r, alas! on a nearer acquaintance, that life was as full of
anxieties and cares there as elsewhere. There were one or two elderly
people going about, giving directions or advice, or lending a helping
hand. The workers nodded blithely to us, but did not suspend their work.

"What surprises me," I said to Amroth, "is to find every one so much
occupied wherever we go. One heard so much on earth about craving for
rest, that one grew to fancy that the other life was all going to be a
sort of solemn meditation, with an occasional hymn."

"Yes, indeed," said Amroth, "it was the body that was tired--the soul is
always fresh and strong--but rest is not idleness. There is no such
thing as unemployment here, and there is hardly time, indeed, for all we
have to do. Every one really loves work. The child plays at working, the
man of leisure works at his play. The difference here is that work is
always amusing--there is no such thing as drudgery here."

We walked all through the village, which stretched far away into the
country. The whole place hummed like a beehive on a July morning. Many
sang to themselves as they went about their business, and sometimes a
couple of girls, meeting in the roadway, would entwine their arms and
dance a few steps together, with a kiss at parting. There was a sense of
high spirits everywhere. At one place we found a group of children
sitting in the shade of some trees, while a woman of middle age told
them a story. We stood awhile to listen, the woman giving us a pleasant
nod as we approached. It was a story of some pleasant adventure, with
nothing moral or sentimental about it, like an old folk-tale. The
children were listening with unconcealed delight.

When we had walked a little further, Amroth said to me, "Come, I will
give you three guesses. Who do you think, by the light of your
psychology, are all these simple people?" I guessed in vain. "Well, I
see I must tell you," he said. "Would it surprise you to learn that most
of these people whom you see here passed upon earth for wicked and
unsatisfactory characters? Yet it is true. Don't you know the kind of
boys there were at school, who drifted into bad company and idle ways,
mostly out of mere good-nature, went out into the world with a black
mark against them, having been bullied in vain by virtuous masters, the
despair of their parents, always losing their employments, and often
coming what we used to call social croppers--untrustworthy, sensu