A Little Pilgrim | Page 3

and move with every organ so free. After more than
fifty years of hard service in the world to feel like this, even in a dream!
She smiled to herself at her own pleasure; and then once more, yet
more potently, there came back upon her the appearance of her room in
which she had fallen asleep. How had she got from there to here? Had
she been carried away in her sleep, or was it only a dream, and would
she by and by find herself between the four dim walls again? Then this
shadow of recollection faded away once more, and she moved forward,
walking in a soft rapture over the delicious turf. Presently she came to a
little mound upon which she paused to look about her. Every moment
she saw a little farther: blue hills far away, extending in long sweet
distance, an indefinite landscape, but fair and vast, so that there could
be seen no end to it, not even the line of the horizon--save at one side,
where there seemed to be a great shadowy gateway, and something dim
beyond. She turned from the brightness to look at this, and when she
had looked for some time she saw what pleased her still more, though
she had been so happy before--people coming in. They were too far off
for her to see clearly, but many came, each apart, one figure only at a
time. To watch them amused her in the delightful leisure of her mind.
Who were they? she wondered; but no doubt soon some of them would
come this way, and she would see. Then suddenly she seemed to hear,
as if in answer to her question, some one say, "Those who are coming
in are the people who have died on earth." "Died!" she said to herself
aloud, with a wondering sense of the inappropriateness of the word,
which almost came the length of laughter. In this sweet air, with such a
sense of life about, to suggest such an idea was almost ludicrous. She
was so occupied with this that she did not look round to see who the
speaker might be. She thought it over, amused, but with some new
confusion of the mind. Then she said, "Perhaps I have died too," with a
laugh to herself at the absurdity of the thought.
"Yes," said the other voice, echoing that gentle laugh of hers, "you
have died too."
She turned round and saw another standing by her--a woman, younger
and fairer and more stately than herself, but of so sweet a countenance
that our little Pilgrim felt no shyness, but recognised a friend at once.

She was more occupied looking at this new face, and feeling herself at
once so much happier (though she had been so happy before) in finding
a companion who could tell her what everything was, than in
considering what these words might mean. But just then once more the
recollection of the four walls, with their little pictures hanging, and the
window with its curtains drawn, seemed to come round her for a
moment, so that her whole soul was in a confusion. And as this vision
slowly faded away (though she could not tell which was the vision, the
darkened room or this lovely light), her attention came back to the
words at which she had laughed, and at which the other had laughed as
she repeated them. Died?--was it possible that this could be the
meaning of it all.
"Died?" she said, looking with wonder in her companion's face, which
smiled back to her. "But do you mean--? You cannot mean--? I have
never been so well. I am so strong. I have no trouble anywhere. I am
full of life."
The other nodded her beautiful head with a more beautiful smile, and
the little Pilgrim burst out in a great cry of joy, and said--
"Is this all? Is it over?--is it all over? Is it possible that this can be all?"
"Were you afraid of it?" the other said. There was a little agitation for
the moment in her heart. She was so glad, so relieved and thankful, that
it took away her breath. She could not get over the wonder of it.
"To think one should look forward to it so long, and wonder and be
even unhappy trying to divine what it will be--and this all!"
"Ah, but the angel was very gentle with you," said the young woman.
"You were so tender and worn that he only smiled and took you
sleeping. There are other ways; but it is always wonderful to think it is
over, as you say."
The little Pilgrim could do nothing but talk of it, as one does after a
very great event. "Are