wonder," she said, "for it is all so natural--not what we thought."
"Is it long since you have been here?" the Pilgrim said.
"I came before you--but how long or how short I cannot tell, for that is not how we count. We count only by what happens to us. And nothing yet has happened to me, except that I have seen our Brother. My mother sees Him always. That means she has lived here a long time and well--"
"Is it possible to live ill--in heaven?" The little Pilgrim's eyes grew large as if they were going to have tears in them, and a little shadow seemed to come over her. But the other laughed softly and restored her confidence.
"I have told you I do not know if it is heaven or not. No one does ill, but some do little and some do much, just as it used to be. Do you remember in Dante there was a lazy spirit that stayed about the gates and never got farther? but perhaps you never read that."
"I was not clever," said the little Pilgrim, wistfully. "No, I never read it. I wish I had known more."
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