She laughed, and added: "You stay with me all my life, and little by little are carrying me up the shining path to the Father's house. And yet--how strange! I am not you.... And my knees, how wonderful and willing--all limber and full of life--helping me in all ways to do all things--bending gently when I bow in holy communion, expressing joy through free, easy movements, mute, yet strong before pain! There is nothing more wonderful in the world than you. Yet--I am not my knees. "And you, old heart," she added. "You have endured the keenest pain; you have loved and given yourself, have hated and become black only through pain to whiten again--old heart of many rendings--until all life was tragedy, and you almost ceased to beat. Little heart, sanctuary of the soul--room for _his_ rest.... Yet I am not the heart! "And the white throat in which the lotus unfolds its mystic petals of light--I am not the throat!... And the mind, stream for the soul's fulfilment--listener, runner, interpreter of light--mate of the soul in all things, ever ready, sparkling with the inner fire,--I am _not_ the mind. You can hurt me no longer. I am _free_!" The woman sitting alone upon the hilltop, paused again. "What am I?" she almost cried. It was as though the hills, the air and the rising sun joined her in the answer--"_I Am_, ... Longer than the living flame leaps within, _I Am_. Longer than sun and planets radiate light, _I Am_. Longer than worlds give birth to form, _I Am_. I am one with the rocks and the sea, one with the warmth and light, one with the earth, one with Humanity. "I am Humanity. _I Am._" * * * * * It is only when the Little Girl brings in a bit of fiction that we remember her years. The brain that even now can polish a detached incident, or clip into firing-form a bit of humour of the street, cannot as yet order the narrative to a culminating effect. She is in her brain, which is only fourteen, struggling with the matters of time and space, wherein only lie pain and bewilderment. Art is long. The training of the hand and intellect requires the years--but not the labour, not the agony, not the mad strain supposed to prepare one for an artistic career by those who believe mental equipment to be all.... The key to this whole discussion is the fact that the brain can be developed more in a year through inner awakening than in a decade by the usual methods of external impacts alone.... The ideal education is the balancing of the without with the within--the tallying of the world without with the world within--the same old story of the kingdom without clearing its correspondences with the kingdom within.