The mother and the children that very evening received from the stranger the medal which was worn by all those who returned to their allegiance. It was a Black Ship, surrounded with rays of glory, and behind it the towers of a city.
Never were a happier company than the four who gathered round the cottage table that evening. They were too happy, and had too much to ask, to sleep; and far into the night the questions and answers continued, every reply of the old man's only revealing some fresh endearing excellence in the King and the King's Son, until they longed for the Black Ship to come and fetch them home.
"If only," said little May, "it would fetch us all at once!"
"That the King will do when He comes with His armies in the day of His triumph. Till then, my child, this is the one only sorrow connected with the Black Ship, for those who love the King. We go one by one, and blessed as it is for the one who goes, it must be sad sometimes for those who are left."
"Why do not those who go to Him ask Him to come quickly?" asked Hope.
"They do," replied the old man. "'Come quickly' is the entreaty of all who love Him here and beyond the sea; but His time is best. And, meantime, have we forgotten the multitudes who are still deceived by the usurper, to whom the Black Ship is still a horrible end of all things, and the Veiled Form the King of Terrors?"
Hope rose and stood before the old man.
"Mother," he said, "it is for this we must live. Think of the desolate hearts in the homes around us. Think of the thousands who know not our blessed secret in the White Town."
The old man rose and laid his hand on Hope's head.
"My King!" he said, "when wilt Thou come for me? Is not my work done? Will not this youthful voice speak for Thee here as my quivering tones no longer can? Wilt Thou not come? I have many dear ones with Thee; but when Thou wilt is best."