“Not outwardly,” she corrected. “But after they are born they need a long, long rest, and occasionally at fixed intervals such spiritual nourishment as we give them from ourselves. And spiritual food is very delicious,” she added, laughing. “It has nothing to do with the Ten Commandments nor any of those kinds of things, though they form part of the soil in which it is grown. But then one doesn’t eat the soil, though one enjoys the fruit; yet some people on the earth are very stupid and can’t understand the difference between the two. But the soil needs a deal of work before it is fit for cultivation, and the toiler does not reap the food till he is dead.” So saying, she left me to think, and all the way home I heard indistinctly Sunbeam’s and Moonbeam’s accents of joy over this new addition to their friends’ family. * * * * * _A chapter here omitted_ * * * * * CHAPTER VII The days flew away, all happy and free from care. One evening, after dinner, Virginius asked me to take a walk with him. We strolled into the clear night, and through the grounds that lay behind the house. This brought us to the outskirts of the city, and the road led up a gentle hillside toward the forest, that bounded this side of the city for many miles. He led me into it, and its wonderful soft beauty descended on the spirit, and brought a feeling half of sadness unmixed with pain. Indeed, to be sad in heaven is a luxury—one of the most delicate pleasures it can give. Along the winding paths and mossy banks the faintest glow of light was shining. It now touched the sleeping flower-bells and the blades of grass, whitened the dark barks of trees, and lit upon the forest brooks that rippled and clattered in the silence with an _abandon_ all their own. We walked on, each occupied by thoughts, sweet perhaps as sad, till at last, throwing himself down on a bank that sloped towards a branching rivulet, he spoke. “Genius, I am going to tell you something. Perhaps the world will laugh—it has ever laughed when truth was spoken—but, be that as it may, you can but repeat with truthfulness and pure simplicity what you have heard me say. I have fought many years for the earth, have undergone great hardships for it, been true to it through thick and thin, pitied it, striven for it, respected its suffering. I do not say this in order to extol my own hard labours. Why should I? Others like myself are working and have worked—it is our duty. But now I am going to tell you a little of its history. I force it upon no one. I tell it you, you will repeat it to others; whether they think about it or laugh at it, it is not for me to say. But if they think, they will not laugh, of that you may rest assured.