When the boy opened his eyes some time later he was lying on a very comfortable couch on a cool terrace, and he blinked in the sunshine. Again he remembered the strange story of the man who had been killed, and then he was sure that he had died of suffocation in the temple room after the door had imprisoned them, for now he was in the midst of surroundings indescribably lovely. Some distance away he saw figures moving about, men, women, and children, and from behind him came the pure notes of a fine violin played by an artist. The music fitted into the scene and phrases of it harmonized perfectly with the gurgle of water running over stones and the hum of bees hovering above clover blossoms. He drew a deep breath of contentment but felt no desire to move or take a part in the leisurely activity.
From off in the sky he heard the roar of a motor as it carried one of the air-birds through the heavens, but Jim did not bother to turn his head. The notes of the violin blended now with the deep tones of the plane, and it seemed to the lad as if they even picked up the whistle of wind through the wires, only it was sweet as if the breeze played across the strings of a great harp. Altogether he thought that heaven was a most desirable state of consciousness and writers had never half done it justice. Idly he tried to think of appropriate sentences which would give earthlings a better idea of its charm and desirability, but they were elusive and trite as they formed in his mind, so he gave up.
Then suddenly he remembered that artists always gave heaven’s residents wings, so he raised himself on his elbow to observe this phenomenal appendage, but if the nearest angel possessed the feathered means of locomotion, they were folded tightly and out of sight. This was a bit disappointing, and then Jim noticed that the particular individual he had under observation looked strangely familiar, and a moment later he recognized Mrs. Gonzalas, who was walking quite like a mortal about a marvelous garden. A young chap was striding beside her, and then Jim sat right up.
“Bob,” he called. “Gee, I’m glad to see—” The two turned quickly at the sound of his voice and started toward him.
“Well bucking bullfrogs, did you come to at last?” Caldwell’s smile went from ear to ear, in fact it was so wide that it went almost around his head. “I thought you were never going to.” The Flying Buddy was beside his pal, but there was nothing unearthly about those features. Jim was on his feet, which wobbled uncertainly, and in a second Bob’s arm was about him. “You take things easy for a bit, old timer and you’ll be right as a trivet.”
“I feel great,” Austin declared—“Gee—I say, Bob—this is sort of queer, isn’t it—I mean—” He looked at his pal uncertainly.
“It’ll straighten out fine first thing you know, old timer—be hunky dorry—but take it easy,” Bob insisted, and he pressed the older boy back to the couch. “Give yourself a few minutes—”
“Oh sure, I suppose so, but it’s sort of odd getting adjusted—”
“Feel badly anywhere?” Bob asked. His tone was puzzled.
“No, no, I don’t think so. I feel fine.” The two sat quietly for a few minutes and then things began to appear less transparent. “I say—Bob—mind telling—”