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 beautiful street. And the painter
with whom the little Pilgrim had talked before came, and stood behind
her as if he had been an old friend, and called out to her at every new
touch to mark how this and that was done. She did not understand as he
did, but she saw how beautiful it was, and she was glad to have seen the