Early the following morning I said to my husband and our brother: "We must go to father and mother Sprague's to-day. They have the first claim, after ours, Frank."
"Yes, we will go at once," they both replied.
So together we all started. In the earliest days of my heavenly life I had sought out with much joy the home of my husband's parents, and was by them accorded, as in the earth-life, a warm place in their hearts, and many happy hours had we spent together since. Now we were taking to them a favorite son, and I realized how his coming would bring gladness to their hearts and home. It was a joyful meeting, especially to our mother, and the day was far spent before we arose to return.
"William," said our mother, fondly laying her hand upon his arm, "yours was a happy home on earth—I used to think a perfect home; it will be far happier here," with a loving glance at me.
"I am sure of that, mother. I have my dear wife and Frank constantly with me; and you and my father and Josephine"—a favorite niece—"to come to here; and after awhile," with a little hesitation, "the holier joys and privileges of heaven."
We turned to go, and upon the threshold met an aunt who in the earth-life—blind and helpless—had been a favorite with us all.
"My dear children," she exclaimed, "how good it seems to see you all again!"
"Aunt Cynthia!" my husband said fondly.
"Yes, Aunt Cynthia, but no longer groping helpless in the darkness. 'Whereas I once was blind, now I see,'" she quoted, smiling happily.
And so it was—the Master's touch had rested on the sightless eyes, and, closing to the darkness of earth, they had opened upon the glories of heaven. Marvelous transition! No wonder we left her singing: