Theblankmighthavebeenanhouroracentury。Heknewonlythatomethinghadhappenedintheinterval。Whatiswashecouldnottell。
　　Hefoundgreatdifficultyincatchingthethreadofhisidentityagain。
　　Hefeltthathewashimself；butthetroublewastomakehisconnections，toverifyandplacehimself，toknowwhoandwherehewas。
　　Atlastitgrewclear。JohnWeightmanwassittingonastone，notfarfromaroadinastrangeland。
　　Theroadwasnotaformalhighway，fencedandgraded。Itwasmorelikeagreattravel-trace，wornbythousandsoffeetpassingacrosstheopencountryinthesamedirection。Downinthevalley，intowhichhecouldlook，theroadseemedtoformitselfgraduallyoutofmanyminorpaths；littlefootwayscomingacrossthemeadows，windingtracksfollowingalongbesidethestreams，faintlymarkedtrailsemergingfromthewoodlands。Butonthehillsidethethreadsweremorefirmlywovenintooneclearbandoftravel，thoughtherewerestillafewdimpathsjoiningithereandthere，asifpersonshadbeenclimbingupthehillbyotherwaysandhadturnedatlasttoseektheroad。
　　Fromtheedgeofthehill，whereJohnWeightmansat，hecouldseethetravelers，inlittlegroupsorlargercompanies，gatheringfromtimetotimebythedifferentpaths，andmakingtheascent。
　　Theywereallclothedinwhite，andtheformoftheirgarmentswasstrangetohim；itwaslikesomeoldpicture。Theypassedhim，groupaftergroup，talkingquietlytogetherorsinging；notmovinginhaste，butwithacertainairofeagernessandjoyasiftheyweregladtobeontheirwaytoanappointedplace。Theydidnotstaytospeaktohim，buttheylookedathimoftenandspoketooneanotherastheylooked；andnowandthenoneofthemwouldsmileandbeckonhimafriendlygreeting，sothathefelttheywouldlikehimtobewiththem。
　　Therewasquiteanintervalbetweenthegroups；andhefollowedeachofthemwithhiseyesafterithadpassed，blanchingthelongribbonoftheroadforalittletransientspace，risingandrecedingacrossthewide，billowyupland，amongtheroundedhillocksofaerialgreenandgoldandlilac，untilitcametothehighhorizon，andstoodoutlinedforamoment，atinycloudofwhitenessagainstthetenderblue，beforeitvanishedoverthehill。
　　Foralongtimehesattherewatchingandwondering。ItwasaverydifferentworldfromthatinwhichhismansionontheAvenuewasbuilt；anditlookedstrangetohim，butmostreal——asrealasanythinghehadeverseen。Presentlyhefeltastrongdesiretoknowwhatcountryitwasandwherethepeopleweregoing。
　　Hehadafaintpremonitionofwhatitmustbe，buthewishedtobesure。
　　Soherosefromthestonewherehewassitting，andcamedownthroughtheshortgrassandthelavenderflowers，towardapassinggroupofpeople。
　　Oneofthemturnedtomeethim，andheldouthishand。Itwasanoldman，underwhosewhitebeardandbrowsJohnWeightmanthoughthesawasuggestionofthefaceofthevillagedoctorwhohadcaredforhimyearsago，whenhewasaboyinthecountry。
　　"Welcome，"saidtheoldman。"Willyoucomewithus？"
　　"Whereareyougoing？"
　　"Totheheavenlycity，toseeourmansionsthere。"
　　"Andwhoarethesewithyou？"
　　"Strangerstome，untilalittlewhileago；Iknowthembetternow。
　　ButyouIhaveknownforalongtime，JohnWeightman。Don'tyourememberyourolddoctor？"
　　"Yes，"hecried——"yes；yourvoicehasnotchangedatall。
　　I'mgladindeedtoseeyou，DoctorMcLean，especiallynow。
　　Allthisseemsverystrangetome，almostoppressive。
　　Iwonderif——butmayIgowithyou，doyousuppose？"
