“Are they not very young to learn the darkness of the world?” I asked. She shook her head. “You forget. They have been through all its toil, and littleness, and hardened drudgery before. Heaven with its greater happiness has still its greater sorrow. We can employ no sentiment in bringing up our young. True love springs from no artificial root, and half its strength is spent in yearning sorrow. I think after that he showed them some rosy babies lying fast asleep, and one tiny mite being washed and put to bed, and then the mother knelt beside its cot and prayed, and Moonbeam threw a rosebud down, and the little baby laughed and held its hands to catch the pretty flower, and the good mother felt her prayer was answered.” “Who is Moonbeam?” I queried. “She is Sunbeam’s friend. They play and work together. To-morrow you will see her. When on earth hers was a sad and uncongenial life, yet she was uncomplaining. And finding heaven while still on earth she gained sweetness where bitterness might else have fallen. But whilst those two are talking and planning for the welfare of everyone except themselves, shall you and I go and view my lumber-room, or store-room I had rather call it, where I keep my useless gifts?” Most willingly I went with her, passing from the lower storey to one higher, to a more distant part of the house, filled with the quietness and rest of sleep. The misty light of night swept through the open windows, and its cool refreshing breath played round us as we went. She stood before a door and opened it, and beckoned me to follow. We had come to a vestibule covered with pure crystal glass; the view without was beautiful, for on one side sloped the grand scenes of Heaven, and on the other those of Hell. Who would have thought such dissimilar things could seem so much alike? “What is the difference between these two kingdoms?” I asked. “A very simple one,” she answered. “There is no difference, they are both alike.” I shook my head. “Surely not,” I said. “Then we will say the principle is different and for the present let it rest. Now tell me, if you can, what the first sensation following failure is?” “I should say darkness.” She smiled and opened the inner door, and we were greeted with a flood of light. She passed in and I followed, and the door closed behind us. Light and music greeted us on every side, coming from some invisible source. Divided off in glass cases and partitions by themselves were the works of the poor creatures who had failed, not of one class only, but of all.