The child hung his head. "I do not know!" he said. "I had some, but I
have lost them, I know not how."
"None enter here without sheaves," said the Angel.
"I know that," said the child. "But I thought I would like to see the
place where the others were going; besides, they would not let me
leave them."
Then all the other children cried out together. One said, "Dear Angel,
let him in! In the morning I was sick, and this child came and played
with me, and showed me the butterflies, and I forgot my pain. Also, he
gave me one of his sheaves, and I would give it to him again, but I
cannot tell it now from my own."
[Illustration: THE WHEAT FIELD.
[_Page 22._]
Another said, "Dear Angel, let him in! At noon the sun beat on my head
so fiercely that I fainted and fell down like one dead; and this child
came running by, and when he saw me he brought water to revive me,
and then he showed me the butterflies, and was so glad and merry that
my strength returned; to me also he gave one of his sheaves, and
I would give it to him again, but it is so like my own that I cannot
tell it."
And a third said, "Just now, as evening was coming, I was weary and
sad, and had so few sheaves that it seemed hardly worth my while
to go on working; but this child comforted me, and showed me the
butterflies, and gave me of his sheaves. Look! it may be that this was
his; and yet I cannot tell, it is so like my own."
And all the children said, "We also had sheaves of him, dear Angel;
let him in, we pray you!"
The Angel smiled, and reached his hand inside the gate and brought out
a pile of sheaves; it was not large, but the glory of the sun was on
it, so that it seemed to lighten the whole field.
"Here are his sheaves!" said the Angel. "They are known and counted,
every one." And he said to the child, "Lead the way in!"