The Strange Little Girl

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Once upon a time there was a beautiful palace where the king's children lived as happily

as they alone can live.

They never wanted anything, and they never knew that there could be others who were not

as happy as they.

Sometimes it is true they would hear a story which would make them almost think that perhaps

there was a world beyond, which they did not know, outside the palace of the king and

its gardens.

But something would seem to say that after all it was only a fairy story, and they would

forget that it meant anything that might really be true.

One of the little princesses seemed to think more of these stories of a world beyond the

palace garden than the others, and she would sometimes find herself gazing at the sun,

and wondering if the great world lay beyond the purple forests where the golden edged

clouds shone like dark mountains in the distance.

And the name of this princess was Alene.

More and more as she thought of these things, she felt sure that there must be a world where

things were very different from the happy life in the palace garden.

And in the stories which the children heard, she thought of many things, which with the

others she used to pass by without notice.

Once they used to hear of no sorrow, no pain, but only joy and peace.

Now in thinking she sometimes noticed that there were things which were not spoken, that

there were things passed by in silence, that there were things which travelers passing

through the palace kept back, as though they knew of much which the children must not

know, and yet which they would have told had they dared.

Alene's Alene asked, and the answers seldom satisfied her, for they never seemed to tell

her everything.

Every time one of the travelers left the palace to return on his journey, there seemed

to be a look of appeal in his eyes, and appeal which only Alene seemed to see, in which

made her wish to follow them for the very love that shone in the kind faces of these

strangers.

Strangers who told the children stories of things they loved, of wonderful fairy worlds

where they were not as in the palace, of worlds where Alene seemed to have traveled many

times long, long ago.

One day she asked her father, the king, shall I never go out of the palace, never leave

the garden of delight and see the world that lies beyond the cloud mountains, beyond the

sunset and the whispering forests, and the king looked intently at Alene.

These are strange fancies, he said.

Are you not happy here in the garden?

Yes, I am happy, she said, happier than I can tell, but you have not answered me.

Is there not a world beyond?

Shall I ever see it?

Some traveler must have been telling you forbidden tales, said the king.

These things I have said may not be spoken in my garden.

No traveler has told me, said Alene, I have seen them looking as though they would tell

me but could not, of things beyond the garden, beyond the palace.

I have asked them and they told me nothing, yet I have felt that I long to go with them.

I have felt that I remember strange places, strange sights, things I know not here when

they speak.

Sometimes even it seems that I hear a voice like my own repeating a promise, a promise

unfulfilled that must be kept.

I will return, I will, I will, it says.

And I hear voices calling in the wind in the rustling of the leaves and in the silence

of the day.

Come back, come back, and the birds say, come, the pines whisper to me strange things,

and a laughing water in the Brooks says, come, what does it mean?

I cannot tell you here, said the king, why do you wish to leave the palace?

You are yet young and there are many, many years of happiness before you.

You may stay in the palace for all things are good and put these things out of your mind.

There is another world but not for you yet.

Eileen was troubled, or would have been, had such a thing been possible in the palace

of the king.

May I ever see that land?

May I ever leave the palace?

The children of the king are free to come and go, he said, I may not keep them if they

will not stay, for I know that they will come again, too.

When the traveler came to the palace, he brought with him a harp of seven strings on which

he played to the children.

He sang to them for a while and then for a space was silent.

Eileen listened to the strange, beautiful music, and to her it seemed that there was speech

in the harp, that it spoke.

The other children seemed to listen to the music but to them it did not seem to speak.

To Eileen there were echoes of wonderful things the palace knew not, things that the language

of the king could not tell.

The harp spoke in a way that the princess Eileen knew and understood, although there were

no words in its tones.

There were sad and sorrowful notes that told of sorrows the palace never knew.

There were strains of music that sounded harsh to the listening ear, though to the careless

they told of happiness alone.

And as she listened, Eileen dreamed.

Closer and more clear she felt that the harp told of a world of men were sorrow and sadness

and strife were not unknown, where joy should be and was not, where the people grope their

way through darkness and thought it light.

Return, return called the harp.

When the mighty resolve came to Eileen, I will return, I will, I will.

She remembered the kings saying, the children of the king are free to come and go, he had

said.

I may not keep them if they will not stay, he had told her.

She loved him much, but the call came clear, and she dared not seek him to say farewell

lest she should be persuaded to remain.

She bowed her head, and to the harperer spoke, I will go, she said, I will return with you.

