were wiped from their eyes, and they put on glory
and strength, and all weariness and pain fell away. And beyond were a
multitude which no man could number, and they worked at some great work;
and they who rose from the river went on and joined in the work. They
all worked, and each worked in a different way, but all at the same
work. And I saw there my father, and the men in the old town whom I knew
when I was a child; many a hard stern man, who never came to church, and
whom they called atheist and infidel. There they were, side by side with
my father, whom I had seen toil and die for them, and women and little
children, and the seal was on the foreheads of all. And I longed to see
what the work was, and could not; so I tried to plunge in the river, for
I thought I would join them, but I could not. Then I looked about to see
how they got into the river. And this I could not see, but I saw myriads
on this side, and they too worked, and I knew that it was the same work;
and the same seal was on their foreheads. And though I saw that there
was toil and anguish in the work of these, and that most that were
working were blind and feeble, yet I longed no more to plunge into the
river, but more and more to know what the work was. And as I looked I
saw my mother and my sisters, and I saw the Doctor, and you, Tom, and
hundreds more whom I knew; and at last I saw myself too, and I was
toiling and doing ever so little a piece of the great work. Then it all
melted away, and the power left me, and as it left me I thought I heard
a voice say, 'The vision is for an appointed time; though it tarry, wait
for it, for in the end it shall speak and not lie, it shall surely come,
it shall not tarry.' It was early morning I know then, it was so quiet
and cool, and my mother was fast asleep in the chair by my bedside; but
it wasn't only a dream of mine. I know it wasn't a dream. Then I fell
into a deep sleep, and only woke after afternoon chapel; and the Doctor
came and gave me the sacrament, as I told you. I told him and my mother
I should get well--I knew I should; but I couldn't tell them why. Tom,"
said Arthur, gently, after another minute, "do you see why I could not
grieve now to see my dearest friend die? It can't be--it isn't, all
fever or illness. God would never have let me see it so clear if it
wasn't true. I don't understand it all yet--it will take me my life and
longer to do that--to find out what the work is."

When Arthur st