tle, still looking at her, and
cried, "Oh, if she could but see you, little Margaret! That would do her
most good of all."

Then the maiden Margaret shook her lovely head. "What does her most good
is the will of the Father," she said.

At this the little Pilgrim felt once more that thrill of expectation
and awe. "Oh, child, you have seen Him?" she cried.

And the other smiled. "Have you forgotten who they are that always
behold His face? We have never had any fear or trembling. We are not
angels, and there is no other name; we are the children. There is
something given to us beyond the others. We have had no other home."

"Oh, tell me, tell me!" the little Pilgrim cried.

Upon this Margaret kissed her, putting her soft cheek against hers, and
said, "It is a mystery; it cannot be put into words; in your time you
will know."

"When you touch me you change me, and I grow like you," the Pilgrim
said. "Ah, if she could see us together, you and me! And will you go to
her soon again? And do you see them always--what they are doing? and
take care of them?"

"It is our Father who takes care of them, and our Lord who is our
Brother. I do His errands when I am able. Sometimes He will let me go,
sometimes another, according as it is best. Who am I that I should take
care of them? I serve them when I may."

"But you do not forget them?" the Pilgrim said, with wistful eyes.

"We love them always," said Margaret. She was more still than the lady
who had first spoken with the Pilgrim. Her countenance was full of a
heavenly calm. It had never known passion nor anguish. Sometimes there
was in it a far-seeing look of vision, sometimes the simplicity of a
child. "But what are we in comparison? For He loves them more than we
do. When He keeps us from them it is for love. We must each live our own
life."

"But it is hard for them sometimes," said the little Pilgrim, who could
not withdraw her thoughts from those she had left.

"They are never forsaken," said the angel-maiden.

"But oh! there are worse things than sorrow," the little Pilgrim said;
"there is wrong, there is evil, Margaret. Will not He send you to step
in before them, to save them from wrong?"

"It is not for us to judge," said the young Margaret, with eyes full of
heavenly wisdom. "Our Brother has it all in His hand. We do not read
their hearts like Him. Sometimes you are permitted to see the battle."

The little Pilgrim covered her eyes with her hands. "I cou