The Child of the Dawn

  XXIII

  "Well," said Amroth, with a smile, as we went out into the forest, "I amafraid that the last two visits have been rather a strain. We must findsomething a little less serious; but I am going to fill up all yourtime. You had got too much taken up with your psychology, and we mustnot live too much on theory, and spin problems, like the spider, out ofour own insides; but we will not spend too much time in trudging overthis country, though it is well worth it. Did you ever see anything morebeautiful than those pine-trees on the slope there, with the bluedistance between their stems? But we must not make a business oflandscape-gazing like our friend Charmides! We are men of affairs, youand I. Come, I will show you a thing. Shut your eyes for a minute andgive me your hand. Now!"

  A sudden breeze fanned my face, sweet and odorous, like the wind out ofa wood. "Now," said Amroth, "we have arrived! Where do you think weare?"

  The scene had changed in an instant. We were in a wide, level country,in green water-meadows, with a full stream brimming its grassy banks, inwillowy loops. Not far away, on a gently rising ground, lay a long,straggling village, of gabled houses, among high trees. It was like thesort of village that you may find in the pleasant Wiltshire countryside,and the sight filled me with a rush of old and joyful memories.

  "It is such a relief," I said, "to realise that if man is made in theimage of God, heaven is made in the image of England!"

  "That is only how you see it, child," said Amroth. "Some of my ownhappiest days were spent at Tooting: would you be surprised if I saidthat it reminded me of Tooting?"

  "I am surprised at nothing," I said. "I only know that it is all veryconsiderate!"

  We entered the village, and found a large number of people, mostlyyoung, going cheerfully about all sorts of simple work. Many of themwere gardening, and the gardens were full of old-fashioned flowers,blooming in wonderful profusion. There was an air of settled peace aboutthe place, the peace that on earth one often dreamed of finding, andindeed thought one had found on visiting some secluded place--only todiscover, alas! on a nearer acquaintance, that life was as full ofanxieties and cares there as elsewhere. There were one or two elderlypeople going about, giving directions or advice, or lending a helpinghand. The workers nodded blithely to us, but did not suspend their work.

  "What surprises me," I said to Amroth, "is to find every one so muchoccupied wherever we go. One heard so much on earth about craving forrest, that one grew to fancy that the other life was all going to be asort of solemn meditation, with an occasional hymn."

  "Yes, indeed," said Amroth, "it was the body that was tired--the soul isalways fresh and strong--but rest is not idleness. There is no suchthing as unemployment here, and there is hardly time, indeed, for all wehave to do. Every one really loves work. The child plays at working, theman of leisure works at his play. The difference here is that work isalways amusing--there is no such thing as drudgery here."

  We walked all through the village, which stretched far away into thecountry. The whole place hummed like a beehive on a July morning. Manysang to themselves as they went about their business, and sometimes acouple of girls, meeting in the roadway, would entwine their arms anddance a few steps together, with a kiss at parting. There was a sense ofhigh spirits everywhere. At one place we found a group of childrensitting in the shade of some trees, while a woman of middle age toldthem a story. We stood awhile to listen, the woman giving us a pleasantnod as we approached. It was a story of some pleasant adventure, withnothing moral or sentimental about it, like an old folk-tale. Thechildren were listening with unconcealed delight.

  When we had walked a little further, Amroth said to me, "Come, I willgive you three guesses. Who do you think, by the light of yourpsychology, are all these simple people?" I guessed in vain. "Well, Isee I must tell you," he said. "Would it surprise you to learn that mostof these people whom you see here passed upon earth for wicked andunsatisfactory characters? Yet it is true. Don't you know the kind ofboys there were at school, who drifted into bad company and idle ways,mostly out of mere good-nature, went out into the world with a blackmark against them, having been bullied in vain by virtuous masters, thedespair of their parents, always losing their employments, and oftencoming what we used to call social croppers--untrustworthy, sensual,feckless, no one's enemy but their own, and yet preserving through itall a kind of simple good-nature, always ready to share things withothers, never knowing how to take advantage of any one, trusting themost untrustworthy people; or if they were girls, getting into trouble,losing their good name, perhaps living lives of shame in bigcities--yet, for all that, guileless, affectionate, never excusingthemselves, believing they had deserved anything that befell them? Thesewere the sort of people to whom Christ was so closely drawn. They haveno respectability, no conventions; they act upon instinct, never byreason, often foolishly, but seldom unkindly or selfishly. They give allthey have, they never take. They have the faults of children, and thetrustful affection of children. They will do anything for any one who iskind to them and fond of them. Of course they are what is calledhopeless, and they use their poor bodies very ill. In their last stageson earth they are often very deplorable objects, slinking intopublic-houses, plodding raggedly and dismally along highroads, sufferingcruelly and complaining little, conscious that they are universallyreprobated, and not exactly knowing why. They are the victims ofsociety; they do its dirty work, and are cast away as offscourings. Theyare really youthful and often beautiful spirits, very void of offence,and needing to be treated as children. They live here in greathappiness, and are conscious vaguely of the good and great intention ofGod towards them. They suffer in the world at the hands of cruel,selfish, and stupid people, because they are both humble anddisinterested. But in all our realms I do not think there is a place ofsimpler and sweeter happiness than this, because they do not take theirforgiveness as a right, but as a gracious and unexpected boon. Andindeed the sights and sounds of this place are the best medicine forcrabbed, worldly, conventional souls, who are often brought here whenthey are drawing near the truth."

  "Yes," I said, "this is just what I wanted. Interesting as my work haslately been, it has wanted simplicity. I have grown to consider life toomuch as a series of cases, and to forget that it is life itself that onemust seek, and not pathology. This is the best sight I have seen, for itis so far removed from all sense of judgment. The song of the saints maybe sometimes of mercy too."