“What did you do in your house?”
“Always, like you, I toiled and served and suffered and loved, but not like you in the way of doing, for I was a king with sceptre and crown, and what I did was done in the royal manner. I could not share my cup and loaf with the hungry, nor lay my hand on the brow of pain as you did, but I could make laws and find out wisdom that would strengthen the land and bring bread and meat and health to my poor people. I could not take the suffering ones into my own house as you did, for they were many and my house was but one; but my house should stand a castle in their behalf—a stronghold and defence—and so standing it met its doom; in the prime of its glory it reeled, turret and foundation, beneath the onslaught of the oppressor, and with a great fall it lay prone on the battle-ground, crumbling back to earth.”
A herald went through the land crying, “The King is dead! the King is dead!”
“So is good Barbara,” answered the peasants. “She was born the same night as the King, and she died the same day.”
The two souls swept on through the wide spaces of the stars, on and on through the pearly gates of heaven. Angels folded their wings, and looked with tender awe upon these gracious beings who had come from the earth.
“We cannot tell who they are,” said the angels.
“One was a King. One was a peasant. But one cannot tell which was the King and which was the peasant,” said the angels: “these beings are alike wondrous fair and noble.”
The two souls swept on, with equal stroke of their shining wings, through the serried ranks of the heavenly host, and God did not welcome these home-coming souls as king or peasant, but He gave to each a new name—the new name which He has promised to him that overcometh.