"I am nothing but an idler," said the beautiful lady, "making
acquaintance. I am of little use as yet. I was very hard worked before I
came here, and they think ft well that we should sit in the sun and take
a little rest and find things out."

Then the little Pilgrim sat still and mused, and felt in her heart that
she had found many things out. What she had heard had been wonderful,
and it was more wonderful still to be sitting here all alone save for
this lady, yet so happy and at ease. She wanted to sing, she was so
happy, but remembered that she was old and had lost her voice, and then
remembered again that she was no longer old, and perhaps had found it
again. And then it occurred to her to remember how she had learned to
sing, and how beautiful her sister's voice was, and how heavenly to hear
her, which made her remember that this dear sister would be weeping,
not singing, down where she had come from--and immediately the tears
stood in her eyes.

"Oh," she said, "I never thought we should cry when we came here. I
thought there were no tears in heaven."

"Did you think, then, that we were all turned into stone?" cried the
beautiful lady. "It says, God shall wipe away all tears from our faces,
which is not like saying there are to be no tears."

Upon which the little Pilgrim, glad that it was permitted to be sorry,
though she was so happy, allowed herself to think upon the place she had
so lately left. And she seemed to see her little room again with all the
pictures hanging as she had left them, and the house darkened, and the
dear faces she knew all sad and troubled; and to hear them saying over