"He opened his hands sadly.

"'Go!' he said. 'It may happen that in Truth's song one note is like
yours; but I shall never hear it.'

"Sadly he opened his hand, and the bird flew from him forever.

"Then from the shuttle of imagination he took the thread of his wishes, and
threw it on the ground; and the empty shuttle he put into his breast, for
the thread was made in those valleys, but the shuttle came from an unknown
country. He turned to go, but now the people came about him, howling.

"'Fool, hound, demented lunatic!' they cried. 'How dared you break your
cage and let the birds fly?'

"The hunter spoke; but they would not hear him.

"'Truth! who is she? Can you eat her? can you drink her? Who has ever
seen her? Your birds were real: all could hear them sing! Oh, fool! vile
reptile! atheist!' they cried, 'you pollute the air.'

"'Come, let us take up stones and stone him,' cried some.

"'What affair is it of ours?' said others. 'Let the idiot go,' and went
away. But the rest gathered up stones and mud and threw at him. At last,
when he was bruised and cut, the hunter crept away into the woods. And it
was evening about him."

At every word the stranger spoke the fellow's eyes flashed back on him--