HORACE HOLLEY ex-'10

The Fool was sitting by his half-built sod house. This was the season of building, for the sun shone; and moreover presently would come the bitter unending rain of winter, when it were better to be abiding safely at home. Nevertheless the Fool sat happily idle, for he never could get enough of the sunshine, though he rose with the sun in the morning and wistfully watched it set at night. Now he was twirling a dandelion between thumb and finger, and gazing out across the valley to the running hills of the north country. It so happened that the Fool's house was on a cross-road, and presently, as he was a-sitting at his ease, along came the King of that land, with a great cavalcade of soldiers and retainers. And because on their brazen shields and helmets the sun was reflected more brightly than from yonder peak, the Fool turned to gaze at them as they wound past. In sooth, had it not been for that, he would never have given them a glance at all, not having much curiosity about the things other people love to gape at.

Beside the King rode the King's Favorite, a very goodly man, one who was closest of all to the King's ear and heart. Plainly enough could the Fool see, even though he was only dreamily a-looking, a bright golden figure seated upon the saddle with the King's Favorite. This, as all men know, was Preferment, and a sudden wistful longing seized upon the Fool's heart, that he had never known the like of since the time he had cried for the moon. His jaw dropped, and his eyes grew misty. In a little while the troop was by, gone around the hill, but the Fool could not forget them, and many new desires tugged at his heart.

"Why," he wondered, "doth not Preferment live with me? Am I not as fit a man as the King's Favorite?" And he stretched out his long legs and looked at them.

As long as the Fool was occupied with dreaming and laying the sods on his house, or hunting for the dun deer of a moonlit night, he was company enough for himself, turning his fancies over and over in his mind, as the wind bundles the clouds about the sky; then when he had arranged his conceptions to his taste, he was free to admire them undisturbed, until a new fancy happened along to displace them; just as the wind leaves off driving the clouds at sunset, and in the west there is a sweet tableau for men to look at, till night blots out the scene. So the Fool was usually well content to be alone. But when, as now, he was perplexed by any problem that disturbed his simple cheerfulness, he had to seek some other and wiser man for counsel, not being one of those men, more mind than heart, who unravel problems with as much accuracy and equanimity as a skilful weaver plies his loom.

So that evening, with the moon sending his shadow out ahead of him, the Fool walked overfield to the cave of the Wise Man. Timidly approaching, he peered through the entrance and found the Wise Man sitting still and alone, gazing into the ashes of a flickering fire.

"Please," said the Fool anxiously, "why does Preferment ride with the
King's Favorite and never with me?"

The other did not stir for a long while, but after the Fool had shifted several times from one foot to the other, beginning to despair of an answer, the Wise Man spoke.

"Because," he said slowly, still looking into the fire, "thou hast never desired him to." And, having spoken, he kept silent, and after a little the Fool turned away.

"I never desired him to?" he muttered over and over to himself. "What does that mean?" And he stood stock still and looked about for explanation; but none was vouchsafed by the moon, or the bushes, or night itself, the customary adviser of the Fool's doubts and queries.

"How is this?" he said again. "Did the King's Favorite, then, desire him? And will Preferment come if he be wanted? And how does one ask him?"

All this was inexplicable to the Fool and he took courage to return to the cave.

"Tell me," he asked of the Wise Man, "did the King's Favorite want
Preferment more than I? And how does Preferment come if he is wanted?"

The Wise Man nodded gently to himself. "Aye," he muttered, "so it is, so it is." The Fool gazed in amazement at this, but because he thought all Wise Men are somewhat mad, he waited and did not run away, as his heels advised.

"Listen," the Wise Man began again, "this man has so wanted Preferment all his life that he has given up everything that is dear to him. He has crushed underfoot every dream and vision save this alone, to be seen in the company of Preferment." The Wise Man turned and looked about at the Fool. "He has no sod house,—no days afield and by the brook. He never heard the night-song of the wind or the winter-rune of the pine. Nothing of all these things that you love has he had."

The Fool's eyes were round with amazement. "No sod house?" But the other was sunk into a reverie and gave no answer. The Fool stood first on one foot, then on the other, then with his old smile he turned and skipped away. As he returned through the night, walking, hopping, or running, as the need came to him, he crooned to himself a song he had once made up.

"My lips are a-tremble with a grave little song.
I care not if the wide world hear.'
Its words happened forth as I dreamed and trudged along.
I care not if the wide world hear.

"It has not worth nor weight, it is neither sweet nor strong.
I care not if the wide world hear.
For I sing it to myself when the great doubts throng
And I care not if the wide world hear."

That was all, but he hummed it with great content, beating time with one hand; and as for the King's Favorite, for all that Preferment rideth on the pommel of his saddle, I doubt not he never sang such a song to himself, or took such pleasure in the singing.

Literary Monthly, 1907.