Chapter II: Part 2

One day the eldest daughter of the rich man, who lived with her husband in the north, come to visit her father. She was glad to see her old home again and everything seemed to her more beautiful than in the north. She complained of the trouble she had in getting servants in the city. “These whites are not nearly as desirable as the blacks,” said she. “They cannot be driven to work with whips. You should present me with a good slave, father, so that it will be more comfortable for me. My husband will be quite angry about it, for the people in the north are crazy, they claim that the blacks are also human beings, and that slavery must be abolished. But he loves me dearly, and will be glad if he sees me happy.”

The rich man thought a while and said, “The young slaves that I own are all clumsy, incapable; the old ones of course could not become accustomed to living in a large city and would be more trouble than help to you. Whom can I give you?”

He considered for a moment, then cried happily, “Now I know, Hannah is just the right one for you. How could I forget her? Of course, she has a little boy....”

“I don’t want him,” the daughter interrupted. “My dear little son must not play with a dirty Negro child. You can keep Hannah’s son here.”

“You are a good mother, my beloved child,” said the rich man, moved. “You always think of your son. Good, Benjamin shall remain here and when you go back to the city tomorrow, I will give you Hannah to take along. I will immediately tell the overseer, so that he may tell her to be ready.”

And the rich man called a servant and bade him bring the overseer.

Ah, what a sad night that was in the little hut of the Negroes. Poor Hannah hugged her little son close in her arms and cried as though her heart would break. Her husband Tom gazed at her with worried eyes and was so miserable that he could not say a word. Hannah kept looking anxiously toward the little window, trembling with the fear of seeing the first ray of light that meant that day was near, when she would leave her loved ones.

The little grey dog seemed to understand the grief of his friends, he nestled quite close to Hannah’s coat, looking up at them with loving, clever eyes. Then Hannah cried loudly, “If they sell you, too, Tom, what will become of our poor child?” The little dog laid his paw on little Benjamin as though to say, “Don’t fear, poor mother, I will take care of him.”

Hannah noticed this, sobbingly patted the shaggy head of the dog, and said to him, “Guard my little boy, you good dog. We are all as helpless and deserted as you.”

The following morning, poor Hannah, weeping bitterly, rode off with the young woman. Her family was not allowed to see her off, for Tom had to work in the field and Benjamin, like all the slaves, was forbidden to come near the house of the rich man.

Little Benjamin lived through many sad days. His father was so unhappy that he no longer wanted to work, and many evenings he would return home with his back all bloody. Instead of the caressing and joy to which Benjamin was accustomed there was an unaccustomed silence in the house. Tom sat sadly on the ground, sometimes stroking sadly the wooly head of his little son, but never speaking. Only once in a while he would cry out, “Hannah!” and sigh deeply, while great tears rolled down his black face. And sometimes he would clench his fist, looking so angry that Benjamin took the little dog and crawled into a corner with him.

The overseer was always unsatisfied with Tom, he complained to the master of the laziness and obstinacy of the slave. Had poor Tom known the results of his disobedience, he would have worked as industriously as he used to, in spite of his anger and unhappiness.

The rich man celebrated his birthday. There was a great feast, chickens and calves and lambs were roasted, rich foods could be smelled all through the house, the servants brought countless bottles from the wine-cellar. After supper the young guests danced in the large hall, the older men seated themselves at a table and began to play cards.

The rich man had no luck, he lost again and again, until at last his purse was empty. “One more game,” said he to his friend who had won all the money, “We will gamble for my strongest and best slave.” And he thought to himself, “If I lose Tom, that will not be a misfortune, for lately he is lazy and obstinate, anyhow.”

His friend agreed. The whole life and fate of a human being depended upon a few cards, a bundle of paper. The rich man drew a card, his friend did the same. They threw the cards on the table. The rich man had lost.

When Tom came to work the following morning, the overseer told him to go to the house of the rich man, the master had sold him and his new master would take him to his estate at once.

That evening Benjamin waited in vain for the return of his father. Night came, it was quite dark, and his father did not come. Benjamin sat huddled on the threshold, peering anxiously into the darkness. The little grey dog lay near him. He was sad and quiet, he seemed to feel that something was wrong. At last Benjamin could stand it no longer, ran crying to the hut of a neighbor, and asked about his father. The stout negress informed him that a strange master had taken Tom with him that morning; he was sold and would not return.

