in the light with its beautiful towers, and roofs, and all its
monuments, softly fringed with trees, and set in a heavenly firmament.
And the Pilgrim thought of those words that described this lovely place
as a bride adorned for her husband, and did not wonder at him who had
said that her streets were of gold and her gates of pearl, because gold
and pearls and precious jewels were as nothing to the glory and the
beauty of her. The little Pilgrim was glad to have seen these wonderful
things, and her mind was like a cup running over with almost more than
it could contain. It seemed to her that there never could be a time
when she should want for wonder and interest and delight so long as she
had this to think of. Yet she was not sorry to turn her back upon the
beautiful city, but went on her way singing in unutterable content, and
thinking over what the lady had said, that we were in God's secret, more
than all the great worlds above and even the angels, because of knowing
how it is that in darkness and doubt, and without any open vision, a man
may still keep the right way. The path lay along the bank of the river
which flowed beside her and made the air full of music, and a soft air
blew across the running stream and breathed in her face and refreshed
her, and the birds sang in all the trees. And as she passed through the
villages the people came out to meet her, and asked of her if she had
come from the city, and what she had seen there. And everywhere she
found friends, and kind voices that gave her greeting. But some would
ask her why she still spoke the little language, though it was sweet to
their ears; and others when they heard it hastened to call from the
houses and the fields some among them who knew the other tongue but a
little, and who came and crowded round the little Pilgrim and asked her
many questions both about the things she had been seeing and about the
old time. And she perceived that the village folk were a simple folk,
not learned and wise like those she had left. And that though they lived
within sight of the great city, and showed every stranger the beautiful
view of it, and the glory of its towers, yet few among them had
travelled there; for they were so content with their fields and their
river, and the shade of their trees and the birds singing, and their
simple life, that they wanted no change; though it pleased them to
receive the little Pilgrim, and they brought her in to their villages
rejoicing, and called every one to see her. And they told her that they
had all been poor and laboured hard in the old time, and had never
rested; so that now it was the Father's good pleasure that they should
enjoy great peace and consolation among the fresh-breathing fields and
on the riverside, so that there were many who even now had little
occupation except to think of the Father's goodness and to rest. And
they told her how the Lord Himself would come among them, and sit down
under a tree, and tell them one of His parables, and make them all more
happy than words could say; and how sometimes He would send one out of
the beautiful city, with a poem or tale to say to them, and bands of
lovely music, more lovely than anything beside, except the sound of the
Lord's own voice. "And what is more wonderful, the angels themselves
come often and listen to us," they said, "when we begin to talk and
remind each other of the old time, and how we suffered heat and cold,
and were bowed down with labour, and bending over the soil; and how
sometimes the harvest would fail us, and sometimes we had not bread, and
sometimes would hush the children to sleep because there was nothing to
give them; and how we grew old and weary, and still worked on and on."
"We are those who were old," a number of them called out to her, with a
murmuring sound of laughter, one looking over another's shoulder. And
one woman said, "The angels say to us, 'Did you never think the Father
had forsaken you and the Lord forgotten you?'" And all the rest answered
as in a chorus, "There were moments that we thought this; but all the
time we knew that it could not be." "And the angels wonder at us," said
another. All this they said, crowding one before another, every one
anxious to say something, and sometimes speaking together, but always in
accord. And then there was a sound of laughter and pleasure, both at the
strange thought that the Lord could have forgotten them, and at the
wonder of the angels over their simple tales. And immediately they began
to remind each other, and say, "Do you remember?" and they told the
little Pilgrim a hundred tales of the hardships and troubles they had
known, all smiling and radiant with pleasure; and at every new account
the others would applaud and rejoice, feeling the happiness all the more
for the evils that were past. And some of them led her into their
gardens to show her their flowers, and to tell her how they had begun to
study and learn how colours were changed and form perfected, and the
secrets of the growth and of the germ of which they had been ignorant.
And others arranged themselves in choirs, and sang to her delightful
songs of the fields, and accompanied her out upon her way, singing and
answering to each other. The difference between the simple folk and the
greatness of the others made the little Pilgrim wonder and admire, and
she loved them in her simplicity, and turned back many a time to wave
her hand to them, and to listen to the lovely simple singing as it went
farther and farther away. It had an evening tone of rest and quietness,
and of protection and peace. "He leadeth me by the green pastures and
beside the quiet waters," she said to herself: and her heart swelled
with pleasure to think that it was those who had been so old, and so
weary and poor, who had this rest to console them for all their sorrows.