Then the harp sent forth such a melody of joyous music that it echoed thrilling through

the hot, discordant notes of the world beyond the sunset, and for a moment a cord of harmony

ran through the life of men.

Joy unto you, men of the underworld, joy unto you, children of sorrow, joy unto you,

sons of forgetfulness, joy unto all beings.

They passed out of the garden together, the musician and the soul.

Three

westward they traveled, westward, ever westward.

The way was dark and sometimes dreary, and alien felt like one awakened from a beautiful

dream before it was ended.

Through the pine forests, over mountains, in deep valleys, and by mighty streams they

traveled.

For they had the harp to cheer the way, to urge their footsteps onward, for the path was

untrodden where they went.

There is a path, the harper said, a pleasant path in broad, but the journey is long, and

we must hasten on our way, to the setting sun, to the gleaming sea we must go, nor may we

seek a beaten track lest we be too late.

A river there was, in whose waters were reflected pictures of all that surrounded them.

Such crystal clear reflections that sometimes it seemed as if they looked at real things in

the water, mirrored in the things around them.

And on the waters grew beautiful lotus flowers, lilies with cup-shaped leaves.

In the blue and white paddles of the lotus also there seemed to be reflections so clear

where they.

The musician plucked one of the cup-like lily pads and filled it with the water for

eline.

The still surface of the water, shown like silver, in its green cup as a lean held it.

Then the musician played.

Soft and low and sweet were the notes of that wonderful harp.

Scarsely they rippled the surface of the water, and yet they vibrated, trembled, spread,

until picture after picture came to the surface of the water in colors of every hue.

Scarsely may it be told but eline saw in the magic cup in the water of remembrance.

She seemed to see herself, and yet another, in picture after picture.

Now she saw herself as part of a golden sea of cells which made but one self, so lifelike

were they, so glorious was their unity.

Then in life after life eline seemed to see her other selves living and loving and working,

sleeping and suffering and struggling.

She saw that on a day she had made her great resolve to help the world, I will return,

I will, I will.

And now she knew what things they were she had seemed to remember in the King's Garden

of Delight.

Joyously, eagerly, willingly she saw that she had determined to return to earth in body

after body, to help the men of sorrow who struggled and slumbered and suffered.

She saw that she had before so done, that her work remained unfinished, to be begun

again where she had laid it down.

There was suffering shown to her in the cup.

There was sorrow and grief and pain, but she saw that it must all be and was content.

For at other times she had desired just such things that she might know how others felt

them, that she might help them the more with understanding.

As she had taken to give to others, and she must repay the debt.

She saw that all things were just, and when the musician said in a low voice,

Will you yet proceed?

I will, she said.

Then drink the cup, he said, drink.

She drained the green cup of the lotus leaf until scarcely a drop remained, and with

that draft she forgot all things that had been.

The garden, the king, the journey and the vision, and the master harper, all were forgotten.

Only the remained dim remembrance as of a dream at dawn forgotten.

Four

A little ship stood by the shore of the great sea, into this alien entered.

There were other ships, some better, some worse, but somehow she knew that just this

and not another was the ship she wanted, and unquestioned her when she entered.

So they sailed away towards the setting sun.

Long was the voyage and lonely, for the seas ran high and all was dark below in the heart

of the ship.

Nine months they sailed on the ocean until in the time appointed land appeared.

Strange dwellings were there, domes and spires and crowded cities, with wide, wondering

eyes, alien watched them as the ship passed them by in strange procession.

For the men of that land were like none she knew.

None of these things could she remember.

For she had forgotten even her name at the river of forgetfulness, where remembrances

are left in the mirror of the waters until time and their creator bring them back to life.

It seemed as though one of wise and kindly continents held her as a little child in

his arms and whispered softly, remember, I will return, I will, I will.

A light of happy recollection came to her and she smiled and replied.

He had spoken in her own language as the harp had spoken, and strangely, and strangely,

strangely she seemed to see in him the harper whose music had told her of the sorrowful

land beyond the sunset.

For this moment she remembered, and then the thought departed.

At first the air seemed heavy and oppressive to the wanderer, but by degrees she grew

accustomed to it, and even in time scarcely felt it, yet ever and again a dim remembrance

of brighter, purer skies came to her.

She spoke of this more than once, but others only laughed and said, the child is dreaming.

Because she was no longer dressed in shining garments, they did not know her for the princess

she really was.

Indeed, she was no way different from those around her, but that at heart she was still

the daughter of the king.