Benjamin went home crying, afraid of the dark, holding the little dog, his only friend, tight in his arms. And now something strange happened. When Benjamin, sobbing, started to tell the little dog of this sorrow, the dog began to bark softly. But it was not an ordinary bark, but speech, and Benjamin understood very well the words, “Don’t cry, little friend, I will take care of you and guard you. And some day we will go to search for your parents.”

Benjamin was so astonished at this, that he stopped crying. “What!” cried he, surprised, “you can speak, like a human being?”

The dog shook his shaggy head. “Yes, when the rich people act like wild beasts against the poor people, we animals must help them. When a human being is very unhappy and forsaken, he understands our language and knows that we wish him well. I have not forgotten, little Benjamin, that you saved my life. I want to thank you. Lie down on the straw, sleep, I will watch over you.”

A little comforted, the little boy obeyed, and the dog sat down near him, guarding him all night, licking Benjamin’s hand with his warm tongue occasionally.

Then came hard times for little Benjamin. The stout lady who was his neighbor took him to her hut, but she was not good to him. She forced him to carry water from the river in a heavy bucket, and made him do all kinds of hard work. And the worst was yet to come. One day the rich man passed by the huts of the Negroes and saw Benjamin. “A strong boy,” he said. “He can work in the fields already.” And from then on the little boy had to work in the fields in the heat of the sun till he thought he would die of weariness.

At evening, tired, he would crawl into the hut, bury his head in the hide of the grey dog, cry, and draw comfort from his only friend.

One evening, his back all bloody and his face swollen, Benjamin came home. The overseer had been in a bad temper, had beaten the little boy with a whip and hit him in the face with his fist.

“I want to die,” cried Benjamin, while the dog softly and gently licked his wounds. “I can’t stand it any longer. My parents are gone, I am entirely deserted, everyone is unkind to me. Dog, dear dog, what shall I do?”

“Run away,” replied the dog.

“Where to? They will catch me and beat me again.”

The dog thought hard for a while.

“We must go north,” said he at last. “There people are better than they are here. They do not want the Negroes to be slaves. We must run away there.”

“I don’t know the way,” complained Benjamin.

“I will lead you. Morning and night, when everybody is asleep, we will go.”

And so it happened. The moon was a small white sickle in the sky, the great trees tossed weird, black shadows on the earth, all was deathly quiet, only once in a while the leaves rustled sleepily. Benjamin and the dog ran softly on their tiptoes, out of the hut, and went toward the great river. All night they wandered along the side of the river, and when morning came the dog looked for a safe hiding place, for the short legs of little Benjamin had not carried him very far, and there was still the danger that the servants of the rich man might trace him.

While the dog was running restlessly back and forth to find a safe place, Benjamin sat on the bank of the river, letting his tired, burning feet hang in the water. Suddenly he was dreadfully frightened and drew his feet back hastily. A large pointed head thrust itself through the water, a gigantic mouth opened, showing two rows of dreadful teeth, and a deep voice growled, “A fine morsel, just right for breakfast.”

Benjamin screamed aloud and the dog came running quickly to him. Though he was himself a little frightened, he whispered to Benjamin, “That is an alligator. Step back and let me speak to him.”

The little boy obeyed and the dog addressed himself with cajoling courtesy to the alligator, saying, “Excuse us for having come to your kingdom, mighty lord of the river, but we are fleeing from evil people and know that you with your power will be good enough to defend us.”

The alligator felt flattered, drew his gigantic mouth into a friendly grin, and replied politely, “You are a clever animal. I am truly more mighty than people, and,” he agreed pensively, “neither are we as bad as they. But this creature that sat with his feet hanging in the water is also a human being. Then why is he running away from his brothers?” And the shiny, greenish eyes of the alligator looked distrustfully at the dog.

