r old, and perhaps had found it
again. And then it occurred to her to remember how she had learned to
sing, and how beautiful her sister's voice was, and how heavenly to hear
her, which made her remember that this dear sister would be weeping,
not singing, down where she had come from--and immediately the tears
stood in her eyes.

"Oh," she said, "I never thought we should cry when we came here. I
thought there were no tears in heaven."

"Did you think, then, that we were all turned into stone?" cried the
beautiful lady. "It says, God shall wipe away all tears from our faces,
which is not like saying there are to be no tears."

Upon which the little Pilgrim, glad that it was permitted to be sorry,
though she was so happy, allowed herself to think upon the place she had
so lately left. And she seemed to see her little room again with all the
pictures hanging as she had left them, and the house darkened, and the
dear faces she knew all sad and troubled; and to hear them saying over
to each other all the little careless words she had said as if they were
out of the Scriptures, and crying if any one but mentioned her name,
and putting on crape and black dresses, and lamenting as if that which
had happened was something very terrible. She cried at this and yet felt
half inclined to laugh, but would not because it would be disrespectful
to those she loved. One thing did not occur to her, and that was that
they would be carrying her body, which she had left behind her, away to
the grave. She did not think of this because she was not aware of the
loss, and felt far too much herself to think that there was another part
of her being buried in the ground. From this she was aroused by her
companion asking her a question.

"Have you left many there?" she said.

"No one," said the little Pilgrim, "to whom I was the first on earth,
but they loved me all the same; and if I could only, only let them
know--"

"But I left one to whom I was the first on earth," said the other with
tears in her beautiful eyes, "and oh, how glad I should be to be less
happy if he might be less sad!"

"And you cannot go? you cannot go to him and tell him? Oh, I wish--"
cried the little Pilgrim; but then she paused, for the wish died all
away in her heart into a tender love for this poor sorrowful man whom
she did not know. This gave her the sweetest pang she had ever felt, for
she knew that all was well, and yet was so sorry, and would have
willingly