d it pleased her to
watch the others, and see how one turned this way and one another, every
one finding something that delighted him above all other things. She
herself took a great pleasure in watching a painter, who was standing
upon a balcony a little way above her, painting upon a great fresco: and
when he saw this he asked her to come up beside him and see his work. She
asked him a great many questions about it, and why it was that he was
working only at the draperies of the figures, and did not touch their
faces, some of which were already finished and seemed to be looking at
her, as living as she was, out of the wall, while some were merely
outlined as yet. He told her that he was not a great painter to do this,
or to design the great work, but that the master would come presently,
who had the chief responsibility. "For we have not all the same genius,"
he said, "and if I were to paint this head it would not have the gift of
life as that one has; but to stand by and see him put it in, you cannot
think what a happiness that is; for one knows every touch, and just what
effect it will have, though one could not do it one's self; and it is a
wonder and a delight perpetual that it should be done."

The little Pilgrim looked up at him and said, "That is very beautiful to
say. And do you never wish to be like him--to make the lovely, living
faces as well as the other parts?"

"Is not this lovely too?" he said; and showed her how he had just put in
a billowy robe, buoyed out with the wind, and sweeping down from the
shoulders of a stately figure in such free and graceful folds that she
would have liked to take it in her hand and feel the silken texture; and
then he told her how absorbing it was to study the mysteries of color and
the differences of light. "There is enough in that to make one happy,"
he said. "It is thought by some that we will all come to the higher point
with work and thought: but that is not my feeling; and whether it is so
or not what does it matter, for our Father makes no difference: and all
of us are necessary to everything that is done: and it is almost more
delight to see the master do it than to do it with one's own hand. For
one thing, your own work may rejoice you in your heart, but always
with a little trembling because it is never so perfect as you would have
it--whereas in your master's work you have full content, because his idea
goes beyond yours, and as he makes every touch you can feel