ings.

And said the messenger, That my message is true, take this for a proof;
so he gave him "The grasshopper to be a burden unto him." Now Mr.
Despondency's daughter, whose name was Much-afraid, said when she heard
what was done, that she would go with her father. Then Mr. Despondency
said to his friends, Myself and my daughter, you know what we have been,
and how troublesomely we have behaved ourselves in every company. My
will and my daughter's is, that our desponds and slavish fears be by no
man ever received from the day of our departure for ever, for I know
that after my death they will offer themselves to others. For to be
plain with you, they are ghosts, the which we entertained when we first
began to be pilgrims, and could never shake them off after; and they
will walk about and seek entertainment of the pilgrims, but for our
sakes shut ye the doors upon them.

When the time was come for them to depart, they went to the brink of the
river. The last words of Mr. Despondency were, Farewell, night; welcome,
day. His daughter went through the river singing, but none could
understand what she said.

Then it came to pass a while after, that there was a post in the town
that inquired for Mr. Honest.... When the day that he was to be gone was
come, he addressed himself to go over the river. Now the river at that
time overflowed the banks in some places, but Mr. Honest in his lifetime
had spoken to one Good-conscience to meet him there, the which he also
did, and lent him his hand, and so helped him over. The last words of
Mr. Honest were, Grace reigns. So he left the world.

After this it was noised abroad that Mr. Valiant-for-truth was taken
with a summons by the same post as the other, and had this for a token
that the summons was true, "That his pitcher was broken at the
fountain." When he understood it, he called for his friends, and told
them of it. Then said he, I am going to my fathers, and though with
great difficulty I am got hither, yet now I do not repent me of all the
trouble I have been at to arrive where I am. My sword I give to him that
shall succeed me in my pilgrimage, and my courage and skill to him that
can get it. My marks and scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me
that I have fought his battles who now will be my rewarder. When the day
that he must go hence was come, many accompanied him to the river-side,
into which as he went he said, Death, where is thy sting? And as he went
down dee