"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 carried all I was able to bear, for I am not very strong nowadays, and I came as often as I could. In fact, I did my best the first thing that came to hand. I want you to do the same. That is duty. I don't bear malice toward you because you were dissatisfied with me. You did not know. If you tried the best you could and people complained, you ought not to let their discontent discourage you. I brought you a whiff of perfume; you can bring some one a sincere effort. By and by, when I am stronger and can blow good gales and send the great ships safely into port and waft to land the fragrant smell of their spicy cargo, you may be doing some greater work and giving the world something it has been waiting for." "The world don't wait for things," said Larry. "It goes right on; it does n't care. I 'm hungry and ragged, and I have n't no place to sleep; but the world ain't a-waitin' fer me ter get things ter eat, ner clo'es to me back, ner a soft bed. It ain't a-waiting fer nothin', as I can see." "It does not stand still," replied the voice; "but it is waiting, nevertheless. If you are expecting a dear, dear person--your mother, for instance--" "I ain't got no mother," interrupted Larry, with a sorrowful sigh; "she died." "Well, then--your sister," suggested the voice. "I ain't got no sister. I ain't got nobody. I 'm all by meself," insisted the boy.