They could not see her heart, this they could not know.

And seeing that they did not understand, she said no more of the thoughts that came to

her.

They called it dreaming, but Eline thought if this were so, a dream were better than waking

life, unless could these be thoughts that came to her of the world beyond the water,

the reflection of the real life?

She knew not.

We must teach this little dreamer what is life, they said.

She will not know what life is if we leave her to her dreams.

They made her work and made her play, work that never seemed to do anyone any good, and

play that seemed like work.

And nearly forgot that in what they called her dreams she had ever known of another life.

Sometimes she sang to herself, strange songs that they said sounded sad and sorrowful, yet

of a sweetness all their own.

Where does she hear them people asked?

But Eline never told, for the truth was that they came to her in moments when her thoughts

were far away, dreaming.

She seemed like a bird in a cage that knows of a brighter world outside, said one, but

he was a poet, so they only smiled as if they themselves would have made the same remark

if it had not been so fanciful.

And though men thought her sad and lonely, there was joy to her in the hum of the bees and

the songs of the birds and the rustling of the leaves, the butterflies and the flowers

in the brooks were her friends.

It was a strange child, people said, when they heard her talking to these friends.

They did not know of the stories her friends had told her.

Stories which reminded her of a wonderful garden of delight, where men did not ever stare

and stare in gaping wonder, because a little child talked with the fairies that live in

all things beautiful, clothed in robes of sunlight and rainbow hues.

They would have taken her away from these friends, but for one old man, her grandfather,

who said, the child would be better for the fresh air, let her live while she may.

So it was that she played and talked with the flowers and sang to the brooks and listened

to the stories of the forest trees at whispered among themselves, none dared take her away.

One day she had been for a long ramble by a mighty river, and the sun had sunk to the

westward on his journey, but she turned not to the place she called her home.

Tired and worn out with her play, she lay on a rock and slept.

In her sleep it seemed that a touch upon her forehead, awakened in her a vision of

things she had once known, but had now almost forgotten.

There was the king's garden and the palace, and the other wonderful buildings tall and

stately, mighty buildings which seemed to speak of mighty builders, noble thoughts and

great men's deeds.

Some were even more stately, some more humble than the palace, but in all there was a sense

of grander, nobler life than the life those knew who were with her now, and who, laughing,

called her a dreamer.

And she heard a voice repeating, I will return, I will.

Again she smiled as she recognized the voice, a feeling of intense happiness and content

came to her, and she awoke.

More than ever it seemed as if that other were the real life, and this a heavy dream.

Five.

The twilight glow still lingered in the west, and the evening breeze called her to thoughts

of home.

But she had learned wisdom, and when they asked her where she had been, Eileen said she

had fallen asleep in the sunshine on a rock by the Great River, which was true.

Of her dream she said nothing to any except to the old man who alone seemed to understand

her little.

He did not laugh, but looked with thoughtful eyes intent into the distance, away to the

starlit sky, and it seemed to her that he was trying to remember a forgotten dream

of life, and seeing this she put her hand in his, trustingly, and they too knew well each

other's thoughts, though never a word was spoken.

He seemed to the old man that the child was leading him along a familiar road to a home

forgotten, after many weary days of wandering.

There are some things the heart can say that words can never tell, he said to himself

when she was gone.

I think we understand one another.

As time passed by, Eileen came to know more and more of that other life, and she longed

to tell these things to the people who struggled and surged, in hot strife to win the things

of the world they knew, never thinking that there was a happier, purer, brighter world.

Some thought they knew of such a one, but all except a few, made it seem like the one

in which they lived.

Only they made it a little more bright by day, a little more dark by night, and with

a little more success in the strife for the things that change and pass away.

These she would tell of the nobler life she knew, but they listened to not at all.

In due time Eileen was sent to school to learn, but her teachers found little that she did

not quickly understand.

For one thing she remembered now, plainly, how in the garden of delight everything that

was done was well done, were at the telling of a story or the singing of a song or the

watering of the flowers that grew in that fair land.

All was done with a wonderful thoroughness, and Eileen now felt that she must do all things

in that way or leave them quite alone.

But often they would teach Eileen things about which she seemed to care little and understand

as one in a dream.

Then they would call her attention to the work only to find that she was learning to

understand a great deal more than they themselves could tell.

It was so with numbers.

When they asked her what the numbers were by name, she not only named them all, but told

them why they were so named and what each meant.

And so with music.

