Some escaped into the air in tiny drops that,
meeting in moonlight or in sunshine, instantly formed wings. And
people saw a brimstone butterfly--all wings and hardly any body. All
went somewhere for some useful purpose. It was not in the nature of
star-stuff to keep still. Like water that must go down-hill, the law
of its tender being forced it to find a place where it could fasten on
and shine. It never could get wholly lost; though, if the place it
settled on was poor, it might lose something of its radiance. But
human beings were obviously what most attracted it. Sympathy must find
an outlet; thoughts are bound to settle somewhere.
And the gatherers all sang softly--'Collect for others, never mind
yourself!'
Some of it, too, shot out by secret ways in the enormous roof. The
children recognised the exit of the separate brilliant stream they had
encountered in the sky--the one especially that went to the room of
pain and sickness in La Citadelle. Again they understood. That
unselfish thinker of golden thoughts knew special sources of supply.
No wonder that her atmosphere radiated sweetness and uplifting
influence. Her patience, smiles, and courage were explained. Passing
through the furnace of her pain, the light was cleansed and purified.
Hence the delicate, invariable radiation from her presence, voice, and
eyes.
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