Gabriel wished he might have the great pleasure of a word with Prescott, whom he loved. Chrissalyn granted permission, and he went one evening to see the wonders of Planchette. Prescott obligingly came, and when Gabriel, with tears shining in his eyes asked if he had any particular message for him, answered:
“Only to thank you for your good words about me in the church, when I could not speak for myself.”
Gabriel had been one of several friends, orthodox and unorthodox, who made brief addresses at Prescott’s funeral, which, by the grace of a liberal-minded and great-hearted minister, was held in a church, in spite of the fact that the dead editor was a bold unbeliever.
At these grateful words the eyes of the gentle preacher glistened and his voice wavered with feeling, as he said: “You deserved all the praise I gave you. You did your best. You spoke truth and lived truth as you saw it. None can do more.”
In saying this Gabriel unconsciously raised his voice higher and higher till he ended in a shout, so natural was it to think of Prescott as far off because he was out of sight.
“Thank you again, Gabriel,” he wrote; “but let me tell you, that although I used to be a little deaf, I hear perfectly well now.”
Gabriel laughed heartily as it dawned upon him that he had been shouting at his invisible friend, and thought Prescott must be laughing too.
“Are all cured of their physical defects over there?” Gabriel asked.
“Not immediately, for illness or wholeness is a matter of the consciousness, and that cannot be completely changed at once. It is all progression, growth, expansion, but it takes what you call time to effect it. There is plenty of work for you, Gabriel, here as well as there.”
“I am glad of that,” said the unordained preacher. “An idle heaven would be hell for me. Man’s desire for action and his pleasure in it are strong evidence of his immortality. Were death—extinction—his destiny, somehow he would have known it, and would have been indolent instead of busy. It is true that much of his work is impermanent and useless or worse than useless; but it is the effort he puts forth, the exercise of will, that is the valuable part of it. That which he is really building through all his blundering and the only part of his work that endures, is character.”