“How could that be?” said the mother; “for we are not like our Lord, to be everywhere.  We come and go where we are sent.  But sometimes we knew and sometimes saw, and always loved.  And whenever our hearts were sick for news it was but to go to Him, and He told us everything.  And now, my little one, you are as we are, and have seen the Lord.  And this has been given us, to teach our child once more, and show you the heavenly language, that you may understand all, both the little and the great.”

Then the Pilgrim lifted her head from her mother’s bosom, and looked in her face with eyes full of longing.  “You said ‘we,’” she said.

The mother did nothing but smile; then lifted her eyes and looked along the beautiful path of the river to where some one was coming to join them; and the little Pilgrim cried out again, in wonder and joy; and presently found herself seated between them, her father and her mother, the two who had loved her most in the other days.  They looked more beautiful than the angels and all the great persons whom she had seen; for still they were hers and she was theirs, more than all the angels and all the blessed could be.  And thus she learned that though the new may take the place of the old, and many things may blossom out of it like flowers, yet that the old is never done away.  And then they sat together, telling of everything that had befallen, and all the little tender things that were of no import, and all the great changes and noble ways, and the wonders of heaven above and the earth beneath, for all were open to them, both great and small; and when they had satisfied their souls with these, her father and mother began to teach her the other language, smiling often at her faltering tongue, and telling her the same thing over and over till she learned it; and her father called her his little foolish one, as he had done in the old days; and at last, when they had kissed her and blessed her, and told her how to come home to them when she was weary, they gave her, as the Father had permitted them, with joy and blessing, her new name.

The little Pilgrim was tired with happiness and all the wonder and pleasure, and as she sat there in the silence leaning upon those who were so dear to her, the soft air grew sweeter and sweeter about her, and the light faded softly into a dimness of tender indulgence and privilege for her, because she was still little and weak.  And whether that heavenly suspense of all her faculties was sleep or not she knew not, but it was such as in all her life she had never known.  When she came back to herself, it was by the sound of many voices calling her, and many people hastening past and beckoning to her to join them.

“Come, come,” they said, “little sister:  there has been great trouble in the other life, and many have arrived suddenly and are afraid.  Come, come, and help them—­come and help them!”