beloved ones go by; and then, when it was too late, it has called after
them in pleading to return. They never come back, but the world keeps
repeating their names forever. That is its punishment and their fame."

"What does it need me for?" asked Larry.

"It needs you to paint for it the pictures you see amid the clouds and
on the earth."

"Can't they see 'em?" queried the boy.

"No, not as you can. Their sight is not clear enough. God wants them
to know of it, and so He sends them you to make it plain to them. It
is as though you went to a foreign country where the people's speech
was strange to you. You could not know their meaning unless some one
who understood their language and yours translated it for you. He
would be the only one who could make their meaning clear to you. He
would be an interpreter."

"How am I to get that thing you spoke about that 'd take me up to
heaven, so's I could bring down the beautiful things I see?" inquired
Larry. "Where is it?"

"Inspiration?" asked the voice. "That is everywhere,--all about you,
within and without you. You have only to pray to be given sight clear
enough to see it and power to use it. But now I must leave you. I
have given you my message; give the world yours. Good-by, Lawrence,
good-by;" and the voice had ceased.

Larry stretched out his hands and cried, "Come back, oh, come back!"