sked; for she was not learned,
nor wise, and knew but little, though she always loved to know.

"The books are the records," he said; "and there are many here that were
never known to us in the old days; for the angels love to look into
these things, and they can tell us much, for they saw it; and in the
great books they have kept there is much put down that was never in the
books we wrote; for then we did not know. We found out about the kings
and the state, and tried to understand what great purposes they were
serving; but even these we did not know, for those purposes were too
great for us, not knowing the end from the beginning; and the hearts of
men were too great for us. We comprehended the evil sometimes, but never
fathomed the good. And how could we know the lesser things which were
working out God's way? for some of these even the angels did not know;
and it has happened to me that our Lord Himself has come in sometimes to
tell me of one that none of us had discovered."

"Oh," said the little Pilgrim, with tears in her eyes, "I should like to
have been that one!--that was not known even to the angels, but only to
Himself!"

The historian smiled. "It was my brother," he said.

The Pilgrim looked at him with great wonder. "Your brother, and you did
not know him!"

And then he turned over the pages and showed her where the story was.

"You know," he said, "that we who live here are not of your time, but
have lived and lived here till the old life is far away and like a
dream. There were great tumults and fightings in our time, and it was
settled by the prince of the place that our town was to be abandoned,
and all the people left to the mercy of an enemy who had no mercy. But
every day as he rode out he saw at one door a child, a little fair boy,
who sat on the steps, and sang his little song like a bird. This child
was never afraid of anything--when the horses pranced past him, and the
troopers pushed him aside, he looked up into their faces and smiled. And
when he had anything, a piece of bread, or an apple, or a plaything, he
shared it with his playmates; and his little face, and his pretty voice,
and all his pleasant ways, made that corner bright. He was like a flower
growing there; everybody smiled that saw him."

"I have seen such a child," the little Pilgrim said.

"But we made no account of him," said the historian. "The Lord of the
place came past him every day, and always saw him singing in the s