Vol. VI No. 1 - Modernist Magazines Project

THE LAST WISDOM
could see. He stopped, amazed , such a sight was indeed new. Where
and to what did this gleaming ribbon lead? So there were other worlds
beyond that of the forest, and,, perhaps, creatures too as wise or wiser
than the jackdaw!
At that moment a shadow darkened the way and into view there
came the figure of a man, tall and thin, with grey hair and flowing
beard. Over his shoulder was a tattered cloak and in his hand he carried
a staff. His face was weather-beaten and wrinkled, but his eyes were
of the blue that belongs to eternal youth. When he had come abreast
of the thicket where the little dwarf crouched, he paused, and, sitting
down on a heap of stones, took from his wallet some bread and cheese.
As he ate, two black eyes watched him anxiously, first with af right, then
with a growing curiosity. At last from the tangled hiding-place the
dwarf emerged. Creeping to the stranger's side, he touched him on the
arm. The bells tinkled warningly upon his cap and the man looked
round.
"Why! What have we here?" He cried in a voice that was full and
musical. "Here's a curiosity to whet the most jaded appetite! And
what brings you here, my little fellow? I thought the last of your sort
were dead and buried these many years."
Saying which he set the trembling little monster upon his knee and
regarded him with interest. From his lofty perch the dwarf looked
back and, seeing that no harm befell him, he presently took courage and
began to tell his new friend of the forest whence he had come and the
wonders that he found there. He whispered to him how the bluebells
Sn springtime got their blue, of the place where the butterflies kept
their wings and where to reach the "rainbow's end" in April showers.
All this and more he told him and when he had finished the Stranger
replied:
"Little Fool, I like you. I come from a world where the people are
dull and tired. They have forgotten the mysteries of which you speak
and are wise only in their own conceits. They call me the Weaver of
Eternity. Through my fingers their days run out like the quicksands on
the shore and fall as foam upon the ocean wave. Yet I love this wayward
folk and long to bring them happiness again, such happiness as
they knew when they were children and have since forgotten. Will
you come with me and share my task? You shall have gold and fine
raiment, sweet food to eat and pleasures without end. Such luxury as
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