“There’ll be room for me, Jeanie; there’ll have to be, for I’m going to die before long.” “Why do you think so, Bobbie?” “Cos I just am. I dreamed I went to heaven. It was a tight house, too, like Oregon, or Texas.” “You mustn’t think you’re going to die, Bobbie.” “There isn’t any surely death,” said the child. “It is just going to heaven.” XVI _JEAN’S VISIT BEYOND THE VEIL_ To the surprise of her sorrowing loved ones, Mrs. Ranger rallied before sundown, after a stupor of several hours, her eyes bright and her faculties wonderfully clear. “It seems hard to leave you alone in this wilderness, John,” she said in a low whisper, while feebly clasping her husband’s hand. The sun’s expiring rays fell upon the open tent, illuminating her angelic face, settling like an aureole upon her bright brown hair, and causing her eyes to glow like stars. “I’m not afraid of death, dear. I am not even afraid to leave you alone with the children in the wilderness, for I know you’ll do your duty. But I am sorry to leave all the burden for you to carry alone. There is One who heareth even the young ravens when they cry. Trust in Him, dearest. He doeth all things well.” “How can I give you up?” cried the distracted husband, stroking her pale cheeks and forehead tenderly. “You won’t be giving me up, John. God will let me come to you sometimes to bless and comfort you. I know He will; for He is good, and His mercy endureth forever. I couldn’t leave you to go far away if I tried, dear, and I’ll never try. Do try to be a Christian, John.” “I’ve always been a Christian, according to my lights, my darling; and God Himself can’t keep me away from you in heaven,—if there is a God and a heaven,” he added under his breath, unable, even in that trying hour, to lay aside his doubts. “God is just, and He will give you the benefit of every honest doubt, John.” “But He ought to let me keep you, darling; I need you, oh, I need you!” “All is well, my husband. I am safe, and so are you, in the Everlasting Arms. Call the children; I must be going. Don’t you hear the angels sing?” The children were aroused, but she had relapsed into unconsciousness, and it was fully an hour before her reason again returned. “Mother,” she said once, while her mind was wandering, “did you get my deed? Are you snugly settled in the little house? I tried very hard to provide for your and father’s welfare in your last days, and—” Her concluding words were inaudible. “Yes, darling, your parents are provided for; there is no doubt about it,” cried her husband, as she awoke again to semi-consciousness. And if ever a man experienced a thrill of supreme satisfaction in the midst of a grave sorrow, that man was Captain John Ranger, of the overland wagon train. “Mary!” It was her next word of consciousness.