And as she went along, not only did she pass through many other
villages, but met many on the way who were travelling towards the great
city, and would greet her sweetly as they passed, and sometimes stop to
say a pleasant word, so that the little Pilgrim was never lonely
wherever she went. But most of them began to speak to her in the other
language, which was as beautiful and sweet as music, but which she could
not understand: and they were surprised to find her ignorant of it, not
knowing that she was but a new-comer into these lands. And there were
many things that could not be told but in that language, for the earthly
tongue had no words to express them. The little Pilgrim was a little
sad not to understand what was said to her, but cheered herself with the
thought that it should be taught to her by one whom she loved best. The
way by the riverside was very cheerful and bright, with many people
coming and going, and many villages, some of them with a bridge across
the stream, some withdrawn among the fields, but all of them bright and
full of life, and with sounds of music, and voices, and footsteps: and
the little Pilgrim felt no weariness, but moved along as lightly as a
child, taking great pleasure in everything she saw, and answering all
the friendly greetings with all her heart, yet glad to think that she
was approaching ever nearer to the country where it was ordained that
she should dwell for a time and succour the strangers, and receive those
who were newly arrived. And she consoled herself with the thought that
there was no need of any language but that which she knew. As this went
through her mind making her glad she suddenly became aware of one who
was walking by her side, a lady who was covered with a veil white and
shining like that which Ama had worn in the beautiful city. It hung
about this stranger's head so that it was not easy to see her face, and
the sound of her voice was very sweet in the Pilgrim's ear, yet startled
her like the sound of something which she knew well, but could not
remember. And as there were few who were going that way, she was glad,
and said, "Let us walk together, if that pleases you." And the stranger
said, "It is for that I have come," which was a reply which made the
little Pilgrim wonder more and more, though she was very glad and joyful
to have this companion upon her way. And then the lady began to ask her
many questions, not about the city, or the great things she had seen,
but about herself, and what the dear Lord had given her to do.
"I am little and weak, and I cannot do much," the little Pilgrim said.
"It is nothing but pleasure. It is to welcome those that are coming,
and tell them. Sometimes they are astonished and do not know. I was so
myself. I came in my sleep, and understood nothing. But now that I know,
it is sweet to tell them that they need not fear."
"I was glad," the lady said, "that you came in your sleep: for sometimes
the way is dark and hard, and you are little and tender. When your
brother comes you will be the first to see him, and show him the way."
"My brother! is he coming?" the little Pilgrim cried. And then she said
with a wistful look, "But we are all brethren, and you mean only one of
those who are the children of our Father. You must forgive me that I do
not know the higher speech, but only what is natural, for I have not yet
been long here."
"He whom I mean is called--" and here the lady said a name which was the
true name of a brother born, whom the Pilgrim loved above all others.
She gave a cry, and then she said trembling, "I know your voice, but I
cannot see your face. And what you say makes me think of many things. No
one else has covered her face when she has spoken to me. I know you, and
yet I cannot tell who you are."
The woman stood for a little without saying a word, and then very
softly, in a voice which only the heart heard, she called the little
Pilgrim by her name.
"MOTHER," cried the Pilgrim, with such a cry of joy that it echoed all
about in the sweet air: and flung herself upon the veiled lady, and drew
the veil from her face, and saw that it was she. And with this sight
there came a revelation which flooded her soul with happiness. For the
face which had been old and feeble was old no longer, but fair in the
maturity of day; and the figure that had been bent and weary was full of
a tender majesty, and the arms that clasped her about were warm and soft
with love and life. And all that had changed their relations in the
other days and made the mother in her weakness seem as a child, and
transferred all protection and strength to the daughter, was gone for
ever: and the little Pilgrim beheld in a rapture one who was her sister
and equal, yet ever above her--more near to her than any, though all
were so near--one of whom she herself was a part, yet another, and who
knew all her thoughts and the way of them before they arose in her. And
to see her face as in the days of her prime, and her eyes so clear and
wise, and to feel once more that which is different from the love of
all, that which is still most sweet where all is sweet, the love of
one--was like a crown to her in her happiness. The little Pilgrim could
not think for joy, nor say a word, but held this dear mother's hands and
looked in her face, and her heart soared away to the Father in thanks
and joy. They sat down by the roadside under the shade of the trees,
while the river ran softly by, and everything was hushed out of
sympathy and kindness, and questioned each other of all that had been
and was to be. And the little Pilgrim told all the little news of home,
and of the brothers and sisters and the children that had been born, and
of those whose faces were turned towards this better country; and the
mother smiled and listened and would have heard all over and over,
although many things she already knew. "But why should I tell you? for
did not you watch over us and see all we did, and were not you near us
always?" the little Pilgrim said.
"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!"
And she sprang up from her soft seat, and found that she was no longer
by the riverside, or within sight of the great city or in the arms of
those she loved, but stood on one of the flowery paths of her own
border-land, and saw her fellows hastening towards the gates where there
seemed a great crowd. And she was no longer weary, but full of life and
strength, and it seemed to her that she could take them up in her arms,
those trembling strangers, and carry them straight to the Father, so
strong was she, and light, and full of force. And above all the gladness
she had felt, and all her pleasure in what she had seen, and more happy
even than the meeting with those she loved most, was her happiness now,
as she went along as light as the breeze to receive the strangers. She
was so eager that she began to sing a song of welcome as she hastened
on. "Oh, welcome, welcome!" she cried; and as she sang she knew it was
one of the heavenly melodies which she had heard in the great city: and
she hastened on, her feet flying over the flowery ways, thinking how the
great worlds were all watching, and the angels looking on, and the whole
universe waiting till it should be proved to them that the dear Lord,
the Brother of us all, had chosen the perfect way, and that over all the
evil and the sorrow He was the Conqueror alone.
And the little Pilgrim's voice, though it was so small, echoed away
through the great firmament to where the other worlds were watching to
see what should come, and cheered the anxious faces of some great lords
and princes far more great than she, who were of a nobler race than man;
for it was said among the stars that when such a little sound could
reach so far, it was a token that the Lord had chosen aright, and that
His method must be the best. And it breathed over the earth like some
one saying, Courage! to those whose hearts were failing; and it dropped
down, down, into the great confusions and traffic of the Land of
Darkness, and startled many, like the cry of a child calling and
calling, and never ceasing, "Come! and come! and come!"
THE END.
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