for us before them. There is no need to tell Him anything; He knows. He
will come when it is time; and after you have seen Him you will know
what to do."

Then the beautiful lady turned her eyes towards the gate, and, while the
little Pilgrim was still gazing, disappeared from her, and went to
comfort some other stranger. They were dear friends always, and met
often, but not again in the same way.

* * * * *

When she was thus left alone again, the little Pilgrim sat still upon
the grassy mound, quite tranquil and happy, without wishing to move.
There was such a sense of wellbeing in her that she liked to sit there
and look about her, and breathe the delightful air, like the air of a
summer morning, without wishing for anything.

"How idle I am!" she said to herself, in the very words she had often
used before she died; but then she was idle from weakness, and now from
happiness. She wanted for nothing. To be alive was so sweet. There was a
great deal to think about in what she had heard, but she did not even
think about that, only resigned herself to the delight of sitting there
in the sweet air and being happy. Many people were coming and going, and
they all knew her, and smiled upon her, and those who were at a distance
would wave their hands. This did not surprise her at all, for though
she was a stranger, she, too, felt that she knew them all; but that they
should be so kind was a delight to her which words could not tell. She
sat and mused very sweetly about all that had been told her, and
wondered whether she, too, might go sometimes, and, with a kiss and a
whisper, clear up something that was dark in the mind of some one who