"Pardon me," he began. "I did not mean to offend you. But your words
seem so strange, that I could not help laughing."

"And were you listening to the voice?" the old man eagerly asked. "Do
the falling waters speak to you as they do to me? Is that why you are
here?"

"Yes, I hear them," was the reply. "But they do not bring any special
message to my mind."

"And they do not tell you of power, of the wonderful things they are
ready and willing to do when men will heed what they are saying?"

"No, I can't say that they do. They make a noise up there among the
trees, but I do not know what they are saying."

"Strange, strange," and the old man placed his hand to his forehead.
"You are like all the rest, then. You hear but you do not understand."

"What do you hear?" the newcomer asked, thinking that he was talking to
a weak-minded creature.

"I hear great things, which will be for the welfare of the whole
community. The waters tell me what they will do. They will make life
worth living. They will give light and power to the people all along
the river and revolutionise their daily tasks. Instead of hard labour
by the sweat of the brow, the waters will do the work. People will be
happy, and have time for the beautiful things of life. Grinding toil
and sorrow will be banished forever."