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Page 2
"Oh, I know I could n't get 'em o' course. Folks can't reach up and
bring clouds down out o' de sky."
"I did n't say anything about clouds nor about the sky," returned the
voice. "I was speaking about pictures and heaven. Folks can reach up
and bring pictures down out of heaven. It's done every day. Geniuses
do it."
"Who is geniuses?" asked untaught Larry.
"People who can get near enough heaven to catch glimpses of its
wonderful beauty and paint it on canvas or carve it in marble for the
world to see, or who hear snatches of its music and set them upon paper
for the world to hear; and they are called artists and sculptors and
composers and poets."
"What takes 'em up to heaven?" queried Larry.
"Inspiration," answered the voice.
"I don't know o' that. I never seen it," the boy returned. "Is it
death?"
"No; it is life. But you would n't understand if I could explain it,
which I cannot. No one understands it. But it is there just the same.
You have it, but you do not know how to use it yet. You never will
unless you do something besides lie beneath the trees and dream. Why
can't you do something?"
"Oh, I'm tired with all the things I 'm not doin'!" said Larry, in his
petulant, whimsical way.
For a little the voice was silent, and Larry was beginning to fear it
had fled and deserted him like all the rest; when it spoke again, in
its low-toned murmur, like the breath of a breeze, and said,--
"It is cruel to make a good wish and then leave it to wander about the
world weak and struggling; always trying to be fulfilled and never
succeeding because it is not given strength enough. It makes a
nameless want in the world, and people's hearts ache for it and long to
be satisfied. They somehow feel there is somewhere a blessing that
might be blesseder, a beauty that should be more beautiful. It is then
that the little unfledged wish is near, and they feel its longing to be
made complete,--to be given wings and power to rise to heaven. Yes;
one ought not to make a good wish and let it go,--not to perish (for
nothing is lost in this world), but to be unfulfilled forever. One
ought to strengthen it day by day until it changes from a wish to an
endeavor, and then day by day from an endeavor to an achievement, and
then the world is better for it and glad of it, and its record goes
above. If all the people who wish to do wonderful things did them, how
blessed it would be! If all the people who wish to be good were good,
ah, then there would be no more disappointment nor tears nor heartache
in the world!"
Larry pondered an instant after the voice had ceased, and then said
slowly: "I _kind_ o' think I know what you mean. You think I 'd ought
to be workin'. But what could I do? There ain't nothin' I could be
doin'."
"Did n't I hear you complaining of me a little while ago, because I did
not carry heavy enough loads of honeysuckle scent and did not come
often enough? I carried all I was able to bear, for I am not very
strong nowadays, and I came as often as I could. In fact, I did my
best the first thing that came to hand. I want you to do the same.
That is duty. I don't bear malice toward you because you were
dissatisfied with me. You did not know. If you tried the best you
could and people complained, you ought not to let their discontent
discourage you. I brought you a whiff of perfume; you can bring some
one a sincere effort. By and by, when I am stronger and can blow good
gales and send the great ships safely into port and waft to land the
fragrant smell of their spicy cargo, you may be doing some greater work
and giving the world something it has been waiting for."
"The world don't wait for things," said Larry. "It goes right on; it
does n't care. I 'm hungry and ragged, and I have n't no place to
sleep; but the world ain't a-waitin' fer me ter get things ter eat, ner
clo'es to me back, ner a soft bed. It ain't a-waiting fer nothin', as
I can see."
"It does not stand still," replied the voice; "but it is waiting,
nevertheless. If you are expecting a dear, dear person--your mother,
for instance--"
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