The world has not within its power to devise, much less to
bestow upon us, such 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_.
I have had many letters from readers speaking of this passage in my
book, some of the writers going so far as to say that tears fell as
they read. It came from the heart and perhaps that is why it reached
the hearts of others.
We were rowed over in a small boat to the Edinburgh steamer in the
Firth of Forth. As I was about to be taken from the small boat to the
steamer, I rushed to Uncle Lauder and clung round his neck, crying
out: "I cannot leave you! I cannot leave you!" I was torn from him by
a kind sailor who lifted me up on the deck of the steamer.
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