and low laughter, and song.

At last there was no one left with the Guide but the two old friends,
Doctor McLean and John Weightman. They were standing in front of one
of the largest and fairest of the houses, whose garden glowed softly
with radiant flowers. The Guide laid his hand upon the doctor's
shoulder.

"This is for you," he said. "Go in; there is no more sickness here,
no more death, nor sorrow, nor pain; for your old enemies are all
conquered. But all the good that you have done for others, all the
help that you have given, all the comfort that you have brought, all
the strength and love that you have bestowed upon the suffering, are
here; for we have built them all into this mansion for you."

The good man's face was lighted with a still joy. He clasped his old
friend's hand closely, and whispered: "How wonderful it is! Go on, you
will come to your mansion next, it is not far away, and we shall see
each other again soon, very soon."

So he went through the garden, and into the music within. The Keeper
of the Gate turned to John Weightman with level, quiet, searching
eyes. Then he asked, gravely:

"Where do you wish me to lead you now?"

"To see my own mansion," answered the man, with half-concealed
excitement. "Is there not one here for me? You may not let me enter it
yet, perhaps, for I must confess to you that I am only----"

"I know," said the Keeper of the Gate--"I know it all. You are John
Weightman."

"Yes," said the man, more firmly than he had spoken at first, for it
gratified him that his name was known. "Yes, I am John Weightman,
Senior Warden of St. Petronius' Church. I wish very much to see my
mansion here. I believe that you have one for me. Will you take me to
it?"

The Keeper of the Gate drew a little book from the breast of his robe
and turned over the pages.

"Certainly," he said, with a curious look at the man, "your name is
here; and you shall see your mansion if you will follow me."

It seemed as if they must have walked miles and miles through the vast
city, passing street after street of houses larger and smaller, of
gardens richer and poorer, but all full of beauty and delight. They
came into a kind of suburb, where there were many small cottages, with
plots of flowers, very lowly, but bright and fragrant. Finally they
reached an open field, bare and lonely-looking. There were two or
three little bushes in it, without flowers, and the grass was sparse
and thin. In the cen