　　"Surely，"answeredthedoctor，withhisfamiliarsmile；"itwilldoyougood。Andyoualsomusthaveamansioninthecitywaitingforyou——afineone，too——areyounotlookingforwardtoit？"
　　"Yes，"repliedtheother，hesitatingamoment；"yes——Ibelieveitmustbeso，althoughIhadnotexpectedtoseeitsosoon。
　　ButIwillgowithyou，andwecantalkbytheway。"
　　Thetwomenquicklycaughtupwiththeotherpeople，andallwentforwardtogetheralongtheroad。Thedoctorhadlittletotellofhisexperience，forithadbeenaplain，hardlife，uneventfullyspentforothers，andthestoryofthevillagewasverysimple。JohnWeightman'sadventuresandtriumphswouldhavemadeafarricher，moreimposinghistory，fullofcontactswiththegreateventsandpersonagesofthetime。
　　Butsomehoworotherhedidnotcaretospeakmuchaboutit，walkingonthatwideheavenlymoorland，underthattranquil，sunlessarchofblue，inthatfreeairofperfectpeace，wherethelightwasdiffusedwithoutashadow，asifthespiritoflifeinallthingswereluminous。
　　TherewasonlyonepersonbesidesthedoctorinthatlittlecompanywhomJohnWeightmanhadknownbefore——anoldbookkeeperwhohadspenthislifeoveradesk，carefullykeepingaccounts——arusty，dulllittleman，patientandnarrow，whosewifehadbeenintheinsaneasylumfortwentyyearsandwhoseonlychildwasacrippleddaughter，forwhosecomfortandhappinesshehadtoiledandsacrificedhimselfwithoutstint。
　　Itwasasurprisetofindhimhere，ascare-freeandjoyfulastherest。
　　Thelivesofothersinthecompanywererevealedinbriefglimpsesastheytalkedtogether——amother，earlywidowed，whohadkeptherlittleflockofchildrentogetherandlaboredthroughhardandheavyyearstobringthemupinpurityandknowledge——aSisterofCharitywhohaddevotedherselftothenursingofpoorfolkwhowerebeingeatentodeathbycancer——aschoolmasterwhoseheartandlifehadbeenpouredintohisquietworkoftrainingboysforacleanandthoughtfulmanhood——amedicalmissionarywhohadgivenupabrilliantcareerinsciencetotakethechargeofahospitalindarkestAfrica——abeautifulwomanwithsilverhairwhohadresignedherdreamsofloveandmarriagetocareforaninvalidfather，andafterhisdeathhadmadeherlifealong，steadysearchforwaysofdoingkindnessestoothers——apoetwhohadwalkedamongthecrowdedtenementsofthegreatcity，bringingcheerandcomfortnotonlybyhissongs，butbyhiswiseandpatientworksofpracticalaid——aparalyzedwomanwhohadlainforthirtyyearsuponherbed，helplessbutnothopeless，succeedingbyamiracleofcourageinhersingleaim，nevertocomplain，butalwaystoimpartabitofjoyandpeacetoeveryonewhocamenearher。Allthese，andotherpersonslikethem，peopleoflittleconsiderationintheworld，butnowseeminglyallfullofgreatcontentmentandaninwardgladnessthatmadetheirstepslight，wereinthecompanythatpassedalongtheroad，talkingtogetherofthingspastandthingstocome，andsingingnowandthenwithclearvoicesfromwhichtheveilofageandsorrowwaslifted。
　　JohnWeightmanjoinedinsomeofthesongs——whichwerefamiliartohimfromtheiruseinthechurch——atfirstwithatouchofhesitation，andthenmoreconfidently。Forastheywentonhissenseofstrangenessandfearathisnewexperiencediminished，andhisthoughtsbegantotakeontheirhabitualassuranceandcomplacency。WerenotthesepeoplegoingtotheCelestialCity？Andwasnotheinhisrightplaceamongthem？Hehadalwayslookedforwardtothisjourney。