Although Jack Cabot still limped, he had out-progressed any pain of consciousness over his deformity. Knowing that except for the imperfect union of his parents, he would have been born perfect in love, he believed that the visible of him would be straightened at his second birth. Adjudged an innocent offspring of righteousness, he had been unhampered by the curse of the world; indeed, had been given benefit of every doubt. His movements had gained freedom and his features had beautified. On closer view, however, his expression showed to be disconsolate. His sigh was repeated in that of another back-gazing manes whom he passed.
“Don’t you belong to anybody, too?” Jack asked him. “Mors told me I was assigned to bliss. I walk so much easier now, I know I ought to go on. But, oh, I am so lonely!”
“I know. I know”—the stranger-shade. “It is hard to be blissful alone.”
At the moment Jack espied the tiny yellow creature fluttering toward him. An eager chirp started him toward it, at first hesitantly, then as fast as he could go. Thus met the two passionate spirits which had been caged together on Earth—the one passionate in his resentment, the other in the determination, instinct, or whatsoever may be called the will of a bird, to teach the joy of life.
In his hurry, Jack stumbled and fell, both hands outstretched. Into them flew the yellow mite; twittered ecstatically; billed the boyish lips that quivered into sobs and laughter.
“You look like—You are! Oh, Dick, you flew into the Light after me? You have been hunting for me? I’m ashamed of the way I used to treat you, Dickie bird. But you understand now, don’t you, that it was only because I didn’t ’preciate that there’s a heart in every living thing, sometimes the biggest in the littlest? I had my eyes so set on a dog that I didn’t see how precious you were! I wonder did the gold-fish like me, too? It means something when a boy’s bird will die to follow him. I’m ashamed, Dick. Honest, I’m awful ashamed.”
The canary’s response was a burst of the song which he had not sung when sitting upon the spruce tree, bereft of companionship although in the company of so many of his kind. Perched upon the boy-shade’s shoulder, he revealed his secret in sound. Higher and freer and more poignantly sweet than ever fluted songster of Earth, he gave out on the Elysian air the theme of selfless love.
Inspirited, Jack continued on his return over the fields. He walked evenly that he might not dislodge his pet. And he chatted appreciatively in the intervals of the song, to atone for his unappreciative past.
“There are all sorts of musicians as you go nearer the Light, they tell me. There are pipers and harpers and trumpeters and countless choir-singers that almost make you long to die again for joy. But I’ll bet there’s none will sing so sweet as you, Dick. Once I’m satisfied to go on, I’ll take you with me and give you the chance you never had on Earth.”
By now the two were well over the crest of the stream-skirted knoll. Toward them, from the direction of the gate, spirits fluttered like leaves in a wind. Voices called out through the spaces—glad cries of greeting and wails of disappointment worn weak from repetition.