for he was now angry with the stillness and
the deserted look of the square.

In the midst of this trouble the blessed Brother Agnolo came down from
his hermitage among the pine woods, and when he heard of what had taken
place, he went straightway to the Syndic and took him to task, with
soft and gracious words.

"Messer Gianni, pain I know will often take all sweetness out of the
temper of a man, but in this you are not doing well. There is no child
in Spinalunga but would readily forego all his happy play to give you
ease and solace, but in this way they cannot help you. By sending them
away you do but cloud their innocent lives, and you are yourself none
the better for their absence. Were it not wiser for you to seek to
distract yourself in their harmless merry-making? I may well think
that you have never watched them at their sports; but if you will bid
them come back to-day, and will but walk a little way with me, you
shall see that which shall give you content and delight so great, that
never again will you wish to banish them, but will rather pray to have
their companionship at all times."

Now the Frate so prevailed on the Syndic that he gave consent, and bade
all the children, lass and lad, babe and prattler, come to the square
for their games as they used to do. And leaning with one hand on his
staff, and with the other on the shoulder of Brother Agnolo, he moved
slowly through the fruit-trees in the great jars to the steps of the
Cathedral.

Suddenly the joy-bells began to ring, and the little people came
laughing and singing and shouting from the steep streets and staircases
and alleys, and they raced and danced into the piazza like Springtime
let loose, and they chased each other, and caught hands and played in
rings, and swarmed among the jars, as many and noisy as swallows when
they gather for their flight over sea in the autumn-tide.

"Look well, Messer Gianni," said the Frate, "and perceive who it is
that shares their frolics."

As the Brother spoke the eyes of the Syndic were opened; and there,
with each little child, was his Angel, clothed in white, and
white-winged; and as the little folk contended together, their Angels
contended with each other; and as they ran and danced and sang, so ran
and danced and sang their Angels. Which was the laughter of the
children, and which that of the Angels, the Syndic could not tell; and
when the plump two-year-olds tottered and tumbled, their Angels