“You surely know, wise and mighty animal, that the rich people are merciless to the poor, as though they were the wildest beasts. That is because there is no more greedy animal than this man. He is never satisfied, he always wants more: food and drink and houses, but above all, gold. That makes him so mean. My little friend is a poor child who must work for a rich man. He was torn away from his parents, and beaten until the blood flowed. I advised him to run away. And now we beg that you help us, for any moment the servants of the rich man may appear and capture my little friend.”

The alligator shook his pointed head thoughtfully and said: “People are peculiar creatures. No alligator would torment a little alligator, neither do we know the difference between rich and poor, and still it is said that we are evil animals. It is true that I would like to eat your little friend for breakfast, yet I will be merciful to him. I will also show you a safe hiding place. Do you see that little island? The servants of the rich man will not find you there.”

“We thank you, mighty animal; but how can we reach the island? The water is rough and deep, and my little friend can’t swim.”

“I will carry you over on my back,” answered the alligator.

Benjamin and the dog seated themselves on the scaly back of the animal, and it began to swim. What a strange journey that was! The waves played over the back of the alligator and the dog was afraid that the alligator might change his mind and eat both of them for breakfast. For that reason he spoke continuously to the alligator, flattered him, praised his goodness and declared solemnly that the alligators are the noblest animals in the world. This trick did not fail in its purpose. When they landed on the island, the alligator called twelve of the strongest alligators to him, instructing them that they must not harm a hair on the boy or the dog, that they were his guests. He also commanded them to swim along the bank of the river and stand guard, keeping the people from coming to the island. This was well done, for when the sun was high in the heavens, five men appeared, sent by the rich man to look for Benjamin. One pointed to the island, started to go into the water, when an immense alligator pushed his head out of the water and the man crept back. “He can’t be there,” said the man to his companions. “The alligators here must have eaten him.”

Benjamin and the dog rested all day on the island. The little boy ate the sweet berries that grew there, drank from a well, and at evening the alligator carried them back again to the bank and bade them a friendly farewell.

Today traveling was more difficult than it had been yesterday, for Benjamin’s feet were blistered, he groaned and complained at every step. The dog comforted him, encouraged him, let him ride on his back a little while though the boy was too heavy and after a few minutes the dog’s bones would crack and he would have to lie down. Deep sorrow tormented the dog, surely the servants of the rich man were somewhere in the neighborhood, determined not to return home without the boy. And even if they were not found, how far was it to the north? How will we get there if Benjamin is already too tired to go further?

Toward midnight they suddenly saw a fire burning on a meadow. People must be there. The dog dragged the boy into some thick bushes, told him to keep still, crept softly toward the fire. A pot hung over the fire, and a blond man sat before it. Close by stood a wagon with large wheels, to which a brown horse was harnessed. The dog looked at the man very searchingly. He looked different from the people at home, had a very light skin, kind blue eyes; surely he was a northerner. But was he a good man? Then the dog remembered that only very good people understand the language of animals, and the dog decided to tell him the story of little Benjamin. Carefully he came closer to the fire and said softly, “Good evening, man. Are you a northerner?”

The man looked at him in surprise, but, oh joy, he had understood the words and answered, “Good evening, my friend. Yes, I am a northerner. Do you want to eat something? My supper will soon be ready.”

“I am not hungry,” replied the dog. “But I want some help.” And then he told the story of little Benjamin.

The blond man became red with anger and his eyes sparkled. This made the dog happy. “He is really a good man,” thought he, “for only good people are angered by the sufferings of other people.” When he was through speaking, the man said, “Bring your little friend here quickly. My horse has rested enough. We will ride off immediately so that no one can capture Benjamin.”

How happy the little grey dog was! In spite of his weariness, he danced with joy, wagging his tail, and started toward the bushes where Benjamin was hidden. Then he saw something dreadful. A man came over the meadow with a dog, which ran straight towards the bushes. The grey dog howled with fright. The blond man looked up, jumped forward and called to the dog, “Keep the man back just a moment, and all will yet be well.” At that the dog ran toward the man. The man had reached the bush, with one bound the dog leaped at his throat, bit it hard, did not loosen his hold in spite of cuts and blows.

In the meantime the northerner had taken little Benjamin in his arms, ran hastily toward the wagon, jumped in, and called to the dog, “Follow us, we will wait for you in a safe place.” Then he cracked his whip, started on the road, the brown horse galloped ahead for it knew everything that was going on.

