sty. At the first step of the journey
stand Faith and Hope and Charity, and beyond are more wondrous things by
far--Glory, Praise, Vision, Sacrifice, Heroism, sublime Trust, the
Need-to-Give, and the Love that runs to help. And some of the
Pilgrims--most of them--get there.

[Page Heading: DISAPPOINTMENT]

But there is a little stream of Pilgrims sometimes to be met with going
the other way. They are returning, like the Prodigal, but there is no
one to welcome them. Some are very tragic figures, and for them the sun
is for ever obscured. But there are others--quite plain, sober men and
women, some humorists, and some sages. They have honestly sought the
Country, and they, too, have unfurled banners and marched on; but they
have met with many things on the road which do not match the watchwords,
and they have heard many wonderful things which, truthfully considered,
do not always appear to them to be facts. They have called Poverty
beautiful, and they have found it very ugly; and they have called Money
naught, and they have found it to be Power. They have found Sacrifice
accepted, and then claimed by the selfish and mean, and even Love has
not been all that was expected. The Pilgrims return. Their poor tummies,
too, are empty, but no calf is killed for them, there is no feasting
and no joy. They stay at home, but neither Elder Son nor Prodigal has
any use for them. In the end they turn out the light and go to sleep,
regretting--if they have any humour--their many virtues, which for so
long prevented them enjoying the pleasant things of life.

* * * * *

_March._--I lie in bed all day up here amongst these horrible snows. The
engineer comes in sometimes and makes me a cup of Benger's Food. For the
rest, I lean up on my elbow when I can, and cook some little
thing--Bovril or hot milk--on my Etna stove. Then I am too tired to eat
it, and the sickness begins all over again. Oh, if I could leave this
place! If only someone would send back my car, which has been taken
away, or if I could hear where Mrs. Wynne and Mr. Bevan are! But no, the
door of this odious place is locked, and the key is thrown away.

I have lost count of time. I just wait from day to day, hoping someone
will come and take me away, though I am now getting so weak I don't
suppose I can travel.

One wonders whether there can be a Providence in all this
disappointment. I think not. I just made a great mistake coming out
he