I walked amongst the beds of springing flowers and by the shade of noble trees till suddenly I saw Sunbeam coming dancing lightly down the shining lawn. Her hands were waving in the air, her simple, graceful garments floated like her hair upon the breeze, and round her, like a cloud of beauty, butterflies were wheeling, dancing as she danced, as if she were their sun. She was a gentle, lovely child, free from sin and pangs of earthly sorrow, yet feeling to her inmost being the tenderest love for all things. “Good-morning,” she greeted, and held her face up for the kiss which she evidently thought so much of. “Good-morning. Are these your friends?” “Yes. We have come to dance for you. Every morning in the early sunlight we do the same. We call it the ‘Butterfly’s Dance’; I sing and they make the music with their wings.” “Where did they come from?” I asked, for they were brilliant, lovely creatures, larger than ordinary, and with colours clear as light. “Well, they came from earth for the most part. They had pins stuck through them by people who wanted to find out what they were like, and some were caught, and crushed, or starved by school boys and girls. When they died they came to us, and now they’re happy.” The dance began. And the singing and the music and the dancing were infectious. I began to whistle, and continued from sheer light-heartedness. When it ended the butterflies flew about across the gardens seeking their breakfast from the flowers and golden fruits, and she and I together walked towards the house. We were met at the door by Virginius. “This afternoon we are going to the city. Mother says you may come, Sunbeam, if you care to.” “Is she going?” “Yes.” “And Moonbeam, may she come?” “I don’t know. What will her people do without her?” “Oh! they won’t mind just for a little while.” “Then you’d better run across after breakfast and ask.” I noticed that in the breakfast-room there were all the daily papers of all lands, as there had been in Hell. Also that there were numerous letters, and one for me. It was unexpected, but most pleasant. When one has not received a letter for a long time it is appreciated, even when the handwriting is unrecognisable. On opening and reading it I found a simple invitation enclosed to the city of which Virginius had spoken. “We always accept invitations,” remarked our mother. “That letter means you will be welcome to any house throughout the length and breadth of it. We are going amongst friends, so that though there may be none of the excitement of seeing one’s enemies, the pleasure fully compensates for it.” “May I ask you a serious question?” I said, as the meal continued. “Certainly.” “Have you any title? Are you known on earth at all by the name of Saint?” She shook her head.