ou did well to tell
me," looking at her with love in his eyes--not the tender sweetness of
all those kind looks around, but the love that is for one. The little
Pilgrim looked at them with her heart beating, and was very glad for
them, and happy in herself, for she had not seen this love before since
she came into the city, and it had troubled her to think that perhaps it
did not exist any more. "I am glad," the lady said, and gave him her
other hand; "but here is a little sister who asks me something, and I
must answer her. I think she has but newly come."

"She has a face full of the morning," the poet said. It did the little
Pilgrim good to feel the touch of the warm, soft hand, and she was not
afraid, but lifted her eyes and spoke to the lady, and to the poet. "It
is beautiful what you said to us. Sometimes in the old time we used to
look up to the beautiful skies and wonder what there was above the
clouds, but we never thought that up here in this great city you would
be thinking of what we were doing, and making beautiful poems all about
us. We thought that you would sing wonderful psalms, and talk of things
high, high above us."

"The little sister does not know what the meaning of the earth is," the
poet said. "It is but a little speck, but it is the centre of all. Let
her walk with us, and we will go home, and you will tell her, Ama, for
I love to hear you talk."

"Will you come with us?" the lady said.

And the little Pilgrim's heart leaped up in her, to think she was now
going to see a home in this wonderful city; and they went along hand in
hand, and though they were three together, and many were coming and
going, there was no difficulty, for every one made way for them. And
there was a little murmur of pleasure as the poet passed, and those who
had heard his poem made obeisance to him, and thanked him, and thanked
the Father for him, that he was able to show them so many beautiful
things. And they walked along the street which was shining with colour,
and saw, as they passed, how the master painter had come to his work,
and was standing upon the balcony where the little Pilgrim had been, and
bringing out of the wall, under his hand, faces which were full of life,
and which seemed to spring forth as if they had been hidden there. "Let
us wait a little and see him working," the poet said: and all round
about the people stopped on their way, and there was a soft cry of
pleasure and praise all through the b