ie's
with both Bickley and Bastin, for somehow I seemed to wish to learn
their separate views.

The latter I may explain, had been present at the end in his spiritual
capacity, but I do not think that he in the least understood the nature
of the drama which was passing before his eyes. His prayers and the
christening absorbed all his attention, and he never was a man who could
think of more than one thing at a time.

When I told him exactly what had happened and repeated the words that
Natalie spoke, he was much interested in his own nebulous way, and said
that it was delightful to meet with an example of a good Christian, such
as my wife had been, who actually saw something of Heaven before she had
gone there. His own faith was, he thanked God, fairly robust, but still
an undoubted occurrence of the sort acted as a refreshment, "like rain
on a pasture when it is rather dry, you know," he added, breaking into
simile.

I remarked that she had not seemed to speak in the sense he indicated,
but appeared to allude to something quite near at hand and more or less
immediate.

"I don't know that there is anything nearer at hand than the Hereafter,"
he answered. "I expect she meant that you will probably soon die and
join her in Paradise, if you are worthy to do so. But of course it is
not wise to put too much reliance upon words spoken by people at the
last, because often they don't quite know what they are saying. Indeed
sometimes I think this was so in the case of my own wife, who really
seemed to me to talk a good deal of rubbish. Good-bye, I promised to see
Widow Jenkins this afternoon about having her varicose veins cut out,
and I mustn't stop here wasting time in pleasant conversation. She
thinks just as much of her varicose veins as we do of the loss of our
wives."

I wonder what Bastin's ideas of unpleasant conversation may be, thought
I to myself, as I watched him depart already wool-gathering on some
other subject, probably the heresy of one of those "early fathers" who
occupied most of his thoughts.

Bickley listened to my tale in sympathetic silence, as a doctor does to
a patient. When he was obliged to speak, he said that it was interesting
as an example of a tendency of certain minds towards romantic vision
which sometimes asserts itself, even in the throes of death.

"You know," he added, "that I put faith in none of these things. I
wish that I could, but reason and science both show me that they lack