The man lay in the sunlight; soft breezes blew about him, the far sky stretched o’er him, and the hazy warmth mingled with the moist breath from the river enchanted and bad him dream—

For he was young.

And lo! a field opened to him; the flowers therein were fair women; and unto him, with outstretched hands came she of the purple robe, saying, I am Fervor; take of the food I offer, and you shall speak and all men shall praise you. But he remembered that praise feeds not, and shook his head.

Then she of the white robe came and said: I am Truth; take of this fruit, and you shall not lie, and no men doubt and crucify you; you have reached the highest. But he remembered that few men speak truly, and fewer believe, and turned away. And she of the golden robe said: I am Hope; take of the seed I offer and tho disaster follow ever in thy wake, thou shalt not heed nor see her, thine eyes shall hebe turned to the future, wherein I dwell. But the man was of today and answered, No!

Then from the dusk came one more beautiful than all, her sad eyes glanced at him, her hands were closed, and she said, I have naught to give, my gifts you yourself must earn; but of this I warn you, that as you find you must grant to others, lest the very joy turn as a serpent and sting you; for I am Liberty! and she too passed with the others.

Then from the dusk came a wondrous vision robed as the heavens, and she stretched out her hands and said: I am Imagination; eat from the fruit I offer and the gifts of all these shall be yours. You shall mount with the highest. The joys of Love, Hope, Liberty, and riches in abundance you shall have, (the man stretched his hand,) but ere you eat, know, you shall likewise feel the degradation of the lowliest of creature; the ambitions, success and failures of great and little alike you shall feel! And while the man stopped to consider she passed on.

Years passed, the man grew rich, for he knew not the pains of those he used his friends fell beside, and he grieved not; his wife turned from him, yet it hurt him not. Gold piled up, but it gave him no pleasure, and he sought forever the thing he could not reach. Men talked of joy, and tho he attended banquets he found it not; of love, yet it never came to him.

Men spoke neither good nor ill of him, and women were flattered by his wealth, but ever was there something he sought and could not find.

And on a day when he lay in the sunlight his hours were numbered, for he was an old man now, and his friends stood about, fearful, lest he fail of the sleep that should lend them of his wealth. He dreamed again. And lo! the garden stretched before him, and he walked thuthru; at the far edge a golden pool was flowing, and on its brink were men and women drinking.

Some but dipped their palms below its surface, whilst others went deeper, a few were bold and dived under: to drink of the waters which flowed from a great changing jewel at its bottom. He knew this he had been seeking, for he saw, Imagination was the mother of Sympathy, who makes beautiful the heart of things.

Mary Hansen