down the world's way, and now it sounded loud in my ears.

   "Room! room! make way, give place! the Torch-bearer comes. Make way for the keeper of the gates of God!"

   And once more I looked.

   Ah! bare and dusty were her feet, the little woman; and she went bowed, and stumbled on the rough stones, for the great torch hung heavy in her hand, and heavy the babe on her arm: but he sat there as on a throne, and laughed and leaped as he sat, and clutched the living torch and shook it, flinging the blaze abroad, and the world-way lightened before him.

   "Why is your little sister crying, dear?" asked the Play Angel. "I thought you were taking care of her."

   "So I am, taking beautiful care of her," said the child. "But the more beautiful care I take, the more she cries. She does not like care to be taken of her."

   "Let me see!" said the Play Angel; and she sat down on the nursery floor. "Now show me what you have done."

   "Look!" said the child. "First I showed her all my dolls, and then all my new dresses; and now I have given her my new stone blocks to play with, but she will not play, only puts them in her mouth and cries."

   "Perhaps she is hungry!" said the Play Angel. She took a piece of bread from the

   folds of her robe and gave it to the baby; and the baby stopped crying, and ate the bread, and laughed and crowed.

   "See!" said the Angel. "Now she is happy. Remember, dear, that when babies are hungry, stone blocks do them no good."

   "You are a very clever angel to know that!" said the child.

   "You are a rather foolish child," said the Angel, "or you would have found it out for yourself."

   A potter wrought at his wheel, singing as he wrought, turning out crocks and pipkins of red clay. They were clumsy of shape and rude in the making, yet they served to hold meal and milk, and the poor folk bought of him. But ever, as he shaped the clay, the potter said to himself: "Some day, some day, I will make a cup of gold for the Prince's drinking!"

   Now and again, when he was well paid for his pots, he would get a bit of gold and put it by. This small hoard was precious to him as sunlight, 

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