"I perceive that you belong to this country, though you say you are a
pilgrim. I should be grateful if you would tell me. Does one live--here?
And is this all? Is there no--no--but I don't know what word to use. All
is so strange, different from what I expected."
"Do you know that you have died?"
"Yes--yes, I am quite acquainted with that," he said, hurriedly; as if it
had been an idea he disliked to dwell upon. "But then I expected--Is
there no one to tell you where to go, or what you are to be? or to take
any notice of you?"
The little Pilgrim was startled by this tone. She did not understand its
meaning, and she had not any word to say to him. She looked at him with
as much bewilderment as he had shown when he approached her, and replied,
faltering,--
"There are a great many people here; but I have never heard if there is
any one to tell you--"
"What does it matter how many people there are if you know none of them?"
he said.
"We all know each other," she answered him but then paused and hesitated
a little, because this was what had been said to her, and of herself she
was not assured of it, neither did she know at all how to deal with this
stranger, to whom she had not any commission. It seemed that he had no
one to care for him, and the little Pilgrim had a sense of compassion,
yet of trouble in her heart; for what could she say? And it was very
strange to her to see one who was not content here.
"Ah, but there should be some one to point out the way, and tell us which
is our circle, and where we ought to go," he said. And then he too was
silent for a while, looking about him as all were fain to do on their
first arrival, finding everything so strange. There were people coming in
at every moment, and some were met at the very threshold, and some went
away alone with peaceful faces, and there were many groups about talking
together in soft voices; but no one interrupted the other, and though so
many were there, each voice was as clear as if it had spoken alone, and
there was no tumult of sound as when many people assemble together in the
lower world.
The little Pilgrim wondered to find herself with the woman resting upon
her on one side, and the man seated silent on the other, neither having,
it appeared, any guide but only herself, who knew so little. How was she
to lead them in the paths which she did not know?--and she was exhausted
by the agitation of her struggle with the woman whom she felt to be her
charge. But in this moment of silence she had time to remember the face
of the Lord, when he gave her this commission, and her heart was
strengthened. The man all this time sat and watched, looking eagerly all
about him, examining the faces of those who went and came: and sometimes
he made a little start as if to go and speak to some one he knew; but
always drew back again and looked at the little Pilgrim, as if he had
said, "This is the one who will serve me best." He spoke to her again
after a while and said, "I suppose you are one of the guides that show
the way."
"No," said the little Pilgrim, anxiously. "I know so little! It is not
long since I came here. I came in the early morning--"
"Why, it is morning now. You could not come earlier than it is now. You
mean yesterday."
"I think," said the Pilgrim, "that yesterday is the other side; there is
no yesterday here."
He looked at her with the keen look he had, to understand her the better;
and then he said,--
"No division of time! I think that must be monotonous. It will be strange
to have no night; but I suppose one gets used to everything. I hope
though there is something to do. I have always lived a very busy life.
Perhaps this is just a little pause before we go--to be--to have--to
get our--appointed place."
He had an uneasy look as he said this, and looked at her with an anxious
curiosity, which the little Pilgrim did not understand.
"I do not know," she said softly, shaking her head. "I have so little
experience. I have not been told of an appointed place."
The man looked at her very strangely.
"I did not think," he said, "that I should have found such ignorance
here. Is it not well known that we must all appear before the
judgment-seat of God?"
There words seemed to cause a trembling on the still air, and the woman
on the other side raised herself suddenly up, clasping her hands and some
of those who had just entered heard the words, and came and crowded about
the little Pilgrim, some standing, some falling down upon their knee, all
with their faces turned towards her. She who had always been so simple
and small, so little used to teach; she was frightened with the sight of
all these strangers crowding, hanging upon her lips, looking to her for
knowledge. She knew not what to do or what to say. The tears came into
her eyes.
"Oh," she said, "I do not know anything about a judgment-seat. I know
that our Father is here, and that when we are in trouble we are taken to
him to be comforted, and that our dear Lord our Brother is among us every
day, and every one may see him. Listen," she said, standing up suddenly
among them, feeling strong as an angel. "I have seen him! though I am
nothing, so little as you see, and often silly, never clever as some of
you are, I have seen him! and so will all of you. There is no more that I
know of," she said softly, clasping her hands. "When you see him it comes
into your heart what you must do."
And then there was a murmur of voices about her, some saying that was
best, and some wondering if that were all, and some crying if he would
but come now--while the little Pilgrim stood among them with her face
shining, and they all looked at her, asking her to tell them more, to
show them how to find him. But this was far above what she could do, for
she too was not much more than a stranger, and had little strength. She
would not go back a step, nor desert those who were so anxious to know,
though her heart fluttered almost as it had used to do before she died,
what with her longing to tell them, and knowing that she had no more to
say.
But in that land it is never permitted that one who stands bravely and
fails not shall be left without succor; for it is no longer needful there
to stand even to death, since all dying is over, and all souls are
tested. When it was seen that the little Pilgrim was thus surrounded by
so many that questioned her, there suddenly came about her many others
from the brightness out of which she had come, who, one going to one
hand, and one to another, safely led them into the ways in which their
course lay: so that the Pilgrim was free to lead forth the woman who had
been given her in charge, and whose path lay in a dim, but pleasant
country, outside of that light and gladness in which the Pilgrim's home
was.
"But," she said, "you are not to fear or be cast down, because he goes
likewise by these ways, and there is not a corner in all this land but he
is to be seen passing by; and he will come and speak to you, and lay his
hand upon you; and afterwards everything will be clear, and you will know
what you are to do."
"Stay with me till he comes,--oh, stay with me," the woman cried,
clinging to her arm.
"Unless another is sent," the little Pilgrim said. And it was nothing to
her that the air was less bright there, for her mind was full of light,
so that, though her heart still fluttered a little with all that had
passed, she had no longing to return, nor to shorten the way, but went by
the lower road sweetly, with the stranger hanging upon her, who was
stronger and taller than she. Thus they went on, and the Pilgrim told her
all she knew, and everything that came into her heart. And so full was
she of the great things she had to say, that it was a surprise to her,
and left her trembling, when suddenly the woman took away her clinging
hand, and flew forward with arms out-spread and a cry of joy. The little
Pilgrim stood still to see, and on the path before them was a child,
coming towards them singing, with a look such as is never seen but upon
the faces of children who have come here early, and who behold the face
of the Father, and have never known fear nor sorrow. The woman flew and
fell at the child's feet, and he put his hand upon her, and raised her
up, and called her "mother." Then he smiled upon the little Pilgrim, and
led her away.
"Now she needs me no longer," said the Pilgrim; and it was a surprise to
her, and for a moment she wondered in herself if it was known that this
child should come so suddenly and her work be over; and also how she was
to return again to the sweet place among the flowers from which she had
come. But when she turned to look if there was any way, she found one
standing by such as she had not yet seen. This was a youth, with a face
just touched with manhood, as at the moment when the boy ends, when all
is still fresh and pure in the heart; but he was taller and greater than
a man.
"I am sent," he said, "little sister, to take you to the Father; because
you have been very faithful, and gone beyond your strength."
And he took the little Pilgrim by the hand, and she knew he was an angel;
and immediately the sweet air melted about them into light, and a hush
came upon her of all thought and all sense, attending till she should
receive the blessing, and her new name, and see what is beyond telling,
and hear and understand.