With every cord she seemed to see harmonies of color, like beautiful pictures, too glorious

to paint.

And when she said that life itself to her was music, Eileen's teachers did not understand.

One said, she has learned these things before in another life.

Another declared, she sees the heart of things where we see only the outer covering.

She sees the soul, we, the body.

Perhaps they both were right.

But many gave other reasons for these things and all of them were gravely discussed.

But curiously enough, the two who gave the reasons I have told were laughed at and told

that such things could not be.

So they said little about their thoughts, because like all those who are sure that they

know the truth, they could afford to wait until their words were proved to be right.

Six.

At first Eileen longed to tell the world of better things.

She would gladly have told the world of the glorious masonry of those noble cities which

she saw in her visions.

Cities where men and women moved like gods, were sorrow and want and selfishness seemed

to be unknown.

She longed to tell them of the harmonies which came to her of music which might stir a dead

world to life, thrilling all nature into blossoms and fruits in abundance, as the music of a

waterfall seems to send life into the flowers which grow beside.

She would have told them of the colors with which nature loves to paint the sky, the mountains

and valleys, sea and land, when all is ready for the master's work.

Four nature paints wherever the canvas is prepared to receive the picture, and she asks

no price for her work.

Eileen knew of times in the past, times that will come again, when man did not ever strive

to be rich regardless of his poor brothers, but each worked as he was able, all working

for the whole world's good.

And she would have told them how in those times man did not earn his living by toil on

ending, by ceaseless pain and sorrow, but that nature helped him as he helped her, and

the earth brought out her stores of rich fruits for the welfare of her upgrown sons.

Well knowing that they in turn with loving service would seek to make nobler and better

that which nature gave to them in charge, birds and beasts, flowers and trees, plants and

stones and all that lives, which is everything.

Eileen saw how the desire to possess more than enough for the selfish pleasures of saying

is mine, how the growth of selfishness in the world, the love of killing nature's younger

sons for food and pleasure increased, how the love of ease and forgetfulness of others

and of duty to mother nature, how all these things had chilled the warmth of the one great

life that is in all things, and crippled the mother's efforts to help her wayward sons.

Others had told these things, others had striven to show the glorious light of life that

shines behind the cold mist of sin and sorrow which has been cast like a veil over the earth,

that all had been rejected, some were ill received, some were stoned, some were killed.

How can I raise this humanity which, like a great orphan, has cut itself off from its

mother and now lies ignorant of the happiness that awaits its coming, thought ining?

I have returned to tell them of the way and they will not hear.

Others have returned as far as they might and have been rejected, others still have boldly

plunged deeper yet in the hot sea of human life and been lost in its poisonous fumes.

Even so, I will again return, yet lower, if by chance there be a few who will not reject

my message.

Seven So Eileen hid in her heart the things she knew and the things she would have told,

as she had hidden in her soul at the river of forgetfulness the memory of the King's garden

of delight.

And she took her way into the world with messages of love and of hope, such simple messages

as the children understood, better sometimes than their elders.

She told the children many beautiful fairy stories and they listened eagerly.

They did not know that these were the stories which she had told the learned ones of earth

and which were really true, though they had not believed.

The children listened and they said, it is beautiful.

Someday we will seek out such a beautiful world as that of which the stories tell.

There were houses too which they built, little toy houses with toy bricks, but Eileen

showed them how to shape the bricks and how to make each brick fit in its proper place,

so that never a one should lose its worth.

And Eileen showed the children how that behind the building of beautiful mansions there

was the beautiful thought that made the masonry so noble a work, though it were only toy masonry,

and the children understood.

In their games they had done each's best and they did well, but Eileen showed them games

in which they all acted together, even the little ones helping and sharing.

It was wonderful to them that they had not thought of this before because now they found

that they could do more than ever they had done when each worked alone and for himself.

Near the city where they dwelt was a vast plain full of great boulders, which they could

have made into a great park and a beautiful garden, but the people of the city care not

for such things and would not help them.

By themselves they knew not how to move the rocks, so it remained a waste of wild growth

except in those places where the children had moved one by one and with great difficulty,

the smaller stones.

Now Eileen bid them take a strong rope.

For Sachi we will clear that plain and in shall be for a dwelling and a garden for all.

She was thinking of the king's garden.

The children looked at her in astonishment as though they wondered if she met the thing

she said.

We have no rope, they said, and none will give us any.