The grey dog still gripped the man’s throat, thinking every moment that if he could detain the man, it would be an advantage to the good man and little boy, and would save his friend. But the man, tired of wrestling, took a large knife from his pocket and plunged it deep into the breast of the faithful dog. The dog whimpered piteously and fell heavily to the ground. His clouded eyes still saw, far off in the distance, a tiny spot that kept growing smaller and smaller; that was the wagon which was carrying little Benjamin to freedom.

Great joy filled the dog’s heart. He wagged his bushy tail once more. Then he died.

The blond man and little Benjamin waited a long time in vain for the grey dog. Benjamin wept bitterly, and his new friend comforted him: “The brave dog will come running back. All is well with him.”

But though Benjamin was safe, he was always sad when he thought of his friend. But he did not know that the little grey dog had died for him, paying his debt of gratitude to Benjamin with his life.

WHY?

Once upon a time there was a little boy, who had neither father nor mother, who lived in the poorhouse in a little village. He was the only child in the whole house; all the others were broken-down old people who were always gloomy and cranky, who liked best to sit quietly in the sun, and who would become angry whenever the little boy, while at play, would bump against them or make too much noise.

A sad life it was for little Paul. He never heard a kind word, no one loved him, and no one petted or comforted him whenever he was unhappy. Instead of that he was scolded every day and often he was even spanked. One peculiarity of his particularly irritated the supervisors of the poorhouse: at every occasion he used to ask, “Why?” always wanting to know the cause for everything.

“You mustn’t always ask why,” angrily declared the stout Matron who was in charge of the poorhouse. “Everything is as it is, and therefore it is right.”

“But why have I no parents like the other children of the village have?” insisted little Paul.

“Because they are dead.”

“Why did they die?”

“Because the good Lord willed it so.”

“Why did the Lord will it so?”

“Keep quiet, you good-for-nothing! Leave me alone with your eternal questions.” The fat woman was quite red with anger, because she knew no answer to Paul’s questions, and nothing angers ignorant persons more than to be forced to say, “I don’t know.”

But no one was able to keep little Paul quiet. He looked right up into the angry red face and asked further, “Why are you so impatient with me?”

Slap! and he got a box on the ears. He began to cry, ran away, and while running asked, “Why do you hit me?”

He came to the chicken yard. There stood a big hen with many-colored feathers, cackling aloud, proudly strutting. “I have laid an egg! I have laid an egg!” And from all sides of the yard there sounded in chorus: “I have laid an egg! I have laid an egg!” The rooster, however, was angry because the hens were so proud of having done something which he could not do, and cried scornfully, “I am the rooster, you are only hens!” Along came Mary, the little blond servant of the poorhouse, gathered the eggs carefully into her blue apron, and carried them into the house.

“Where do all your eggs go to?” Paul asked the speckled Hen.

“To the city,” she cackled.

“Who eats them there?”

“The rich people, the rich people.” Thus spoke the hen proudly, as though it were a special honor for her.

“Why don’t I ever have an egg?” complained Paul. “I am always so hungry, you know.”

“Because you are a poor Have-nothing.” And the hen spread her plumage with dignity, and cocked her eye defiantly at Paul over her crooked beak.

“But why am I a poor Have-nothing?”

Now the hen became angry as had the stout Matron, and raged: “Get off with you! You make me tired with your questions.”

Disappointed, Paul slipped quietly away. The garden door stood open, and he stepped out onto the road, strolling along aimlessly until he came to the entrance of a cowshed. The shed belonged to a rich farmer.

Many sleek cows, white and reddish brown, stood in a row and gazed before them with large, soft eyes. Paul, feeling very hungry, stepped up to the most friendly looking cow, and begged, “Dear Cow, will you give me some of your milk to drink?”

“I dare not do that,” replied the Cow. “The milk belongs to the farmer.”

The little boy looked with astonishment at the Cow, then over the entire shed, slowly counting the animals: “One, two, three.” Upon reaching twelve he stopped, for although there were many more cows, he stopped because the counting was too hard for him. In the poorhouse he was taught to be gentle and obedient, but nothing else. “Twelve cows,” he said thoughtfully. “Is it possible that the farmer can drink the milk of twelve cows?”

