the chronicles are made, and that we are all placed here to gather the
meaning of what has been done among men. And I am one of those," the
lady said, "that go back to the dear earth and gather up the tale of
what our little brethren are doing. I have not to succour, like some
others, but only to see and bring the news; and he makes them into great
poems as you have heard; and sometimes the master painter will take one
and make of it a picture; and there is nothing that is so delightful to
us as when we can bring back the histories of beautiful things."

"But, oh," said the little Pilgrim, "what can there be on earth so
beautiful as the meanest thing that is here?"

Then they both smiled upon her and said, "It is more beautiful than the
most beautiful thing here to see how, under the low skies and in the
short days, a soul will turn to our Father. And sometimes," said Ama,
"when I am watching, one will wander and stray, and be led into the dark
till my heart is sick; then come back and make me glad. Sometimes I cry
out within myself to the Father, and say, 'Oh, my Father, it is enough!'
and it will seem to me that it is not possible to stand by and see his
destruction. And then while you are gazing, while you are crying, he
will recover and return, and go on again. And to the angels it is more
wonderful than to us, for they have never lived there. And all the other
worlds are eager to hear what we can tell them. For no one knows except
the Father how the battle will turn, or when it will all be
accomplished; and there are some who tremble for our little brethren.
For to look down and see how little light there is, and how no one knows
what may happen to him next, makes them afraid who never were there."

The little Pilgrim listened with an intent face, clasping her hands, and
said--"But it never could be that our Father should be overcome by evil.