“Well,” said the Earth, “then please just ask the Uttermost Spaces. You continually pass by that way and somebody ought to know something.”
So the Shadow swept along the Uttermost Spaces and made an abyss-to-abyss canvass.
“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.