“Oh no,” the friendly Cow informed him. “He sells the milk in the city.”

Paul remembered the words of the speckled hen, and he asked, “Do the poor children there get any of the milk?”

“Good gracious, Paul,” sighed the Cow, “how stupid and inexperienced you still are! From the milk they make delicious whipped cream, which then goes on cakes and puddings, and these are bought by rich people.”

“Why not by the poor—don’t they like to eat good cakes?”

“You shouldn’t ask me so many questions, little boy,” replied the Cow. “I am only a dumb Cow, and do not know what to answer you. Besides, you had better go away. This is the time when the farmer comes to the barn, and should he see you it might mean a good beating for you.”

Paul stroked the shining hide of the friendly Cow, and pursued his way. On and on he went, until he reached a great big wheat field through which the wind was blowing. It looked like softly moving golden waves. The ears sang with soft voices, sounding very sad, and Paul distinguished the words: “Soon the reapers will be here with their scythes, z-z, and will cut us down, z-z-z. Then the people will bake us into fine white bread, z-z-z.”

“Who eats the white bread?” asked Paul, who had never in his life tasted a piece of white bread.

“The rich people, the rich people,” sang the ears of wheat, swaying to the rhythm of the wind.

“Ah, again the rich people!” exclaimed Paul. “Does everything in this world belong to the rich people?”

“Everything, everything,” buzzed the ears.

“Why?”

This question seemed to amuse the ears very much and almost doubling with laughter, they sang, “How silly, how stupid you are!” However, they failed to answer Paul’s question. Paul was near to tears; he stamped angrily on the ground with his foot, and cried loudly, “I demand an answer to my questions. Is there no one to give me an answer?”

Just then a Porcupine crept slowly across the road and said, “The wisest creature I know of is the Owl who lives in the great oak forest. Why don’t you go to her, you question mark.”

“Can’t you tell me why...?”

The Porcupine did not permit Paul to finish; impatiently he drew in his head, shot out his quills, until he looked like a ball covered with spikes.

“I do not associate with people,” he said, and his voice became as sharp as his quills. “They are too stupid for me. Go to the Owl, but be sure not to irritate her or she will gouge her eyes at you.”

Night fell, sending out its black shadows, and covered all the land. It was dark in the forest and Paul became somewhat uneasy, yet this mysterious forest seemed more pleasant to him than the terrible poorhouse, and he walked on further.

The further he went the thicker and closer were the trees. Soon there was no longer a path; but Paul pushed on over the soft carpet of green moss. The fragrance of the forest was pleasant. Beneath the tall trees grew delicious strawberries and the little boy picked them and refreshed himself as he went along.

At last he came to a great oak, and saw the owl perched on one of the branches. The Owl wore a large pair of spectacles and studied attentively a green sheet which she held in her claws.

Paul halted beneath the tree and shouted, “Mrs. Owl! Mrs. Owl!”

But the Owl was so deeply absorbed in her studies, that she did not hear, and only after he had repeated his call several times did she look down. Uttering an angry cry, she glared down at Paul with fierce round eyes.

“Well, what is it you want?” she asked. “How dare you disturb me in my studies?”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Owl,” begged Paul. “The Porcupine sent me to you. He told me that you are the wisest creature he knows of. Surely, you will be able to answer my questions.”

“What matter the opinions of the Porcupine to me? What have I to do with your questions?” growled the Owl. “Why should I waste my precious time on such a stupid child as you? You know very well that I can see only at night and the summer nights are so short that I have hardly time enough for my studies. I, too, think over all kinds of questions. One in particular has bothered me for countless years; I have grown old and grey over it, and yet no science in the world has helped me to solve it.” The Owl sighed deeply and her countenance became sorrowful.

“And just what is this question of yours?” Paul inquired anxiously.

“Do you think, perhaps, that YOU can answer it, you young saucebox?” sneered the Owl. “Around this question hang all the other questions of the world; it is: Why are all people so stupid?”

“Are all people really so stupid?” asked Paul, astonished.

“Yes, and if you don’t know that, why do you disturb me? Is it because you have never seen anything that you are so idiotic?”

