laughed--as you and I laughed just now--for pleasure."

"That makes me think" said the little Pilgrim; "if I have died, as you
say--which is so strange, and me so living--if I have died, they will
have found it out. The house will be all dark, and they will be breaking
their hearts. Oh, how could I forget them in my selfishness, and be
happy! I so light-hearted, while they--"

She sat down hastily, and covered her face with her hands and wept. The
other looked at her for a moment, then kissed her for comfort, and cried
too. The two happy creatures sat there weeping together, thinking of
those they had left behind, with an exquisite grief which was not
unhappiness, which was sweet with love and pity. "And oh," said the
little Pilgrim, "what can we do to tell them not to grieve? Cannot
you send? cannot you speak? cannot one go to tell them?"

The heavenly stranger shook her head.

"It is not well, they all say. Sometimes one has been permitted; but they
do not know you," she said, with a pitiful look in her sweet eyes. "My
mother told me that her heart was so sick for me, she was allowed to go;
and she went and stood by me, and spoke to me, and I did not know her.
She came back so sad and sorry, that they took her at once to our
Father; and there, you know, she found that it was all well. All is well
when you are there."

"Ah," said the little Pilgrim, "I have been thinking of other things. Of
how happy I was, and of _them_; but never of the Father,--just as
if I had not died."