A sudden breeze fanned my face, sweet and odorous, like the wind out of a wood.  “Now,” said Amroth, “we have arrived!  Where do you think we are?”

The scene had changed in an instant.  We were in a wide, level country, in green water-meadows, with a full stream brimming its grassy banks, in willowy loops.  Not far away, on a gently rising ground, lay a long, straggling village, of gabled houses, among high trees.  It was like the sort of village that you may find in the pleasant Wiltshire countryside, and the sight filled me with a rush of old and joyful memories.

“It is such a relief,” I said, “to realise that if man is made in the image of God, heaven is made in the image of England!”

“That is only how you see it, child,” said Amroth.  “Some of my own happiest days were spent at Tooting:  would you be surprised if I said that it reminded me of Tooting?”

“I am surprised at nothing,” I said.  “I only know that it is all very considerate!”

We entered the village, and found a large number of people, mostly young, going cheerfully about all sorts of simple work.  Many of them were gardening, and the gardens were full of old-fashioned flowers, blooming in wonderful profusion.  There was an air of settled peace about the place, the peace that on earth one often dreamed of finding, and indeed thought one had found on visiting some secluded place—­only to discover, alas! on a nearer acquaintance, that life was as full of anxieties and cares there as elsewhere.  There were one or two elderly people going about, giving directions or advice, or lending a helping hand.  The workers nodded blithely to us, but did not suspend their work.

“What surprises me,” I said to Amroth, “is to find every one so much occupied wherever we go.  One heard so much on earth about craving for rest, that one grew to fancy that the other life was all going to be a sort of solemn meditation, with an occasional hymn.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Amroth, “it was the body that was tired—­the soul is always fresh and strong—­but rest is not idleness.  There is no such thing as unemployment here, and there is hardly time, indeed, for all we have to do.  Every one really loves work.  The child plays at working, the man of leisure works at his play.  The difference here is that work is always amusing—­there is no such thing as drudgery here.”

We walked all through the village, which stretched far away into the country.  The whole place hummed like a beehive on a July morning.  Many sang to themselves as they went about their business, and sometimes a couple of girls, meeting in the roadway, would entwine their arms and dance a few steps together, with a kiss at parting.  There was a sense of high spirits everywhere.  At one place we found a group of children sitting in the shade of some trees, while a woman of middle age told them a story.  We stood awhile to listen, the woman giving us a pleasant nod as we approached.  It was a story of some pleasant adventure, with nothing moral or sentimental about it, like an old folk-tale.  The children were listening with unconcealed delight.