To become as a little child--to know that the forests are filled with other than things to eat--to love the mysteries awake, to love the fairies and the hidden flowers into strange unfoldings--to be fearless and free forever!... The Little Girl writes of her love for it all as it comes: * * * * * ... I have a half a minute to send my love and strong pull for _High Flight_. We wanted this to be the magic week of the Home Coming, but it must be best to wait a little longer. Wait, wait--that is the old song of Earth--young waiting--big waiting--holy waiting. _I love it._ I love the suffering of it. One is great according to how well one can wait. I am loving Earth terribly. It is close to me, with its strange music. Last night, the Valley Road one and Esther and I were together--touched great white things--talked and laughed and loved until long after three. Each in her way is a power wherever she touches. Each has everything within. Each is pure and wonderfully sweet. We wait, openarmed, for you. There are wonders in Muriel--and in others. I dream constantly of the beauty to come. Nature's ecstasy will be bursting forth in fulfilment when our Lovers come home. I'm so _glad_ this morning! * * * * * The children learn it so easily. I like to stop in this book and let them say it--the big story of the Seamless Robe, the story of Democracy. The young men say it strongly; and tenderly the young women,--the dream of the mate in their hearts becoming the dream of the Master. They all say it so thrillingly for me in their words and lives--the little boys coming in with their tales of prairie and the deeps; literally it is here out of the mouths of babes.... Dreve found it in a woman, another in science, another in music, another in the open road. Every man is his own way, his own truth and life. It waits for all.... We keep fanning day and night, many of us who work at home--the fanners of the Hive! We cool and harden the great spiritual concept into matter, as the cathedral spires of wax appear and harden in flaky white under the masses of the bees.... I laugh at my own intensity.... It is our one tale, told in essay and story, in different terms for cults and schools, for soldiers and clergy, in verse and prose, with dignity and in slang, but here it runs best out of the mouths of babes ... helping the Big Democrat get his story through.... The rest of the chapter is the Little Girl's: THE SOUL SPEAKS. I walked through a field. The brown soil was upturned and all the richness of man's labour was in it.... The morning sun was lifting a grey veil of dew up to its heart; the earth was fresh and cool where it had rested. My feet were bare and sank into the soft richness. The field was wide and pure and fragrant and alive. It seemed to sing as the sun grew warm upon it. Ecstatic birds flew close and balanced themselves magically in the sparkling air.