occasion to bring us news; for they go everywhere, you know."

"Yes," said the little Pilgrim, though indeed she had not known it till
now; but it seemed to her as if it had come to her mind by nature and
she had never needed to be told.

"They are so tender-hearted," the painter said; "and more than that,
they are very curious about men and women. They have known it all from
the beginning, and it is a wonder to them. There is a friend of mine, an
angel, who is more wise in men's hearts than any one I know; and yet he
will say to me sometimes, 'I do not understand you--you are wonderful.'
They like to find out all we are thinking. It is an endless pleasure to
them, just as it is to some of us to watch the people in the other
worlds."

"Do you mean--where we have come from?" said the little Pilgrim.

"Not always there. We in this city have been long separated from that
country, for all that we love are out of it."

"But not here?" the little Pilgrim cried again with a little sorrow--a
pang that she had thought could never touch her again--in her heart.

"But coming! coming!" said the painter, cheerfully; "and some were here
before us, and some have arrived since. They are everywhere."

"But some in trouble--some in trouble!" she cried, with the tears in her
eyes.

"We suppose so," he said gravely; "for some are in that place which once