Sunday there was to be a procession of the children.

As the mother was smoothing out the golden locks which fell like
sunbeams on the white vestments, she said: "It is a bright day for thee
and me, my son. I shall feel as if we were all in the dear old
Jerusalem itself, and my darling had gathered his palms on Olivet
itself, and the very eyes of the blessed Lord himself were on thee, and
His ears listening to thee crying out thy hosannas, and His dear voice
speaking of thee and through thee, 'Suffer the little children to come
unto me.'"

But Gottlieb looked grave and rather troubled.

"So few seem thinking just of His listening," he said, doubtfully.
"There are the choir-master and the dean and chapter, and the other
choristers, and the Cistercians, and the mothers of the other
choristers, who wish them to sing best."

She took his hand. "So there were in that old Jerusalem," she said.
"The Pharisees, who wanted to stop the children's singing, and even the
dear Disciples, who often thought they might be troublesome to the
Master. But the little ones sang for Him, and He knew, and was pleased.
And that is all we have to think of now."

He kissed her, and went away with a lightened brow.

Many of the neighbors came in that afternoon to congratulate Magdalis
on her boy--his face, his voice, his gentle ways.

"And then he sings with such feeling," said one. "One sees it is in his