Signe and Rachel were closely associated, and they performed missions together to their less enlightened sisters whose condition was not so favorable.  These were of the frivolous and foolish women who had been taken captive by earthly things.  All their treasures had been of earth, so on earth they had to be left, for none could be taken into the spirit world; these, therefore, were poor indeed.  They had nothing with which to occupy themselves:  in earth-life, wealth, fashion, the gratification of depraved appetites and passions, and the pampering of worldly vanities had been their chief concern; and now that earthly things were no more, these women were as if lost in a strange world, having no sure footing, groping about in semi-darkness, hungering and thirsting, but finding no means by which they might be satisfied.  They laughed and appeared to make merry because it was their nature so to do, but their laugh was empty, and their merriment rang hollow and untrue.

“I am more than ever thankful,” said Signe to Rachel when they had labored long with a group of frivolous women, “that the gospel reached us in earth-life.”

“And that we accepted it,” added Rachel.

“Yes; many of these sisters of ours are not evil; they are just weak,—­empty of good.  Their earthly training was at fault.  And then some of them have told me that they were very much surprised to find that death had not worked a transformation in them:  they have still the same feelings, desires and thoughts as before.”

“Some foolish things were taught in earth-life,” said Rachel, “one of them being deathbed repentance.  Common sense, if not reason, ought to have told us that a change of heart coming when a person is in full possession of his faculties is far better than the confessions made in fear of death.  Repentance should have come further back, for the sooner we turn about on the right way, the further we get on the road to perfection.”

Rachel finished her little speech with a smile—­the simple sweet smile, fixed into her nature for all time.  A strange sister came up to her, who was greeted pleasantly.

“I want to know more of you two,” she said.  “There is something about you different from me or my mates.  When you mix with us and talk with us, I can feel it, but I don’t know what it is.  You appear to me to be, lilies-of-the-valley among weeds—­yes, that’s it.”

“And isn’t a weed just a useful plant grown wild?” asked Signe.  “All it needs is careful cultivation.  Come with us as we walk along.  We shall be pleased to talk with you.  We are not very wise, but we may always ask the brethren who are wiser, for more light.”