"Mother," said the child, "are there really angels?"
The Good Book says so," said the mother
"Yes," said the child. "I have seen the picture. But did you ever see one, Mother?"
"I think I have," said the mother, "but she was not dressed like the picture."
"I am going to find one!" said the child. "I am going to run along the road, miles and miles, and miles, until I find an angel."
"That will be a good plan!" said the mother. "And I will go with you, for you are too little to run so far alone."
"I am not little any more!" said the child. "I have trousers. I am big."
"So you are!" said the mother. "I forgot. But it is a fine day, and I shall like the walk."
"But you walk so slowly with your lame foot."
So they started, the child leaping and running and the mother stepping out so bravely with her lame foot that the child forgot about it.
The child danced on ahead, and presently he saw a chariot coming towards him, drawn by prancing white horses. In the cchariot sat a splendid lady in velvet furs, with white plumes waving above her dark hair. As she moved in her seat, she flashed with jewels and gold, but her eyes were brighter than her diamonds.
"Are you and angel?" asked the child, running up beside the chariot.
The lady made no reply, but stared coldly at the child. Then she spoke a word to her coachman, and he flicked his whip and they were off.
The mother came and wiped the dust left from the carriage from his eyes with her gingham apron.
"That was not an angel!" said the child.
The child danced on again, leaping and running from side to side of the road and the mother followed.
By and by the child met the most beautiful maiden. Her eyes were like blue stars, and the blushes came and went in her face like roses looking through snow.
"I am sure you must be an angel!" cried the child.
The maiden blushed more sweetly than before. The maiden took him up in her arms and kissed him and held him tenderly.
"You are the dearest thing I've ever saw!" she said.
"Oh!" she cried. "There he is coming to meet me!"
She scolded the child for soiling her dress with his muddy shoes and ran off to her lover.
The child lay in the dusty road and sobbed, till his mother came along and picked him up and wiped away his tears with her gingham apron.
"I don't believe that was an angel after all" he said.
"I am tired" said the child. "Will you carry me home, Mother?"
"Why yes!" said the mother. "This is what I came for."
The child put his arms around his mother's neck and she held him tight and trudged along the road, singing the songs he liked best.
Suddenly he looked up in her face.
"Mother," he said, "I don't suppose YOU could be an angel, could you?"
"Who ever heard of an angel in a blue gingham apron?" And she went on singing, and stepped so bravely on her lame foot that no one would ever have known she was lame.
