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OME children were set to reap in a wheat-field. The wheat
was yellow as gold, the sun shone gloriously, and the
butterflies flew hither and thither. Some of the
children worked better, and some worse; but there was one
who ran here and there after the butterflies that fluttered
about his head, and sang as he ran.
By and by evening came, and the Angel of the wheat-field
called to the children and said, "Come now to the gate, and
bring your sheaves with you."
So the children came, bringing their sheaves. Some had great
piles, laid close and even, so that they might carry more;
some had theirs laid large and loose, so that they looked
more than they were; but one, the child that had run to and
fro after the butterflies, came empty-handed.
 The Angel said to this child, "Where are your sheaves?"
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."
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