194 Winter 



about 10 o'clock. Isaac had managed to get up and' 

 crawl to his chair by the fireside. An empty basin 

 showed that he had consumed the food made for him 

 by a kindly neighbour. The doctor came in just 

 behind me. ' This is about the last on't,' remarked 

 his patient with a wan and feeble smile. After one or 

 two questions, the physician informed him as gently 

 as he could that probably before the sun that now was 

 shining in at the window could wear round to the 

 gable he would have passed into the long sleep. 'Um,' 

 said the old man, but he did not abate a jot of his 

 usual cheerfulness. ' I'd like a draw first,' he said, 

 and produced the black cutty from his pocket and 

 asked me to fill it. The doctor gave a signal that 

 meant ' Humour him ; it doesn't make a bit of differ- 

 ence,' and I took out my own pouch, thinking some- 

 thing lighter than his own would be the best. But he 

 rejected it firmly. Irish roll he had smoked all his 

 life and Irish roll he would end with, and he fumbled 

 in his pocket till out came the tin box, by pressing 

 the lid of which he was used to cut off exactly a pipe- 

 ful. When he had done that he handed the box to 

 me. ' You'll keep that,' he said, ' to mind you of ould 

 Isaac.' The doctor lit the pipe and handed it to him, 

 and as he tried to get one or two puffs with his rapidly 

 failing breath, asked if he wouldn't like to live his 

 time over again. ' No,' answered Isaac. ' You see 

 the cartin' trade's about done since them railways 

 started, and Black Jock ' (that was the name of his 



