rose from the medicaments which the good sisters had prepared, as
though from censers by the side of the child martyrs, who sat up in
their narrow cots like white, weary flowers.

The sovereign Master said to them:

"Here I am. I heard your call, and am waiting to condemn those that
caused you to be born. What torment do you implore for them?"

Then the souls of the children sang like the bindweed of the hedges.

They sang:

"Glory to God! Glory to God! Pardon those who gave us birth. Lead us
some day to Heaven by their side."




THE PIPE


Once upon a time there was a young man who had a new pipe. He was
smoking peacefully in the shade of an arbor hung with blue grapes. His
wife was young and pretty; she had rolled up her sleeves as far as her
elbows and was drawing water from the well. The wooden bucket bounded
against the edge, and shed tears like a rainbow. The young man was
happy smoking his pipe, because he saw the birds flying hither and
thither, because his dear old mother was still among the living,
because his old father was hale, and because he loved with all his