“Of course,” interrupted Marjorie; “one can wear such elegant clothes, that shine and sparkle like everything with gold and jewels, and have lots of servants and—­”

“No, no,” corrected the beam, warmly.  “Where did you get such a wrong idea of things?  That is not at all where the splendor of being a king exists.  It does not lie in the mere fact of one ’s being born to a title and able to command.  That would be very little if that were all.  It is not in the gold and jewels and precious stuffs that go to adorn a king that his grandeur lies, but in the things which these things represent.  We give a king the rarest and the most costly, because it is fitting that the king should have the best,—­that he is worthy of the best; that only the best will serve one who is so great and glorious.  They mean nothing in themselves; they only describe his greatness.  The things that one sees are not of importance; it is the things that they are put there to represent.  Do you understand?  I don’t believe you do.  I ’ll try to make it more clear to you, like a true sunbeam.  Look at one of your earth-kings, for instance.  He is nothing but a man just like the rest of you; but what makes him great is that he is supposed to have more truth, more wisdom, more justice and power.  If he has not these things, then he would better never have been a king; for that only places him where every one can see how unworthy he is,—­makes his lacks only more conspicuous.  Your word king comes from another word, koenning; which comes from still another word, canning, that means ableman.  If he is not really an ableman, it were better he had never worn ermine.  And there, too; ermine is only a fur, you know.  It is nothing in itself but fur; but you have come to think of it as an emblem of royalty because kings use it.  So you see, Marjorie, a thing is not of any worth really except as it represents something that is great and noble, something true.”

Marjorie was very silent for a little; she was trying to understand what the sunbeam meant, and found it rather difficult.  After a while she gave it up and said,—­

“Will you tell me how you are carrying me, and where we are going, and all about it?”

“Certainly,” replied the beam, brightly.  “You are in a sort of hammock made out of threads of sunshine.  We sunbeams can weave one in less than no time, and it is no trouble at all to swing a little mortal like you way out into the clearness and the light, so that a bit of it can make its way into your dark little soul, and make you not quite so blind as you were.”

“Why, I ’m not blind at all,” said Marjorie, with a surprised pout.  “I can see as well as anything.  Did you think I couldn’t?”