"My grandmother remembered Parson Lorrimer as an old man, tall and
straight, with flowing white hair, a placid face, and kind, dim eyes
that gradually grew dimmer, till their light faded to darkness. For the
last four years of his life he was totally blind, She remembered how he
used to mount the pulpit-stairs, one hand resting upon the shoulder of
his colleague, and, standing in the old place, with lifted face and
closed eyes, carry on the service, repeating chapter and hymns from
memory, his voice tremulous, but still sweet and penetrating.
"She remembered going to visit the old man in his study. It was
summer-time, and he sat in his arm-chair at the open window, and on the
grass-plat outside--so near that his head almost touched his master's
shoulder--the old white horse was standing; for they had grown old
together, and together were enjoying a peaceful and contented old age.
Every bright day for hours Peter stood at the window, and in the
winter-time, when he was shut in his stable, the old man never failed to
visit him.
"But one November afternoon, Parson Lorrimer being weary laid himself
down upon his bed, where presently the sleep came to him God giveth to
his beloved.
"The evening after his funeral a member of the household passing the
study-door was startled at seeing in the pale moonlight a long, ghostly
white face peering in at the window.
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