ng about, but had not been able yet
to find one out. She knew that this new-comer was coming to her, and
turned towards her with a smile and a throb at her heart of expectation.
But when the heavenly maiden drew nearer, her face, though it was so
fair, looked to the Pilgrim like another face, which she had known very
well,--indeed, like the homely and troubled face of the friend of whom
she had been thinking. And so she smiled all the more, and held out her
hands and said, "I am sure I know you;" upon which the other kissed her
and said, "We all know each other; but I have seen you often before
you came here," and knelt down by her, among the flowers that were
growing, just in front of some tall lilies that grew over her, and made
a lovely canopy over her head. There was something in her face that was
like a child: her mouth so soft, as if it had never spoken anything but
heavenly words, her eyes brown and golden, as if they were filled with
light. She took the little Pilgrim's hands in hers, and held them and
smoothed them between her own. These hands had been very thin and worn
before, but now, when the Pilgrim looked at them, she saw that they
became softer and whiter every moment with the touch of this immortal
youth.

"I knew you were coming," said the maiden; "when my mother has wanted me
I have seen you there. And you were thinking of her now that was how I
found you."

"Do you know, then, what one thinks?" said the little Pilgrim, with
wondering eyes.

"It is in the air; and when it concerns us it comes to us like the
breeze. But we who are the children here, we feel it more quickly than
you."

"Are you a child?" said the little Pilgrim, "or are you an angel?
Sometimes you are like a child; but then your face shines, and you are
like--You must have some name for it here; there is nothing among the
words I know." And then she paused a little, 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 t