"I have told thee a hundred times."

"But I want to hear it again."

"Use thy memory and thy imagination."

"Oh, no, please tell me. I like to hear some one tell something."

"Thee does? Then listen to the whip-poor-will, the cricket or the
brook."

"I hear them, but I do not know what they say. Tell me."

"Tell thee! No one can tell thee, child, if thee can not understand for
thyself. The message differs for the hearers, and the difference is in
the ear and not the sound."

They both paused for a moment, and listened to those soothing lullabies
with which nature sings the world to sleep. So powerful was the tide
that floated the mystic out on the ocean of dreams, he would have
drifted away again if the child had not suddenly recalled him.

"I can not make out what they say," he cried, "and anyhow there is no
time to try. Come, let us go. Everybody is waiting for us."

"Thee is right," answered his uncle. "Go and let down the bars and we
will hurry home."

The child, bounding forward, did as he was told, and the tired
procession entered the barnyard. The plowman fed his horses, and stopped