"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 to
us beyond the others. We have had no other home."

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