Whats Mines Mine, vol 2 | Page 3

the inward parts, which is
better than all visions. The vision was on this wise:--In the middle of
the night the man came wide awake, and looking out of his bed, saw
the door open, and a light come in, burning like a star, of a faint rosy
colour, unlike any light he had ever before seen. Another and another
came in, and more yet, until he counted six of them. They moved near
the floor, but he could not see clearly what sort of little creatures they
were that were carrying them. They went up to the woman's bed, and
walked slowly round it in a hovering kind of a way, stopping, and
moving up and down, and going on again; and when they had done this
three times, they went slowly out of the door again, stopping for a
moment several times as they went.
"He fell asleep, and waking not very early, was surprised to see his
guest still on her hard couch--as quiet as any rich woman, he said to
himself, on her feather bed. He woke her, told her he wondered she
should sleep so far into the morning, and narrated the curious vision he
had had. 'Does not that explain to you,' she said, 'how it is that I have
slept so long? Those were my dead children you saw come to me. They
died young, without any sin, and God lets them come and comfort their
poor sinful mother. I often see them in my dreams. If, when I am gone,
you will look at my bed, you will find every straw laid straight and
smooth. That is what they were doing last night.' Then she gave him
thanks for good fare and good rest, and took her way to her own,
leaving the farmer better pleased with himself than he had been for a
long time, partly because there had been granted him a vision from

heaven.
"At last the woman died, and was carried by angels into Abraham's
bosom. She was now with her own people indeed, that is, with God and
all the good. The old farmer did not know of her death till a long time
after; but it was upon the night she died, as near as he could then make
out, that he dreamed a wonderful dream. He never told it to any but the
priest from whom he sought comfort when he lay dying; and the priest
did not tell it till after everybody belonging to the old man was gone.
This was the dream:--
"He was lying awake in his own bed, as he thought, in the dark night,
when the poor woman came in at the door, having in her hand a wax
candle, but not alight. He said to her, 'You extravagant woman! where
did you get that candle?' She answered, 'It was put into my hand when I
died, with the word that I was to wander till I found a fire at which to
light it.' 'There!' said he, 'there's the rested fire! Blow and get a light,
poor thing! It shall never be said I refused a body a light!' She went to
the hearth, and began to blow at the smouldering peat; but, for all she
kept trying, she could not light her candle. The old man thought it was
because she was dead, not because he was dead in sin, and losing his
patience, cried, 'You foolish woman! haven't you wit enough left to
light a candle? It's small wonder you came to beggary!' Still she went
on trying, but the more she tried, the blacker grew the peat she was
blowing at. It would indeed blaze up at her breath, but the moment she
brought the candle near it to catch the flame, it grew black, and each
time blacker than before. 'Tut! give me the candle,' cried the farmer,
springing out of bed; 'I will light it for you!' But as he stretched out his
hand to take it, the woman disappeared, and he saw that the fire was
dead out. 'Here's a fine business!' he said. 'How am I to get a light?' For
he was miles from the next house. And with that he turned to go back
to his bed. When he came near it, he saw somebody lying in it. 'What!
has the carline got into my very bed?' he cried, and went to drive her
out of the bed and out of the house. But when he came close, he saw it
was himself lying there, and knew that at least he was out of the body,
if not downright dead. The next moment he found himself on the moor,
following the woman, some distance before him, with her unlighted
candle still