“Very little,” replied the little boy shamefacedly. “You ought to know, dear Mrs. Owl, that I live in a poorhouse, where there are only old folks, and naturally they are all wise.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” laughed the owl. It sounded most awful in the dark forest. “Ha, ha, ha! You are certainly another splendid example of the stupidity of mankind. So it is in the poorhouse that all people are wise? Well, we will see if you are right. Who is it that you like best in the poorhouse?”

“Mary.”

“Who is Mary?”

“The maid.”

“What does she do?”

“She works all day long. She gets up at five o’clock in the morning, and is the last one to go to bed.”

“Then she most likely earns lots of money, wears beautiful clothes, and eats good food?”

“Oh no, she’s as poor as a beggar, she patches her clothes over and over, and eats what other people leave.”

“H-m-m. Well, why then does she work so hard if she gets nothing out of it?”

Little Paul thought a while, finally he said, “I don’t know.”

“But I know—it is because she is stupid. Mary knows, too, that there are fashionable ladies who don’t move a hand, who wear gorgeous clothes, eat costly food, live in luxury. Hasn’t Mary ever asked herself: How is it that I, who work all day long have nothing, and they, who do nothing have everything?”

“I believe not.”

“Well then, your Mary is stupid, very stupid. Whom do you still consider wise, you little sheep?”

“Old Jacob.”

“Who is this Old Jacob?”

“He is an old laborer, he is eighty years old. He worked until his seventieth year. Now he can’t do anything more, and has his hands and feet and legs crippled by rheumatism.”

“He worked sixty years for others! A pretty long time. I suppose that Old Jacob is treated like a prince, everybody is terribly anxious to serve him? He has a wonderful soft bed for his tired limbs, gets special kind of food every day, lives well and happily?”

“Oh no, the old matron always curses at him when he complains that the bread is too hard for his old teeth. And if he asks for a little tobacco, she gets angry and cries that he is unreasonable.”

“Why then did Old Jacob work until he was seventy years old, if now when he’s old he doesn’t even live well?”

“I don’t know.”

“Because he is stupid. He knows also, just like Mary, that there are fine young gentlemen who do nothing at all and yet live like kings. Do you see now, little imp, that people are stupid?”

“Yes,” said Paul sadly. “But I would like to ask you something, dear Mrs. Owl. Why are there rich people in the world?”

“You really ought to be able to answer this question yourself after our talk, little stupid head: Because the poor people are stupid.”

“But why are they stupid?”

But now the owl became angry, the same as the fat matron and the brightly speckled hen.

“Didn’t I tell you, little imp, you stupid little person, that I have been thinking about this question for years and years? Come back again eighty years from now, perhaps I will answer you then.”

“But why...?”

“Quiet!” the owl commanded little Paul. “You have stolen enough valuable time from me already. Go to the Cuckoo!”

“Where does she live?” asked the frightened little boy.

But already the Owl had adjusted her spectacles, become absorbed in the green leaf, and gave no answer.

“Oh, poor me!” little Paul thought sadly. “Now I am to go to the Cuckoo, and I don’t even know where she lives. Will the Cuckoo know more than the Owl? And I am already so tired, my feet hurt me.”

He sank down upon the soft green moss at the foot of a slender young birch. Little by little he became very depressed. He was thinking how he was altogether abandoned and alone, how nobody was good to him, and all at once he began to weep bitterly. Thereupon he became aware of a thin small voice coming from somewhere high up; it sounded like little bells of pure silver.

“Why are you crying, little child?” the silvery voice asked.

Paul looked upward and he saw the most wonderful little creature he had ever beheld in his life. Upon a branch of the birch sat a fairy. She had long golden-blond hair, which reached down to her feet, her little face was pale and delicate as moonlight, and her big eyes shone green like the leaves of the birch. She fluttered down toward Paul very lightly, alighted on his shoulder, it was as though a light leaf touched him, and stroked his face with her tiny white hands. Paul’s heart warmed. How good it was to be touched by tender hands! His tears stopped, he stared at the little creature, and asked at last, “Who are you?”

