She would have asked him more, but that he was called to a consultation with some others of his kind, and had to leave her, waving his hand to her with a tender kindness which went to her heart.  She looked after him with great respect, scarcely knowing why; but it seemed to her that a man who had been in the land of darkness, and made his way out of it, must be more wonderful than any other.  She looked round for a little upon the great library, full of all the books that had ever been written, and where people were doing their work, examining and reading and making extracts, every one with looks of so much interest, that she almost envied them,—­though it was a generous delight in seeing people so happy in their occupation, and a desire to associate herself somehow in it, rather than any grudging of their satisfaction, that was in her mind.  She went about all the courts of this palace alone, and everywhere saw the same work going on, and everywhere met the same kind looks.  Even when the greatest of all looked up from his work and saw her, he would give her a friendly greeting and a smile; and nobody was too wise to lend an ear to the little visitor, or to answer her questions.  And this was how it was that she began to talk to another, who was seated at a great table with many more, and who drew her to him by something that was in his looks, though she could not have told what it was.  It was not that he was kinder than the rest, for they were all kind.  She stood by him a little, and saw how he worked and would take something from one book and something from another, putting them ready for use.  And it did not seem any trouble to do this work, but only pleasure, and the very pen in his hand was like a winged thing, as if it loved to write.  When he saw her watching him, he looked up and showed her the beautiful book out of which he was copying, which was all illuminated with lovely pictures.

“This is one of the volumes of the great history,” he said.  “There are some things in it which are needed for another, and it is a pleasure to work at it.  If you will come here you will be able to see the page while I write.”

Then the little Pilgrim asked him some questions about the pictures, and he answered her, describing and explaining them; for they were in the middle of the history, and she did not understand what it was.  When she said, “I ought not to trouble you, for you are busy,” he laughed so kindly that she laughed too for pleasure.  And he said,—­

“There is no trouble here.  When we are not allowed to work, as sometimes happens, that makes us not quite so happy, but it is very seldom that it happens so.”

“Is it for punishment?” she said.

And then he laughed out with a sound which made all the others look up smiling; and if they had not all looked so tenderly at her, as at a child who has made such a mistake as it is pretty for the child to make, she would have feared she had said something wrong; but she only laughed at herself too, and blushed a little, knowing that she was not wise:  and to put her at her ease again, he turned the leaf and showed her other pictures, and the story which went with them, from which he was copying something.  And he said,—­