, rising and falling like a
tide up and down the aisles, leaping to the vaulted roof like a
fountain of joy, and dropping into the hearts of the multitude like dew
from heaven.

And as he went out, in his little white robe, with the choir, he felt
the eyes of the people on him, and he heard a murmur of praise, and now
and then words such as "That is little Gottlieb, the son of the widow
Magdalis. She may well be proud of him. He has the voice and the face
of an angel."

And then, in contrast, outside in the street, from the other boys: "See
how puffed up the little prince is! He cannot look at any one lower
than the bishop or the burgomaster!"

So, between the chorus of praise and the other chorus of mockery, it
was no wonder that poor Gottlieb felt like a being far removed from the
common herd. And, necessarily, any one of the flock of Christ who feels
that, cannot be happy, because if we are far away from the common
flock, we cannot be near the Good Shepherd, who always keeps close to
the feeblest, and seeks those that go astray.

CHAPTER V.

It was not long before the watchful eye of the mother observed a little
change creeping over the boy--a little more impatience with Lenichen, a
little more variableness of temper, sometimes dancing exultingly home
as if he were scarcely treading the common earth, sometimes returning
with a depression which made the simple work and pleasures of the home
seem dull and wearisome.

So it went on until the joyful Easter-tide was drawing near. On Palm
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 s