e reflected.

Her flowery meadow drew her now. She flew off.

At the edge of the brook stood the tall irises brokenly
reflected in the running water. A glorious sight. The moonlight
was whirled along in the braided current, the wavelets winked
and whispered, the irises seemed to lean over asleep. "Asleep
from sheer delight," thought the little bee. She dropped down on
a blue petal in the full light of the moon and could not take
her eyes from the living waters of the brook, the quivering
flash, the flashing come and go of countless sparks. On the bank
opposite, the birch-trees glittered as if hung with the stars.

"Where is all that water flowing to?" she wondered. "The cricket
is right. We know so little about the world."

Of a sudden a fine little voice rose in song from the flower of
an iris close beside her, ringing like a pure, clear bell,
different from any earthly sound that Maya knew. Her heart
throbbed, she held her breath.

"Oh, what is going to happen? What am I going to see now?"

The iris swayed gently. One of the petals curved in at the edge,
and Maya saw a tiny snow-white human hand holding on to the
flower's rim with its wee little fingers. Then a small blond
head arose, and then a delicate luminous body in white garments.
A human being in miniature was coming up out of the iris.

Words cannot tell Maya's awe and rapture. She sat rigid.

The tiny being climbed to the edge of the blossom, lifted its
arms up to the moonlight, and looked out into the bright shining
night with a smile of bliss lighting up its face. Then a faint
quiver shook its luminous body, and from its shoulders two wings
unfolded, whiter than the moonlight, pure as snow, rising above
its blond head and reaching down to its feet. How lovely it was,
how exquisitely lovely. Nothing that Maya had ever seen compared
with it in loveliness.

Standing there in the moonlight, holding its hands up to heaven,
the luminous little being lifted its voice again and sang. The
song rang out in the night, and Maya understood the words.

My home is Light. The crystal bowl
Of Heaven's blue, I love it so!
Both Death and Life will change, I know,
But not my soul, my living soul.

My soul is that which breathes anew
From all of loveliness and grace;
And as it flows from God's own face,
It flows from His creations, too.

Maya burst into sobs. What it was that made her so sad and yet
so happy, she could not have told.