A thousand eyes were looking down at him, bright and so cold.

There was a laughing irony in them.
"So hot, so bitter, so angry?
Poor little mortal ?" He was ashamed.

He folded his arms, and sat on the ridge of the roof looking up at them.
"So hot, so bitter, so angry ?" It was as though a cold hand had been laid upon his throbbing forehead, and slowly they began to fade and grow dim.

Tant Sannie and the burnt book, Bonaparte and the broken machine, the box in the loft, he himself sitting there--how small they all became! Even the grave over yonder.
Those stars that shone on up above so quietly, they had seen a thousand such little existences fight just so fiercely, flare up just so brightly and go out; and they, the old, old stars, shone on forever.
"So hot, so angry, poor little soul ?" they said.
The riem slipped from his fingers; he sat with his arms folded, looking up.
"We," said the stars, "have seen the earth when it was young.

We have seen small things creep out upon its surface--small things that prayed and loved and cried very loudly, and then crept under it again.