“The Uttermost Spaces want to know,” the Shadow reported next day, “whether in all that City there is a child. They said if there is, it could probably do what you want.” “A child,” said the Earth. “Well, sea caves and firmaments. Of course there is. What do the Uttermost Spaces think I’m in the Earth business for if it isn’t for the Children?” “I don’t know,” said its Shadow, rather sulkily. “I’m only telling you what I heard. If you’re cross with me, I won’t keep up with you. I’m about tired of it anyway.” “Oh, I beg your pardon,” said the Earth, “You mustn’t mind me. I’m always a little sunstruck. A thousand thanks. Come along, do.” “A child,” thought the Earth, “a child. How could a child change a City into a woman? And _what_ child?” But it was a very wise old Earth, and to its mind all children are valuable. So after a time it concluded that one child in that City would be as good as another, and perhaps any child could work the miracle. So it said: “I choose to work the miracle that child who is thinking about the most beautiful thing in the world.” Then it listened. Now, since the feet of people are pressed all day long to earth, it is true that the Earth can talk with everyone and, by listening, can know what is in each heart. When it listened this time, it chanced that it was the middle of the night, when nearly every little child was sleeping and dreaming. But there was one little girl lying wide awake and staring out her bedroom window up at the stars, and as soon as the Earth listened to her thoughts, it knew that she was the one. Of what do you suppose she was thinking? She was thinking of her mother, who had died before she could remember her, and wondering where she was; and she was picturing what her mother had looked like, and what her mother would have said to her, and how her mother’s arms would have felt about her, and her mother’s good-night kiss; and she was wondering how it would be to wake in the night, a little frightened, and turn and stretch out her arms and find her mother breathing there beside her, ready to wake her and give her an in-the-middle-of-the-night kiss and send her back to sleep again. And she thought about it all so longingly that her little heart was like nothing in the world so much as the one word “Mother.” “It will be you,” said the Earth. So the Earth spoke to its Shadow who was, of course, just then fastened to that same side, it being night. “Shadow, dear,” Earth said, like a prescription, “fold closely about her and drop out a dream or two. But do not let her forget.” So Shadow folded about her and dropped out a dream or two. And all night Earth lapped her in its silences, but they did not let her forget. And Shadow left word with Morning, telling Morning what to do, and she kissed the little girl’s eyelids so that the first thing she thought when she waked was how wonderful it would be to be kissed awake by her mother. And her little heart beat _Mother_ in her breast.