A Little Pilgrim | Page 7

sweet as music; "yet thought I knew, and they thought I knew; but
all that does not matter now."
"I think it matters, for look how much you have shown me; but tell me
one thing more--how was it said to you that you must go and tell him?
Was it some one who spoke--was it--"
Her face grew so bright that all the past brightness was as a dull sky to
this. It gave out such a light of happiness that the little Pilgrim was
dazzled.
"I was wandering about," she said, "to see this new place. My mother
had come back between two errands she had, and had come to see me
and tell me everything; and I was straying about wondering what I was
to do, when suddenly I saw some one coming along, as it might be
now--"
She paused and looked up, and the little Pilgrim looked up too with her
heart beating, but there was no one. Then she gave a little sigh, and
turned and listened again.
"I had not been looking for Him, or thinking. You know my mind is too
light. I am pleased with whatever is before me; and I was so curious,
for my mother had told me many things: when suddenly I caught sight
of Him passing by. He was going on, and when I saw this a panic
seized me, lest He should pass and say nothing. I do not know what I
did. I flung myself upon His robe, and got hold of it, or at least I think
so. I was in such an agony lest He should pass and never notice me. But
that was my folly. He pass! As if that could be!"
"And what did He say to you?" cried the little Pilgrim, her heart almost
aching it beat so high with sympathy and expectation.
The lady looked at her for a little without saying anything.
"I cannot tell you," she said, "any more than I can tell if this is heaven.
It is a mystery. When you see Him you will know. It will be all you
have ever hoped for and more besides, for He understands everything.
He knows what is in our hearts about those we have left, and why He
sent 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 loved her. "I that never was clever!" she said to herself, with a
smile. And chiefly she thought of a friend whom she loved, who was
often in great perplexity, and did not know how to guide herself amid
the difficulties of the world.
The little Pilgrim half laughed with delight, and then half cried with
longing to go, as the beautiful lady had done, and make something clear
that had been dark before to this friend. As she was thinking what a
pleasure it would be, some one came up to her, crossing over the