So, clinging to each other, we set out toward my home.
"What shall I tell you first?" I asked.
"Everything about the dear ones—every individual member of our beloved household. Begin with my precious, heart-broken mother;" here her voice broke a little, but she soon continued, "I am with her often, but her great, and I fear unreconciled, sorrow, keeps me from being the comfort to her I long to be. If only she could spend one hour with me here, could know God's wisdom and love as we know it, how the cloud would lift from her life! How she would see that the two lives, after all, are but one."
"Yes, dear," I answered, "I always urged her to think of it in that light and to trust implicitly in the Father's tender care and never-failing love; but it is difficult for us to see beyond the lonely hearthstone and the vacant chair. Still, I believe she does begin to dimly grasp the comfort you are so eager to impart."
"Ah, if only she knew that I need just that to complete my happiness now! We cannot sorrow here as we did on earth, because we have learned to know that the Will of the Father is always tender and wise; but even heaven can never be complete for me while I know that my precious mother is forgetful of her many rare blessings, simply because I may not be with her, in the flesh, to share them. There is my father, and the boys—why, I am as truly hers still as they are! I often sit with them all, with her hand in mine, or my arms about her—my dear little mother! Why must she see me, to recognize this? But this is almost complaining, is it not? Some day she will know all—we must be patient."
As we walked on slowly, conversing of the earth-life, still in many phases so dear to us, she asking eager questions, I answering as best I could, we saw a group of four persons, three women and a man, standing under the trees a little to one side of the walk. The man's back was towards us, but we at once recognized the Master. The women were all strangers, and one of them seemed to have just arrived. Her hand the Savior held, as he talked with her, while all were intently listening to his words. We regarded the group in silence as we slowly passed, not hoping for recognition from him at such a time, but just as we were opposite to them, "he turned and looked upon" us. He did not speak—but oh, that look! So full of tenderness and encouragement and benediction! It lifted us, it bore us upward, it enthralled and exalted us; and as we passed onward, the clasp of our hands tightened, and rapture unspeakable flooded our hearts.
We finished our walk in silence, and sat down on the marble steps in the shadow of the overhanging trees. The dear child nestled close against my side, and laid her head upon my shoulder, while I rested my cheek caressingly upon it. After a time I whispered, half to myself, "Was there ever such a look!"
Instantly she raised her head and looking at me, said eagerly: "You think so, too? I was sure you would. It is always just so. If he is too much engaged to speak to you at the time, he just looks at you, and it is as though he had talked a long while with you. Is he not wonderful! Why, why could we not know him on earth as we know him here?"
"How long were you here before you met him?" I asked.
"Oh, that is the wonderful part of it! His was the first face I looked upon after I left the body. I felt bewildered when I first realized that I was free, and I stood for a moment irresolute. Then I saw him standing just beside me, with that same look upon his face. At first I felt timid and half afraid. Then he stretched forth his hand to me, and said gently, 'My child, I have come to take care of you; trust me; do not be afraid.' Then I knew him, and instantly all fear left me, and I clung to him as I would have done to either of my brothers. He did not say much to me, but somehow I felt that he understood all of my thoughts. After a moment, I asked: