“Shall I?”
The Old Timer simply nodded and the reading went on. Those were not my best days, and the faith of my childhood was not as it had been; but, as The Pilot carried us through those matchless scenes of self-forgetting love and service the rapt wonder in the child's face as she listened, the appeal in her voice as, now to her father, and now to me, she cried: “Is THAT true, too? Is it ALL true?” made it impossible for me to hesitate in my answer. And I was glad to find it easy to give my firm adherence to the truth of all that tale of wonder. And, as more and more it grew upon The Pilot that the story he was reading, so old to him and to all he had ever met, was new to one in that listening group, his face began to glow and his eyes to blaze, and he saw and showed me things that night I had never seen before, nor have I seen them since. The great figure of the Gospels lived, moved before our eyes. We saw Him bend to touch the blind, we heard Him speak His marvellous teaching, we felt the throbbing excitement of the crowds that pressed against Him.
Suddenly The Pilot stopped, turned over the leaves and began again: “And He led them out as far as to Bethany. And He lifted up His hands and blessed them. And it came to pass as He blessed them He was parted from them and a cloud received Him out of their sight.” There was silence for some minutes, then Gwen said:
“Where did He go?”
“Up into Heaven,” answered The Pilot, simply.
“That's where mother is,” she said to her father, who nodded in reply.
“Does He know?” she asked. The old man looked distressed.
“Of course He does,” said The Pilot, “and she sees Him all the time.”
“Oh, daddy!” she cried, “isn't that good?”
But the old man only hid his face in his hands and groaned.