“It is that great enemy who has led them all their lives by narrow zig-zag paths, placing bright bubbles and magic music in their path till the night falls.”
“And what of Philemon, then?”
“He still stands still, and when the other finds he has not gone he turns to look at him, and asks him why he stays. Then he shows him the sign by which he has a right to stay there to the end; and in the presence of the Angel of Death he draws up his prescription.”
“But what is the use of a prescription for a man about to die?”
“Well, it means he is not incurable. They carry the prescription out in hell and he is remedied.”
“And is he the only such spirit you have in heaven?”
“No. But the gift is rare, and only those who have the power can make or use the prescription. If you make the least mistake they won’t carry out your prescription, but tear it up and laugh at it and then there is no help for the dying.”
“And does this gift of making prescriptions spring from making beds?”
“Yes. To make the bed of a dead man is better than to make a golden coffin. It means that he will rise again.”
For some time we strolled on quietly, till down the avenue we saw Moonbeam coming towards us.