And still the bell tolled on, calling up relentlessly sad memories of
the long ago.

It was on just such another dreary day, in just such another
December, and not so many years gone by, that the light had gone
forever out of his life.

The whole picture rose as instant to his eyes as if it had been but
yesterday. That insistent bell brought the scene surging back to
him:the dismal day; the drizzle; the few mourners; little David
decked out in black, his fair hair contrasting with his gloomy
clothes, his face swollen with weeping; the Dale hushed, it seemed
in death, save for the tolling of the bell; and his love had left him
and gone to the happy land the hymn-books talk of.

Red Wull, who had been watching him uneasily, now came up and
shoved his muzzle into his master's hand. The cold touch brought
the little man back to earth. He shook himself, turned wearily away
from the window, and went to the door of the house.

He stood there looking out; and all round him was the eternal drip,
drip of the thaw. The wind lulled, and again the minute-bell tolled
out clear and inexorable, resolute to recall what was and what had
been.

With a choking gasp the little man turned into the house, and ran
up the stairs and into his room. He dropped on his knees beside the
great chest in the corner, and unlocked the bottom drawer, the key
turning noisily in its socket.