difficult of ascent of that mountain chain, called "The Ideals." But
he had a strongly-hoping heart and a sure foot. He lost all sense of
time, but he never lost the feeling of hope.

"Even if I faint by the way-side," he said to himself, "and am not
able to reach the summit, still it is something to be on the road
which leads to the High Ideals."

That was how he comforted himself when he was weary. He never lost
more hope than that; and surely that was little enough.

And now he had reached the temple.

He rang the bell, and an old white-haired man opened the gate. He
smiled sadly when he saw the Traveller.

"_And yet another one_," he murmured. "What does it all mean?"

The Traveller did not hear what he murmured.

"Old white-haired man," he said, "tell me; and so I have come at last
to the wonderful Temple of Knowledge. I have been journeying hither all
my life. Ah, but it is hard work climbing up to the Ideals."

The old man touched the Traveller on the arm. "Listen," he said gently.
"This is not the Temple of Knowledge. And the Ideals are not a chain of
mountains; they are a stretch of plains, and the Temple of Knowledge is
in their centre. You have come the wrong road. Alas, poor Traveller!"

The light in the Traveller's eyes had faded. The hope in his heart died.