"Oh, I will tell you," she said. "There was a moment when he was very sad
and perplexed, not knowing what to think; there was something he could
not understand. Nor could I understand, nor did I know what it was, until
it was said to me, 'You may go and tell him.' And I went in the early
morning before he was awake, and kissed him, and said it in his ear. He
woke up in a moment, and understood, and everything was clear to him.
Afterward I heard him say, 'It is true that the night brings counsel. I
had been troubled and distressed all day long, but in the morning it was
quite clear to me.' And the other answered, 'Your brain was refreshed,
and that made your judgment clear.' But they never knew it was I! That
was a great delight. The dear souls, they are so foolish," she cried,
with the sweetest laughter, that ran into tears. "One cries because one
is so happy; it is just a silly old habit," she said.

"And you were not grieved--it did not hurt you--that he did not know--"

"Oh, not then, not then! I did not go to him for that. When you have been
here a little longer, you will see the difference. When you go for
yourself, out of impatience, because it still seems to you that you must
know best, and they don't know you, then it strikes to your heart; but
when you go to help them,--ah," she cried, "when he comes, how much I
shall have to tell him! 'You thought it was sleep, when it was I; when
you woke so fresh and clear, it was I that kissed you; you thought it
your duty to me to be sad afterward, and were angry with yourself because
you had wronged me of the first thoughts of your waking--when it was all
me, all through!'"

"I begin to understand," said the little Pilgrim. "But why should they
not see us, and why should not we tell them? It would seem so natural. If
they saw us, it would make them so happy and so sure."