Dreamland | Page 2

figures of beautiful maidens in gossamer garments, and they would seem to be at play, flinging flecks of sunlight this way and that, or winding and unwinding their flaky veils to fling them saucily across the face of the sun.
But none of these wondrous visions lasted. They remained long enough to wake in Larry's heart a great longing for more, and then they would disappear and he would be all the lonelier for the lack of them. That was the greatest of his discouragements. What would he care for heat or cold or hunger or thirst if he could only capture these fleeting pictures once for all, so that he could always gaze at them and dream over them and make them his forever!
That was one of the things for which Larry was wishing as he lay under the trees that summer day. He was thinking: "If there was only some way of getting them down from there! It seems to me I 'd do anything in the world to be able to get them down from there. I--."
"No, you would n't," said a low voice next his ear,--"no, you would n't. You 'd lie here and wish and wonder all day long, but you would n't take the first step to bring your pictures down from heaven."
For a moment Larry was so mightily surprised that he found himself quite at a loss for words, for there was no one near to be seen who could possibly have addressed him; but presently he gained voice to say,--
"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