Not that his great gravity, with all the causes of it, ever made him a
melancholy, a morose, a despairing, or even a desponding man. Far from
that. The man of sorrows Himself sometimes rejoiced in spirit. Not
sometimes only, but often He lifted up His heart and thanked His Father
for the work His Father had given Him to do, and for the success that had
been granted to Him in the doing of it. And as often as He looked
forward to the time when he should finish His work and receive His
discharge, and return to His Father's house, at the thought of that He
straightway forgot all His present sorrows. And somewhat so was it with
Goodwill at his gate. No man could be but at bottom happy, and even
joyful, who had a post like his to occupy, a gate like his to keep, and,
altogether, a work like his to do. No man with his name and his nature
can ever in any circumstances be really unhappy. 'Happiness is the bloom
that always lies on a life of true goodness,' and this gatehouse was full
of the happiness that follows on and always dwells with true goodness.
Goodwill cannot have more happiness till he shuts in his last pilgrim
into the Celestial City, and then himself enters in after him as a
shepherd after a lost sheep.

The happy, heavenly, divine disposition of the gatekeeper was such, that
it overflowed from the pilgrim who stood beside him and descended upon
his wife and children who remained behind him in the doomed city. So
full of love was the gatekeeper's heart, that it ran out upon Obstinate
and Pliable also. His heart was so large and so hospitable, that he was
not satisfied with one pilgrim received and assisted that day. How is
it, he asked, that you have come here alone? Did any of your neighbours
know of your coming? And why did he who came so far not come through?
Alas, poor man, said Goodwill, is the celestial glory of so little esteem
with him that he counteth it not worth running the hazards of a few
difficulties to obtain it? Our pilgrim got a lifelong lesson in goodwill