“Would you not like a piece also, my son?” “I would like a little piece,” said the boy, and he sat down before the Philosopher, and they ate together happily. When they had finished the Philosopher praised the gods, and then said, more to himself than to the boy: “If I had a little drink of water I would want nothing else.” “There is a stream four paces from here,” said his companion. “I will get some water in my cap,” and he leaped away. In a few moments he came back holding his cap tenderly, and the Philosopher took this and drank the water. “I want nothing more in the world,” said he, “except to talk with you. The sun is shining, the wind is pleasant, and the grass is soft. Sit down beside me again for a little time.” So the boy sat down, and the Philosopher lit his pipe. “Do you live far from here?” said he. “Not far,” said the boy. “You could see my mother’s house from this place if you were as tall as a tree, and even from the ground you can see a shape of smoke yonder that floats over our cottage.” The Philosopher looked but could see nothing. “My eyes are not as good as yours are,” said he, “because I am getting old.” “What does it feel like to be old?” said the boy. “It feels stiff like,” said the Philosopher. “Is that all?” said the boy. “I don’t know,” the Philosopher replied after a few moments’ silence. “Can you tell me what it looks like to be young?” “Why not?” said the boy, and then a slight look of perplexity crossed his face, and he continued, “I don’t think I can.” “Young people,” said the Philosopher, “do not know what age is, and old people forget what youth was. When you begin to grow old always think deeply of your youth, for an old man without memories is a wasted life, and nothing is worth remembering but our childhood. I will tell you some of the differences between being old and young, and then you can ask me questions, and so we will get at both sides of the matter. First, an old man gets tired quicker than a boy.” The boy thought for a moment, and then replied: “That is not a great difference, for a boy does get very tired.” The Philosopher continued: “An old man does not want to eat as often as a boy.” “That is not a great difference either,” the boy replied, “for they both do eat. Tell me the big difference.” “I do not know it, my son; but I have always thought there was a big difference. Perhaps it is that an old man has memories of things which a boy cannot even guess at.” “But they both have memories,” said the boy, laughing, “and so it is not a big difference.” “That is true,” said the Philosopher. “Maybe there is not so much difference after all. Tell me things you do, and we will see if I can do them also.” “But I don’t know what I do,” he replied.