Laughing at the innocent cause of war I turn aside to enter the court, which we are passing. Saucy seeing, drops out of her nest and hugs close to my side; the rest proceed in peace. “Ain’t it nice, Auntie, to have a church to step into all the week. You feel so safe to stop in such a place. No one expects us to buy something, or read something, or talk something. I wonder if they take up a collection. If not, the tax supports it.” “I do not believe they know what money is, though certainly they do its equivalent—work. We must find the shops and select some work ourselves.” Then, as Saucy mutters to herself, “What a queer people; no fire, no dishes, no money, no Sunday, no schools,” I look around at the delightfully intelligent, as delightfully happy countenances; though the majority are lying comfortably back in their drapery supports and fast asleep. This seems to be the rest hour, and I, as Saucy lays her head in my lap, also to go to dreamland. In vision a mighty angel descends from God, down through the open dome and takes us by our wing tips, to carry us off. Hoping it is to America, I keep my eyes closed in expectation, until an unusual jar involuntarily opens them, showing the angel to be Show Off, who has deposited us safely at home on a cushion by the side of Robet. Half uncertain, as half awake, I hum to myself the tune of “Home, Sweet Home,” when Robet gets down by me and swelling her throat, warbles forth, like a bird of paradise, an entrancing melody, soothing me again to slumbers. I awake in high fever; at least so I am told, weeks after, when I sit raised on a cushion and am able to talk. “Yes, Auntie,” says Mae, “when you were in delirium you talked such strange talk. You raised up once and asked us ‘What is in heaven?’ I humored you and said, ‘Golden streets,’ but you shook your head wildly and waved your hand, saying, ‘No, no; golden ice, the sun shines all night to make it.” While all regard me, lovingly, a golden point of light enters the room, _dropping at my feet_, causing consternation in the rest. Show Off hurries out and brings a tablet; reading it they point excitedly to me; the sunburst growing, they gaze in stupor. Not until it lessens and departs do they regain composure, when I ask, “What is it?” Robet answering, “A prophecy. This sign that has never been just this way before, heralds a new era in Arc; a new people, a new land. The latter a necessity, as Arc is just evenly full.” My overbalanced visionary tendency becomes imbued with a new power. I rise in the air, spiritually, out of the open dome. Ascend to the high-poised golden points, still glowing, (my soul having left material enclosure) in the center, and look down a cavity miles wide in extent, whence drops the last golden ray; a black cloud receives it. A glint of silver lining and all is opaque.