'Children will see things as God sees them,' murmured a voice beside me.
I turned and saw a tall man with whose form I had already become a little familiar, although I knew nothing of him, standing almost at my elbow, with his eyes fixed on the woman and the child, and a strange smile of tenderness about his mouth, as if he were blessing the little creature in his heart.
He too saw the wonder of the show, typical of so much in the world, indeed of the world itself—the seemingly vile upholding and ministering to the life of the pure, the gracious, the fearless. Aware from his tone more than from his pronunciation that he was a fellow-countryman, I ventured to speak to him, and in a home-dialect.
'It's a wonnerfu' sicht. It's the cake o' Ezekiel ower again.'
He looked at me sharply, thought a moment, and said,
'You were going my way when you stopped. I will walk with you, if you will.'
'But what's to be done about it?' I said.
'About what?' he returned.
'About the child there,' I answered.
'Oh! she is its mother,' he replied, walking on.