VIII

These are only some of the many talks I had with Amroth.  They ranged over a great many subjects and thoughts.  What I cannot indicate, however, is the lightness and freshness of them; and above all, their entire frankness and amusingness.  There were times when we talked like two children, revived old simple adventures of life—­he had lived far more largely and fully than I had done—­and I never tired of hearing the tales of his old lives, so much more varied and wonderful than my own.  Sometimes we merely told each other stories out of our imaginations and hearts.  We even played games, which I cannot describe, but they were like the games of earth.  We seemed at times to walk and wander together; but I had a sense all this time that I was, so to speak, in hospital, being tended and cared for, and not allowed to do anything wearisome or demanding effort.  But I became more and more aware of other spirits about me, like birds that chirp and twitter in the ivy of a tower, or in the thick bushes of a shrubbery.  Amroth told me one day that I must prepare for a great change soon, and I found myself wondering what it would be like, half excited about it, and half afraid, unwilling as I was to lose the sweet rest, and the dear companionship of a friend who seemed like the crown and sum of all hopes of friendship.  Amroth became utterly dear to me, and it was a joy beyond all joys to feel his happy and smiling nature bent upon me, hour by hour, in sympathy and understanding and love.  He said to me laughingly once that I had much of earth about me yet, and that I must soon learn not to bend my thoughts so exclusively one way and on one friend.

“Yes,” I said, “I am not fit for heaven yet!  I believe I am jealous; I cannot bear to think that you will leave me, or that any other soul deserves your attention.”

“Oh,” he said lightly, “this is my business and delight now—­but you will soon have to do for others what I am doing for you.  You like this easy life at present, but you can hardly imagine how interesting it is to have some one given you for your own, as you were given to me.  It is the delight of motherhood and fatherhood in one; and when I was allowed to take you away out of the room where you lay—­I admit it was not a pleasant scene—­I felt just like a child who is given a kitten for its very own.”

“Well,” I said, “I have been a very satisfactory pet—­I have done little else but purr.”  I felt his eyes upon me in a wonderful nearness of love; and then I looked up and I saw that we were not alone.

It was then that I first perceived that there could be grief in heaven.  I say “first perceived,” but I had known it all along.  But by Amroth’s gentle power that had been for a time kept away from me, that I might rest and rejoice.