Vol. VI No. 1 - Modernist Magazines Project

THE LAST WISDOM
lion stem. Now the place seemed empty and deserted. His voice rang
hollow in the stillness and the echoes returned to mock him. Where
the flowers had raised their heads to greet his approach, they drooped
and died 5 the birds had all flown awayj the very trees regarded him
askance.
From place to place he wandered. Everywhere it was the same; his
friends of yesterday knew him no more. They turned in cold distrust
from this intruder of their privacy $ what did he do here, this courtier
in satin coat and haughty plumes? For them, they had no time for such
as he. They mourned a Fool's gay laughter and the music of the bells
in his cap as he gambled down the pathway and left them one May
morn. . . .
Slowly the dwarf retraced his steps. Gone were the green days of the
forest, gone forever, and the future held no gleam of hope.
He stood once more upon the fringe of the trees and looked to right
and left down the highroad. In the far distance he discerned, coming
towards him, the figure of a man, tall and thin, with flowing beard and
staff in hand. The Stranger approached as he had done before, but this
time the dwarf watched him come with an ache of longing in his heart
and a great weariness before his eyes.
Now, the blue eyes of the Weaver were looking into his, the hand
of the Weaver was on his shoulder, and the voice of the Weaver said
gently, insistently:
"Best come with me, Little Fool, to the Towns where the days are
short and the nights are long. Needs must we tread the high road when
the forest paths are closed."
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