He closed one eye gently and slowly (like letting a lid down on a box of playthings) and then he closed the other eye the same way; and then he knew nothing at all until suddenly a Voice came clap out of the blue sky, calling his name, "Andy Gordon, man! Andy Gordon!" over the hills and far. Andy was amazed, of course, and said: "Here I am," with all his might, but without making a bit of sound (just as we all do in dreams). "The thing the matter with you," went on the great Voice, without any introduction or anything of the sort but coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, "is that you need Work. You are tired to death with work; work-with-a-little-'w' is killing the soul out of you, Andy; work-with-a-little-'w' always does that to men, if you give it the whole chance. But that can't be helped. You're bound to have a whole lot of it in your life But--_if_ you don't mix some Big-'W' Work in with it, then indeed and indeed your life will be disastrous and your days will be dead." Andy did not know but what he was a-dreaming, though his eyes were now wide open and he could see a robin hopping on the sod. "What is it you mean by Big-'W' Work?" he asked. "Of course, that's the Work you love for the Work's sake. It's Work you do because you love the thing itself you're working for." "You make that hard to understand," said Andy. "Well, and it will be hard for people to understand _you_ when you're at that sort of Work. They know well enough what you're about as long as you turn 'em out yards of flannel down at Glastonbury, don't they?" "Oh, yes, indeed," said Andy. "And it would be the same way if you were a smith and turned 'em out horse shoes, or a bill clerk and turned 'em out bills. They'd understand _that_." "Oh, yes, indeed," said Andy. "But the trouble with that work-with-a-little-'w' is that you do it only for the pay there is in it--never for the love of it--that's why it seems to you a shame to waste your whole life at it, you know." "Indeed it does, and that's why I'm here away from it all," said Andy. "All very well for a while," said the Voice. "But you'll have to keep on at it somewhat--say, half your life at work-with-a-little-'w,' sitting at your machine down yonder at the mill, turning 'em out the stuff they know to be useful." At that Andy fell silent and was sad again. Where would he find a beginning at the Big-"W" Work? he asked himself. But the Voice seemed to know what was in his mind, and answered him: "I can give you that sort of Work. But it will take the best there is in you to do that sort of Work; and the Work will surely die as soon as you've accomplished it. And there will be no money in it for you, at all, and a great deal of pain, care and weariness. But you will find great love in your Work, and for your Work; and though it all vanishes at once you will experience so wonderful a joy that it will seem as if, night and day, God is whispering the secrets of life in your ear."