A Writer of Fables was passing through a lonely forest when he met a Fortune. Greatly alarmed, he tried to climb a tree, but the Fortune pulled him down and bestowed itself upon him with cruel persistence.

“Why did you try to run away?” said the Fortune, when his struggles had ceased and his screams were stilled. “Why do you glare at me so inhospitably?”

“I don’t know what you are,” replied the Writer of Fables, deeply disturbed.

“I am wealth; I am respectability,” the Fortune explained; “I am elegant houses, a yacht, and a clean shirt every day. I am leisure, I am travel, wine, a shiny hat, and an unshiny coat. I am enough to eat.”

“All right,” said the Writer of Fables, in a whisper; “but for goodness’ sake speak lower.”

“Why so?” the Fortune asked, in surprise.

“So as not to wake me,” replied the Writer of Fables, a holy calm brooding upon his beautiful face.