afternoon, when "Old Ricketts" came breathless to me and gasped, "Come!
for the dear Lord's sake," and I rushed after him. At the mouth of
the shaft lay three men dead. One was Lewis Mavor. He had gone down to
superintend the running of a new drift; the two men, half drunk with
Slavin's whisky, set off a shot prematurely, to their own and Mavor's
destruction. They were badly burned, but his face was untouched. A miner
was sponging off the bloody froth oozing from his lips. The others were
standing about waiting for me to speak. But I could find no word, for my
heart was sick, thinking, as they were, of the young mother and her baby
waiting at home. So I stood, looking stupidly from one to the other,
trying to find some reason--coward that I was--why another should bear
the news rather than I. And while we stood there, looking at one another
in fear, there broke upon us the sound of a voice mounting high above
the birch tops, singing--

"Will ye no' come back again?
Will ye no' come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,
Will ye no' come back again?"

'A strange terror seized us. Instinctively the men closed up in front of
the body, and stood in silence. Nearer and nearer came the clear, sweet
voice, ringing like a silver bell up the steep--

"Sweet the lav'rock's note and lang,
Liltin' wildly up the glen,
But aye tae me he sings ae sang,
Will ye no' come back again?"

'Before the verse was finished "Old Ricketts" had dropped on his