At last, one night, he came to a hill, sloping gently as if something beautiful were overflowing. Its trees looked laid upon the mellow west beyond. The turf was like some Titan woman’s embroidery, sheared and flowered. Hazen looked at it all, and at the great sky and the welcoming distance, and before he knew whether it came as a thought or as a song, he had made a little rhyme:-- Do you wish you had a world of gold With a turquoise roof on high, And a coral east and a ruby west And diamonds in the sky? Do you wish there were little doors of air That a child might open wide, Where were emerald chairs and a tourmaline rug And a moonstone moon beside? Do you wish the lakes were silver plates And the sea a sapphire dish? What a wonderful, wonderful world it is-- For haven’t you got your wish? He liked to sing this, and he loved the hill and the evening. He lay there a long time, making little rhymes and loving everything. Next day he wandered away in the woods, and asked for food at a hut, and offered the bewildered woman a rhyme in payment, and at night he returned to his hill, and there he lived for days, playing that he was living all alone in the world--that there was not another person anywhere on the earth. But one night when he was lying on the hillside, composing a song to the Littlest Leaf in the Wood, suddenly the voice of his song was not so loud as a voice within him which seemed to say how much he delighted to be singing. And then he knew the voice--that it was the voice of the Beauty Self in his own head, that it was that voice that had made him linger on the hillside and had commanded him to sing about the beauty in the world _and to do nothing else_. And all this time it had been king of the Selves, and not he! He rose and fled down the hillside, and for days he wandered alone, sick at heart because this fair Beauty Self had tricked him into following her _and no other_, even as the Fun Self and the Knowledge Self had done. But even while he wandered, grieving, again and again the Idle Self, the Strong Self, the Discontented Self, deceived him for a little while and succeeded in making their own voices heard, and now and again the little shadowy Selves--the Malice and Cruel and Envy Selves drew very near him and tried to speak for him. And they all fought to keep him from being king and to deceive him into thinking that they spoke for him.