L Why not little girls, then? (Pause)

Lily.  Because, you know we can’t be worth anything if we’re ever so good,—­I mean, if we try to be ever so good and we can’t do difficult things—­like saints.

L I am afraid, my dear that old people are not more able or willing for their difficulties than you children are for yours.  All I can say is, that if ever I see any of you, when you are seven or eight and twenty, knitting your brows over any work you want to do or to understand as I saw you Lily knitting your brows over your slate this morning I should think you very noble women.  But—­to come back to my dream—­St Barbara did lose her temper a little, and I was not surprised.  For you can’t think how provoking Neith looked, sitting there just like a statue of sandstone, only going on weaving like a machine and never quickening the cast of her shuttle, while St Barbara was telling her so eagerly all about the most beautiful things and chattering away, as fast as bells ring on Christmas Eve, till she saw that Neilh didn’t care, and then St Barbara got as red as a rose, and stopped just in time,—­ or I think she would really have said something naughty.

Isabel Oh please, but didn’t Neith say anything then?

L. Yes.  She said, quite quietly, “It may be very pretty, my love; but it is all nonsense.”

Isabel.  Oh dear, oh dear; and then?

L. Well; then I was a little angry myself, and hoped St. Barbara would be quite angry; but she wasn’t.  She bit her lips first; and then gave a great sigh—­such a wild, sweet sigh—­and then she knelt down and hid her face on Neith’s knees.  Then Neith smiled a little, and was moved.

Isabel.  Oh, I am so glad!

L. And she touched St. Barbara’s forehead with a flower of white lotus; and St. Barbara sobbed once or twice, and then said:  “If you only could see how beautiful it is, and how much it makes people feel what is good and lovely; and if you could only hear the children singing in the Lady chapels!” And Neith smiled,—­but still sadly,—­and said, “How do you know what I have seen, or heard, my love?  Do you think all those vaults and towers of yours have been built without me?  There was not a pillar in your Giotto’s Santa Maria del Fiore which I did not set true by my spear-shaft as it rose.  But this pinnacle and flame work which has set your little heart on fire, is all vanity; and you will see what it will come to, and that soon; and none will grieve for it more than I. And then every one will disbelieve your pretty symbols and types.  Men must be spoken simply to, my dear, if you would guide them kindly, and long.”  But St. Barbara answered, that, “Indeed she thought every one liked her work,” and that “the people of different towns were as eager about their cathedral towers as about their privileges or their markets;” and then she asked Neith to come and build something with her, wall against tower; and “see whether the people will be as much pleased with your building as with mine.”  But Neith answered, “I will not contend with you, my dear.  I strive not with those who love me; and for those who hate me, it is not well to strive with me, as weaver Arachne knows.  And remember, child, that nothing is ever done beautifully, which is done in rivalship; nor nobly, which is done in pride.”