“I am a Dryad, I am the soul of the birchtree,” declared the little creature. “All day long I must sit in my tree, but when night comes I am free, I walk about on the earth, play with the other Dryads, my sisters. But tell me, for what reason are you sad?”

Paul told the Dryad of his unhappiness, saying at the end, “I must always ask why. The question burns in my heart, hurts me, and I believe if I ever receive an answer I will be happy. But now this question stands between me and all other people who do not ask the question like a big wall and this makes me so lonesome.”

The little Dryad laughed and her pretty face became sweeter and more tender than before.

“You are mistaken, little Paul,” she said softly. “You are not alone. Hundreds and thousands ask the same question, sad and troubled. Put your ear down to the earth and tell me what you hear.”

Paul obeyed. At first he heard only an indistinct sighing and whispering, then he thought he heard a terrible weeping and crying, and at last he heard words.

“Mother, I am hungry, why is there nothing to eat?” cried a child’s voice.

“I am stifling in this hot city, why can’t I go to the country like my rich schoolmates?” murmured a boy’s voice.

“I work all day, why are wages so low that I scarcely have enough to live on?” sobbed a woman’s voice.

“Why have the idlers everything and the workers nothing?” said a man’s voice threateningly.

And then all the voices rang together, crying, murmuring, sobbing, threatening, “Why? Why?”

Paul sat up, looked at the little Dryad who sat very quietly near him and asked, “Who are these people whom I heard?”

“They are your people,” replied the little Dryad. “That is your family. You have heard all the languages in the world, you will hear questions from all mouths, angrily, anxiously, threateningly. Every day new voices join the chorus, and when the thousands of voices become millions and billions, then there will be an end to the misery and poverty and to those lazy parasites.”

“When will that be?” asked Paul eagerly.

“That I cannot tell you, I know only this—every time I put my ear to the earth, I find new voices added and that is how I know that the day is not far distant.”

“And can nothing be done to make the day come sooner?”

“Of course. There are many, many people who do not know yet how good it is for other people and how bad their lives are; who work like beasts and never ask why their honest labor brings a starvation wage. These poor blind people must be shown the truth, and this is not at all easy, because the poor are so tired from the day’s work that they can hardly think; and the rich do everything not to awaken questions in the minds of the workers. That is why they punish every one who asks, ‘Why?’ You have already learned from your own experience, little Paul.”

“Then I must continue asking questions?”

“Yes, little Paul, but do not ask the rich, they will not answer you because if they did they would have to say, ‘The world is such a bad place for poor people because we, the rich, are greedy, selfish, vile,’ and no person likes to say that about himself. But go to the poor people, ask them, ‘Why do you eat dry bread though you work hard, while the idle rich eat cake? Why are your children pale, thin and ill while the rich children are rosy, fat and healthy? Why does your long life of toil end in the poorhouse, whereas the lazy grafters are well taken care of in their old age, resting luxuriously from their lives of idleness?’ Ask the poor people these questions so long and so often that they will fall on the structure of injustice like a hammer and smash it. Will you do it, little Paul?”

“Yes,” replied the boy with eyes alight.

The little Dryad kissed his forehead and said earnestly, “Your life will be hard, little Paul. The rich, who are afraid of losing what they have robbed, will punish you. They will try to choke the question in your throat, they will throw you into jail, that no one may hear your voice. But you must not lose courage, for the question was not born in you in vain, you are destined to speak before many thousands who are today still dumb. And you will find comrades, friends—you will not be alone.”

The little Dryad nodded laughingly to Paul, swept lightly upwards, and sat on a branch of the birch.

“Are you going already,” asked little Paul, worried.

“You must go home, little Paul. But you must always come back and I will comfort you and help you.”

“Wait a little,” begged Paul. “The Owl said in eighty years, not until eighty years from now, she will be able to answer my question. That is a long time. Did the Owl speak truly?”

“That depends on you people,” replied the light, silvery voice of the tiny Dryad. “Perhaps it will take you eighty years to become wise, perhaps if you, you and your comrades, do not stop asking questions, it may only take fifty years. The great day of freedom may come in twenty, in ten years. Yes, perhaps even tomorrow.”

The tiny Dryad disappeared into the tree, but all the tree called in light, joyous voices to little Paul:

“Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Tomorrow!”