There is your rope, Sachi Eileen, pointing out the overgrown plain, where amid the rocks

in the great patches from which they had slowly and painfully drawn the smaller stones grew

masses of pale blue flowers, beautiful delicate little blossoms like wind flowers.

Again the children looked at her, questioningly, not as the people at first had done but

trustingly, though they knew not what she would have them do but sought to learn her wishes.

So at her bidding they gathered all the ripened stalks of the little flowers and laid them

out in the sun as she directed.

Almost it seemed a pity to destroy the plants.

One little worker asked Eileen of this matter for he loved the flowers and was soy to see

them gathered and dried.

Does it not hurt the flowers to pluck them he asked?

Some say that you can talk with them as with all living things, and you can tell if the

flowers do not suffer in the gathering, although they are old and ripe.

His was a loving heart and Eileen saw that he asked this out of no mere curiosity.

Gently she touched his forehead with her finger.

Look, she said.

Look and listen, for I have opened the seeing eye to you.

Eight.

And the boy looked around in wonderment, amazed, and saw that the whole great plain was full

of teeming life which he had not before seen.

Fairies and elves peeped from every flower, gnomes and earth men worked and played and

danced among the boulders.

And where before was silence but for the rustling of the leaves in the breeze, there rose a

murmur of many voices like the humming of bees in the sunshine.

The boy listened and at once he knew what the flowers were whispering.

There is a saying that the flax people are being used for a mighty work said one little

blue fairy to another.

I heard a bee spreading the news, said another.

All the flax people are asked to give their dressets to help in clearing the plain for

a palace and a garden where the kings may dwell.

Not kings of earth and of little cities, but kings of wisdom whom nature loves to obey,

and we among her children.

Body after body have I grown, said the other, I have struggled and striven to grow useful

in this glorious brotherhood of nature, and my only success seems to be that I have a

pretty head.

It is good to be beautiful, perhaps, but I have always thought that I would sacrifice

my beauty for a chance of sharing in noble deeds.

A butterfly that had stopped to listen now spoke to her.

You have waited and now you will have your reward.

For surely your body will be taken to help in the work that is going forward.

The flax people have indeed lived to good purpose.

They certainly do not seem afraid to die, said the boy to himself.

And as if an answer to his whisper thought the little flax fairy said,

Of course we are not afraid.

I have been told that there are giants of men who really think that when they leave their

worn-out stalks, bodies they call them, behind they live no more, or at least are not sure

what becomes of themselves, but it cannot be true, it must be a fairy story left the little elf.

They must know, as we know, that all things sleep a while and then take new bodies like dresses

woven while they worked in their last awaking which men call life.

And then one day we know that we shall have woven dresses so fine that we shall be free to leave

them, as the butterfly leaves his dull, ewed robes and spreads his bright wings for flight into the

grand unknown, which we all long to know. But how do you know that these things are so as the boy?

How do I know that I am alive answered the flax fairy in a murmur?

Fainter grew the voices, and the vision faded from the boy's sight.

He knew not how long it was he stayed there, but after a while he awoke with a start to find

that Aline was no longer with him, and that he had slept among the flax in the sunshine.

9. It must have been a dream, he said, but he did not believe it was a dream for all his words,

and really the flowers seemed to him to bear a new life after that wonderful vision which came

to him when Aline gave him for an hour the seeing eye. Working with the others joyfully and happily

without a moment's pause or one thought of failure, they saw quickly growing and immense

heap a beautiful fine white thread. The children had helped the flax to grow, and now in turn it

aided them to clear more ground. For a no-long time all was finished, and before them they had a mighty

rope growing greater every day under their leader's eye. One strange thing there was about the rope

for there were golden threads interwoven in which the children did not remember having seen

among the flax, and they wondered. But Aline only said, it is golden flax. Whatever it was it

shown brightly in the sun until it looked like a ray of real sunlight in the rope. One little child

said, it looks like a brother to the sun. Perhaps it is that Aline smiled. The work grew a pace,

and the play grew a pace because the children scarcely knew which was work and which was play.

They seemed to have found something better than both. Stone after stone, rock after rock was

encircled with the cord and triumphantly drawn by that merry army of children to the edge of the

plane. Clearer and clearer grew the space, where before the stones had been little pools of

water formed, well round them grew masses of beautiful flowers, among which was a new crop of

the little blue flax, stronger and better grown than any that had been there before.

