Part 5 (2/2)
The little Pilgrim did nothing but question with her anxious eyes, for this was such a wonder to her, and she could not understand. But he only sat musing with a smile over the things he remembered. And at last he said--
”If this is so interesting to you, you shall read it all in another place, in the room where we have laid up our own experiences, in order to serve for the history afterwards. But we are still busy upon the work of the earth. There is always something new to be discovered. And it is essential for the whole world that the chronicle should be full. I am in great joy because it was but just now that our Lord told me about that child. Everything was imperfect without him, but now it is clear.”
”You mean your brother? And you are happy though you are not sure if he is happy?” the little Pilgrim said.
”It is not to be happy that we live,” said he; and then, ”We are all happy so soon as we have found the way.”
She would have asked him more, but that he was called to a consultation with some others of his kind, and had to leave her, waving his hand to her with a tender kindness, which went to her heart. She looked after him with great respect, and almost awe; for it seemed to her that a man who had been in the land of darkness, and made his way out of it, must be more wonderful than any other. She looked round for a little upon the great library, full of all the books that had ever been written, and where people were doing their work, examining and reading and making extracts, every one with looks of so much interest, that she almost envied them--though it was a generous delight in seeing people so happy in their occupation, and a desire to a.s.sociate herself somehow in it, rather than any grudging of their satisfaction that was in her mind. She went about all the courts of this palace alone, and everywhere saw the same work going on, and everywhere met the same kind looks. Even when the greatest of all looked up from his work and saw her, he would give her a friendly greeting and a smile; and n.o.body was too wise to lend an ear to the little visitor, or to answer her questions. And this was how it was that she began to talk to another, who was seated at a great table with many more, and who drew her to him by something that was in his looks, though she could not have told what it was. It was not that he was kinder than the rest, for they were all kind. She stood by him a little, and saw how he worked and would take something from one book and something from another, putting them ready for use. And it did not seem any trouble to do this work, but only pleasure, and the very pen in his hand was like a winged thing, as if it loved to write. When he saw her watching him, he looked up and showed her the beautiful book out of which he was copying, which was all illuminated with lovely pictures.
”This is one of the volumes of the great history,” he said. ”There are some things in it which are needed for another, and it is a pleasure to work at it. If you will come here you will be able to see the page while I write.”
Then the little Pilgrim asked him some questions about the pictures, and he answered her, describing and explaining them; for they were in the middle of the history, and she did not understand what it was. When she said, ”I ought not to trouble you, for you are busy,” he smiled so kindly, that she smiled too for pleasure. And he said--
”There is no trouble here. When we are not allowed to work, as sometimes happens, that makes us not quite so happy, but it is very seldom that it happens so.”
”Is it for punishment?” she said.
And then he laughed out with a sound which made all the others look up smiling; and if they had not all looked so tenderly at her, as at a child who has made such a mistake as it is pretty for the child to make, she would have feared she had said something wrong; but she only laughed at herself too, and blushed a little, knowing that she was not wise: and to put her at her ease again, he turned the leaf and showed her other pictures, and the story which went with them, from which he was copying something. And he said--
”This is for another book, to show how the grace of the Father was beautiful in some homes and families. It is not the great history, but connected with it: and there are many who love that better than the story which is more great.”
Then the Pilgrim looked in his face and said--
”What I want most is, to know about your homes here.”
”It is all home here,” he said, and smiled; and then, as he met her wistful looks, he went on to tell her that he and his brothers were not always there. ”We have all our occupations,” he said, ”and sometimes I am sent to inquire into facts that have happened, of which the record is not clear; for we must omit nothing; and sometimes we are told to rest and take in new strength; and sometimes--”
”But oh, forgive me,” cried the little Pilgrim, ”you had some who were more dear to you than all the world in the old time?”
And the others all looked up again at the question, and looked at her with tender eyes, and said to the man whom she questioned, ”Speak!”
He made a little pause before he spoke, and he looked at one here and there, and called to them--
”Patience, brother,” and ”Courage, brother.” And then he said, ”Those whom we loved best are nearly all with us; but some have not yet come.”
”Oh,” said the little Pilgrim, ”but how then do you bear it, to be parted so long--so long?”
Then one of those to whom the first speaker had called out ”Patience”
rose, and came to her smiling; and he said--
”I think every hour that perhaps she will come, and the joy will be so great, that thinking of that makes the waiting short: and nothing here is long, for it never ends; and it will be so wonderful to hear her tell how the Father has guided her, that it will be a delight to us all; and she will be able to explain many things, not only for us, but for all; and we love each other so, that this separation is as nothing in comparison with what is to come.”
It was beautiful to hear this, but it was not what the little Pilgrim expected, for she thought they would have told her of the homes to which they all returned when their work was over, and a life which was like the life of the old time; but of this they said nothing, only looking at her with smiling eyes, as at the curious questions of a child. And there were many other things she would have asked, but refrained when she looked at them, feeling as if she did not yet understand; when one of them broke forth suddenly in a louder voice, and said--
”The little sister knows only the little language and the beginning of days. She has not learned the mysteries, and what Love is, and what life is.”
And another cried, ”It is sweet to hear it again;” and they all gathered round her with tender looks, and began to talk to each other, and tell her, as men will tell of the games of their childhood, of things that happened, which were half forgotten, in the old time.
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