"I was never clever, nor knew much. It is better for me to go away to my
little border-land, and help the strangers who do not know the way."
"Whatever is your work is the best," the lady said; "but though you are
so little you are in the Father's secret too, for it is nature to you to
know what the others cannot be sure of, that we must have the victory at
the last: so that we have this between us, the Father and we. And though
all are his children, we are of the kindred of God, because of our Lord
who is our Brother." And then the Lady Ama kissed her, and bade her when
she returned to the great city, either for rest or for love, or because
the Father sent for her, that she should come to the house by the river.
"For we are friends for ever," she said, and so threw her white veil over
her head, and was gone upon her mission, whither the little Pilgrim did
not know.
And now she found herself at a distance from the great city, which shone
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 into
their villages rejoicing, and called every one to see her. And they told
her that they had all been poor and labored 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 labor, 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 colors 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 further and further 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, and 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 succor 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, but 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 learnt 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 how, 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 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!"