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;