"The Man with the halo put down the fish that wasn't finished and turned His big eyes upon her, and He said, 'Speak, woman.' And she said: 'Wilt Thou come with me?' He waited a little, but felt pity in His heart for her and so He went with her, His halo shining like the sun and making a wide light path for everyone to walk in, and lots of people walked behind Him, but no one in front. "And they came to a little house, like ours set back from the road, where lots of children lived. And there in the middle of the room, lying in a white box, fast asleep was the littlest baby that had ever gone to Heaven. And though the woman had lots of other babies, and maybe lots more would come to her like they come to us all the time, she wanted that one tiny little baby to open its eyes and look at her. "And so she fell on her knees, and she said to the Man with the halo: 'Will you wake that lovely baby of mine for me? Oh, please, Master, waken it--even though it should cry all night. Perhaps it's happy in Heaven, but I am lonely. Dost Thou think I can have it back?' "And just then Peter came into the room. He had followed the Man with the halo. 'But it's only a little thing,' Peter said. 'And it made so much noise when it was awake. Its big sister had to warm milk for it, and take it out in the buggy and to wash its clothes, sometimes when its mother was busy or had been up the night before. Is it not better for all that it is in Heaven?' "And then she said, 'I'm not speaking to you, Peter,' and she looked again at the Man with the halo. And at last He spoke and His voice was like music, thrilly and gentle. And He said, 'All mothers want their babies and we've got plenty in Heaven, and I'll give this one back to you.' "And He went to the white box and He looked at the baby, and pretty soon the baby got pink like my coral beads, and then its eyes opened and it looked up into His face and it raised its arms up to Him. "_Then He smiled!_--and He lifted the baby up and held it close, so He warmed it all through. And then He put it into its mother's arms and said, 'Well, I must be going.' "And this is what I'm going to tell you, Maizie, _that you were that little baby_, and Jesus smiled at _you_ to wake you up." Maizie did not speak. Her eyes were shining, her lips trembling. Her small soul was touched to its depths. After a long time in a whisper she spoke: "Oh, was I really the baby that made Jesus smile? I'm happy, Suzanna, but--it hurts me, too--" Suzanna put her arms about her sister. The emotions she had aroused in that little sister warmed her, thrilled her through and through. They sat on in silence. Soon a question began to puzzle Maizie. She gave it voice. "I didn't know I'd been a baby more than once, Suzanna." "You're a baby every hundred years," said Suzanna promptly. "Oh, I see." Then: "I do love Him now, Suzanna. I'll always love Him 'cause once He woke me up. Suzanna, do you think the rose will come to you and tell you another story?"