The foal accompanies the mother ass, in a long journey the young creature lags behind whinnying in remonstrance at the ceaseless steps, and only hurrying on in bounds when there is fear of the parent ass getting beyond reach and sight. The glorified infants are encircling the weary laggard, who is thus brought up to the onward group. The wild dogs which have come out of the mill-house to bark――as is their wont with nocturnal travellers striving to pass a homestead in silence――are cowed at the unusual apparition and steal away in fear. The leader and father of the party, St. Joseph, regards not the ghostly attendants. He is engaged in securing the best means of safety while passing the near village. He watches the distant fires to discover any signs there might be of pursuit. He is passing over the shallow stream supplied for irrigation by the creaking water-wheel. The liquid surface is “Pavid with the image of the sky,” and burdened lightly with the fallen flower from the hand of one of the foremost seraphic children. In contrast to this mundane reflection of Heaven――which takes the leader’s steps for the moment――are the waves on which the children dance along. They are not clouds such as angels may be portrayed upon. They are from the fountain of the water of life, given to them that are athirst freely (athirst for fuller life). It is the spiritual eternal stream provided in exchange for the life that perisheth which has been to them so brief. These first Christian martyrs no longer walk on the earth, but they travel on the living waters of life, bringing comfort to their late fellows and to all future disciples who have yet their burdens to bear and their victory to win. “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation; that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth.”