The Childrens Portion | Page 4

Golden Age. And this became
a trouble to the King.
Now there happened to be living at that time in the palace a wise man,
a high Councillor of State, whom the King greatly esteemed, and
whose counsel he had often sought. To him in his trouble the King
turned for advice.
"Let not this trouble thee, O King," the Councillor said. "Both for the
Princes and the people it is good that thoughts on this subject should
come out into talk. But let the thoughts be put to the test. Let the
Princes, with suitable companions, be sent forth to search for this Age
of Gold. Although the Age itself, in its very substance, is hid with God,
there is a country in which shadows of all the Ages are to be seen. In
that country, the very clouds in the sky, the air which men breathe, and
the hills and woods and streams shape themselves into images of the
life that has been, or is to be among men. And whosoever reaches that
country and looks with honest, earnest eyes, shall see the Age he looks
for, just as it was or is to be, and shall know concerning it whether it be
his Age of Gold. At the end of a year, let the travelers return, and tell
before your Majesty and an assembly of the people the story of their
search." To this counsel the King gave his assent. And he directed his
sons to make the choice of their companions and prepare for their
journey.
Yestergold, for his companions, chose a painter and a poet.
Goldmorrow preferred two brothers of the Order of Watchers of the
Sky. But Goldenday said, "I shall be glad if my sister Faith will be
companion to me." And so it was arranged.
Just at that time the King was living in a palace among the hills. And it
was from thence the travelers were to leave. It was like a morning in
Wonderland. The great valley on which the palace looked down, and
along which the Princes were to travel, was that morning filled with
vapor. And the vapor lay, as far as the eye could reach, without a break

on its surface, or a ruffled edge, in the light of the rising sun, like a sea
of liquid silver. The hills that surrounded the palace looked like so
many giants sitting on the shores of a mighty sea. It was into this sea
the travelers had to descend. One by one, with their companions, they
bade the old King farewell. And then, stepping forth from the palace
gates and descending toward the valley, they disappeared from view.
The country to which they were going lay many days' distance between
the Purple Mountains and the Green Sea. The road to it lay through
woods and stretches of corn and pasture land. It was Autumn. In every
field were reapers cutting or binding the corn. At every turn of the road
were wagons laden with sheaves. Then the scene changed. The land
became poor. The fields were covered with crops that were thin and
unripe. The people who passed on the road had a look of want on their
faces. The travelers passed on. Every eye was searching the horizon for
the first glimpse of the mountain peaks. In every heart was the joyful
hope of finding the Golden Age. Can you think what the joy of a young
student going for the first time to a university is? It was a joy like his.
While this joy was in their hearts, the road passed into a mighty forest.
And suddenly among the shadows of the trees a miserable spectacle
crossed their path. It was a crowd of peasants of the very poorest class.
A plague had fallen on their homes, and they were fleeing from their
village, which lay among the trees a mile or two to the right.
Yestergold was the first to meet them. He was filled with anguish. His
sensitive nature could not bear to see suffering in others. He shrank
from the very sight of misery. Turning to his companions, he said, "If
the Lord of Life had been traveling on this road as He was on that other,
long ago, when the widow of Nain met Him with her dead son, He
would have destroyed the plague by a word." "Oh, holy and beautiful
Age!" exclaimed the poet, "why dost thou lie in thy soft swathings of
light, and power to do mighty deeds, so far behind us in the past?" "But
let us use it as a golden background," said the painter. "That is the
beautiful Age on which Art is called to portray the Divine form of the
Great Physician!" Saying these fine