchman. "Dinna daunt yoursel' ower
much wi' the past, laddie. And for me--I'm not that presoomtious to
think I can square up a misspent life as a man might compound wi's
creditors. 'Gin He forgi'es me, He'll forgi'e; but it's not a
prayer up or a chapter down that'll stan' between me and the