Part 1 (2/2)

”Would it not be better if I brought you back a little later--after they come?” he said, with a kind smile.

”Would you surely do so?” I asked.

”Most certainly, if you desire it. You are worn out with the long suffering, and a little rest will give you new strength.”

I felt that he was right, said so in a few words, and we started slowly up the street. He had drawn my hand within his arm, and endeavored to interest me, as we walked. But my heart clung to the dear ones whom I felt I was not to see again on earth, and several times I stopped and looked wistfully back the way we had come. He was very patient and gentle with me, waiting always till I was ready to proceed again; but at last my hesitation became so great that he said pleasantly:

”You are so weak I think I had better carry you;” and without waiting for a reply, he stooped and lifted me in his arms, as though I had been a little child; and, like a child, I yielded, resting my head upon his shoulder, and laying my arm about his neck. I felt so safe, so content, to be thus in his care. It seemed so sweet, after the long, lonely struggle, to have some one a.s.sume the responsibility of caring thus tenderly for me.

He walked on with firm, swift steps, and I think I must have slept; for the next I knew, I was sitting in a sheltered nook, made by flowering shrubs, upon the softest and most beautiful turf of gra.s.s, thickly studded with fragrant flowers, many of them the flowers I had known and loved on earth. I remember noticing heliotrope, violets, lilies of the valley, and mignonette, with many others of like nature wholly unfamiliar to me. But even in that first moment I observed how perfect in its way was every plant and flower. For instance, the heliotrope, which with us often runs into long, ragged sprays, there grew upon short, smooth stems, and each leaf was perfect and smooth and glossy, instead of being rough and coa.r.s.e-looking; and the flowers peeped up from the deep gra.s.s, so like velvet, with sweet, happy faces, as though inviting the admiration one could not withhold.

And what a scene was that on which I looked as I rested upon this soft, fragrant cus.h.i.+on, secluded and yet not hidden! Away, away--far beyond the limit of my vision, I well knew--stretched this wonderful sward of perfect gra.s.s and flowers; and out of it grew equally wonderful trees, whose drooping branches were laden with exquisite blossoms and fruits of many kinds. I found myself thinking of St. John's vision in the Isle of Patmos, and ”the tree of life” that grew in the midst of the garden, bearing ”twelve manner of fruits, and whose leaves were for the healing of the nations.” Beneath the trees, in many happy groups, were little children, laughing and playing, running hither and thither in their joy, and catching in their tiny hands the bright-winged birds that flitted in and out among them, as though sharing in their sports, as they doubtless were. All through the grounds, older people were walking, sometimes in groups, sometimes by twos, sometimes alone, but all with an air of peacefulness and happiness that made itself felt by even me, a stranger. All were in spotless white, though many wore about them or carried in their hands cl.u.s.ters of beautiful flowers. As I looked upon their happy faces and their spotless robes, again I thought, ”These are they who have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.”

Look where I would, I saw, half hidden by the trees, elegant and beautiful houses of strangely attractive architecture, that I felt must be the homes of the happy inhabitants of this enchanted place. I caught glimpses of sparkling fountains in many directions, and close to my retreat flowed a river, with placid breast and water clear as crystal. The walks that ran in many directions through the grounds appeared to me to be, and I afterward found were, of pearl, spotless and pure, bordered on either side by narrow streams of pellucid water, running over stones of gold. The one thought that fastened itself upon me as I looked, breathless and speechless, upon this scene, was ”Purity, purity!” No shadow of dust; no taint of decay on fruit or flower; everything perfect, everything pure. The gra.s.s and flowers looked as though fresh-washed by summer showers, and not a single blade was any color but the brightest green. The air was soft and balmy, though invigorating; and instead of sunlight there was a golden and rosy glory everywhere; something like the afterglow of a Southern sunset in midsummer.

As I drew in my breath with a short, quick gasp of delight, I heard my brother, who was standing beside me, say softly, ”Well?” and, looking up, I discovered that he was watching me with keen enjoyment. I had, in my great surprise and delight, wholly forgotten his presence.

Recalled to myself by his question, I faltered:

”Oh, Frank, that I--” when such an overpowering sense of G.o.d's goodness and my own unworthiness swept over me that I dropped my face into my hands, and burst into uncontrollable and very human weeping.

”Ah!” said my brother, in a tone of self-reproach, ”I am inconsiderate.” And lifting me gently to my feet, he said, ”Come, I want to show you the river.”

When we reached the brink of the river, but a few steps distant, I found that the lovely sward ran even to the water's edge, and in some places I saw the flowers blooming placidly down in the depths, among the many-colored pebbles with which the entire bed of the river was lined.

”I want you to see these beautiful stones,” said my brother, stepping into the water and urging me to do the same.

I drew back timidly, saying, ”I fear it is cold.”

”Not in the least,” he said, with a rea.s.suring smile. ”Come.”

”Just as I am?” I said, glancing down at my lovely robe, which, to my great joy, I found was similar to those of the dwellers in that happy place.

”Just as you are,” with another rea.s.suring smile.

Thus encouraged, I, too, stepped into the ”gently flowing river,” and to my great surprise found the water, in both temperature and density, almost identical with the air. Deeper and deeper grew the stream as we pa.s.sed on, until I felt the soft, sweet ripples playing about my throat. As I stopped, my brother said, ”A little farther still.”

”It will go over my head,” I expostulated.

”Well, and what then?”

”I cannot breathe under the water--I will suffocate.”

An amused twinkle came into his eyes, though he said soberly enough, ”We do not do those things here.”

I realized the absurdity of my position, and with a happy laugh said, ”All right; come on,” and plunged headlong into the bright water, which soon bubbled and rippled several feet above my head. To my surprise and delight, I found I could not only breathe, but laugh and talk, see and hear, as naturally under the water as above it. I sat down in the midst of the many-colored pebbles, and filled my hands with them, as a child would have done. My brother lay down upon them, as he would have done on the green sward, and laughed and talked joyously with me.

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