The lady answers: “These are the laughter of earth and heaven.
“These children will grow in stature and beauty for twenty years. And then these little sons of God will see the daughters of men, that they are fair, as it was in the book of Genesis, at the very beginning of time. The next generation of men in Springfield, born of the loves of these angels and daughters of the city, will be giants like Nimrod. These giants will drive out the former institutions with their own swords, forged for this special war. That generation will build many mansions of divine beauty, sheltering men and near-angels alike. And the houses of magical or heavenly aspect will mix with the plain, grimy or earthen houses:—for the generations of Springfield will be forever a mixed breed.”
CHAPTER XIX
HOW AT THE END OF ALL THESE WORKS AND DAYS, AVANEL AND I RISE IN A BOAT THROUGH THE AIR, FOLLOWING THE GREAT NEW AMARANTH VINE FROM CAMP LINCOLN TO THE PARAPETS OF HEAVEN. HOW WE TRACE ITS BANYAN-LIKE BRANCHES THROUGH THE JUNGLES OF HEAVEN, AND HOW WE DEFY THE HANDSOME MEDICINE MAN, DEVIL’S GOLD, AND HOW, LATER, WE FIND THE EMPTY SACK OF JOHNNY APPLESEED. HOW I RETURN TO FIFTH AND MONROE AND AVANEL IS ONE HUNDRED YEARS AWAY.
It is many years after the triumphant return of the Amazons and the Horseshoe Brotherhood from the battles in Asia. Avanel and I are walking again along the Great Northwest Road, and we reach the Old Camp Lincoln grounds where the Horseshoe Brotherhood and the Amazons so often drill. But this evening it is deserted, with neither tent nor horse nor rider to be seen. It is autumn and leaves whirl between me and the Lady Avanel and too often hide her from me. Many leaders of various sects of the city are moving about or assembled. It has always been the holy region of the city, near the Gardens of the Flower Religions and the Grave of Lincoln and of Hunter Kelly.
Avanel and I are in the spirit on this evening. We walk, as though upon carpets of glory, and we hear from the black lips of the humble earth the cry: “Springfield Awake, Springfield Aflame.”
The old giant toy globe, that used to be in the center of this field, is long gone. And where it stood, there has come up, since The Golden Book appeared, a great Apple-Amaranth Vine, coming as it were, like Jack’s beanstalk, suddenly.
It is autumn and the whole air is fragrant with the honey of the fruit of this Apple-Amaranth, and bees are busy with the rich fruit.
Every highest, furtherest bud that opens day after tomorrow, or in a thousand years, will flash with a spark and a flame, that has climbed up hundreds and thousands of miles from the roots that touch all the gardens of our city, up the old streets of Heaven, where this vine blooms today.
In the twinkling of an eye, while the star chimes of Springfield are ringing new tunes, from the dimmest stars of the blue, from east, west, north and south, magic boats sweep down to the Amazonian field.
It is happiness to be even the oldest of the prophets, who wait exhausted, after ages of service, praying and dreaming, stretched out on the decks of their swift boats, consumed with beautiful sorrow and hope. The honey of each different Amaranth, growing through the stars, has burnt all the strength of their bodies away, yet it gives to them stronger courage, hour by hour. When it touches their lips, all else is vanity. It is the live coal from the altar and is their new Heaven.