The Abbey Bell. 285 



had told me, as they bent lovingly over me night after 

 night, what that bell said as it tolled. Many good 

 words has that bell spoken to me through their trans- 

 lations. No wrong thing did I do through the day 

 which that voice from all I knew of heaven and the 

 great Father there did not tell me kindly about ere I 

 sank to sleep, speaking the very words so plainly that I 

 knew that the power that moved it had seen all and was 

 not angry, never angry, never, but so very, very sorry. 

 Nor is that bell dumb to me to-day when I hear its 

 voice. It still has its message, and now it sounded to 

 welcome back the exiled mother and son under its pre- 

 cious care again. 



The world has not within its power to devise, much 

 less to bestow upon us, such a reward as that which the 

 abbey bell gave when it tolled in our honor. But my 

 brother Tom should have been there also ; this was the 

 thought that came. He, too, was beginning to know 

 the wonders of that bell ere we were away to the newer 

 land. 



Rousseau wished to die to the strains of sweet music. 

 Could I choose my accompaniment, I could wish to pass 

 into the dim beyond with the tolling of the abbey bell 

 sounding in my ears, telling me of the race that had been 

 run, and calling me, as it had called the little white- 

 haired child, for the last time — to sleep. 



We spent two days in Dunfermline. The tourist 

 who runs over from Edinburgh will find the Abbey and 