Gradually they are grew up a great wall of rock around the plane where the boulders were drawn

by the children. For each was taken to its nearest boundary, as Aline told them this would be the

simplest way to clear the plane. Some mighty rocks yet remained in the center of the plane,

but the children had so seen the wisdom of their leader that they doubted not that these two

would be removed without difficulty, although how this was to be done they could not tell.

And as the work was nearing an end they did as their leader bid them in perfect trust.

Actually they put the ropes around a rock which some said was like a small mountain.

They pulled with a will, but the rock moved not.

Still they pulled willingly and with all their might, for now they had grown strong until they

scarcely knew their own powers. From the great city, from the mountains, and from the country round

about, came sightseers and inquirers. At first they only laughed and talked and helped not at all,

but among them came men of strange countenance, strong men, wise in looks, men of kingly bearing,

these said, it is not right that these children should work forever alone,

and they too, with strong grip of a strange sort, laid hold of the golden ropes,

seeing which the Eilers two came and helped until with a mighty song of joy the children saw

the great rock move, slowly at first, then faster, faster until with a run they had placed it in

a far corner of the great plane, standing like a sentinel to the north.

10.

Another and yet others followed. East and south and west, the unhwn boulders stood like guardians

of the plane. A circle of twelve yet remained in the center like giant pillars supporting the sky.

But these Eilene said should stand, as also some smaller ones which were placed across

their tops like great beams resting upon a doorway. How this was done I cannot say,

but there was a saying in the city that in the night before they were found placed high above

the giant circle, the sound of a great and joyous song, a hymn of power was heard like the tones

of a great bell shaking the houses with its vibrations and putting men in fear of the destruction

of their city. But at sunset the children had not returned from the plane so that they were not

in the city when this happened, and not until the sun rise to the people flock to the doors and

windows for a glimpse of the joyous army that marched in their streets. Led by the men of

kingly bearing the children marched, singing a song of triumph, with such shining glory in their

faces that all the people marveled. Tired they were and slept, but when in the late noon

tide the people asked them what had happened, all seemed like the forgotten glory of a dream.

They could remember little except that they were filled with the joy of wonderful things which

no tongue could tell. The work had not taken one day, or two, but many days. Once and even years

had passed since the children played together in the sunshine. Strong and sturdy lads and

lasses were they now. A beautiful temple had arisen within the giant circle, and all around it

was a garden of beauty like no garden which they had seen. But when Eileen looked to mid the rare

flowers and found a little purple star with heart of gold, she knew that it was a flower from the

king's garden, and she was glad that it could grow or all was rock before. There were great

purple pansies too, like thoughts from the palace in which Eileen had lived.

Now it was that the children came to the temple to learn of Eileen, and she taught them the wonderful

truths which she knew. To them she told the wonderful things that have been, and the more wonderful

things that may be, if men will only try to bring them about. She taught them things so simple

that they often wondered why they had not already known them without the telling.

They did not know that there was a good reason why it should be so.

Eileen taught them, too, how by all working together for the welfare and progress of all,

there is no task we may not overcome. We know it's of the children remembering the waste of rocks

in the plain where now the gardens stood and the temple. Each by himself can do much,

but all working together can move the world, she said.

Now I will tell you a strange thing, which is yet true. For we are not at all separate from any

other thing in the world, but the same nature is in us as in them, in the rocks and the flowers,

in the forests and streams, in city and mountain, in air and fire and water.

Just as the rocks and this temple are of the same stone, although they differ in shape.

And if we only will, we can make all our rocks into beautiful, glorious temples.

When the world of men has learned this lesson, the earth itself will become a mighty temple,

that the wise teachers of old, who men call gods, may come to us again and live with us in peace

forevermore. And it shall be known that music is life. For in music is harmony, and by harmony,

all things live, each note in its own place, doing its perfect work, be it great or small.

For this too is a brotherhood of harmony. Because in those days the people listened to the teachings

from the temple, and to the great ones who came to dwell therein when it was finished,

and who taught the seekers after truth through their messenger Alene,

their were happiness and joy and peace in all the land.

Men became nobler as they thought of nobler things than had hitherto been their custom.

Seeing the beauty of the temple and the mighty work that comes of aiding nature,

working in unity and harmony, they also built their houses to be like the temple.

Stone they used for brick, beautiful they built them within and without,

and they labored to make their dwellings fit temples for the gods.

For it was said among them that sometimes strangers would visit their city,

and seeking entrance would dwell with them a while where they found a welcome.

And it was notice that always they came to such dwellings as those where the beauty and

harmony of the building show a beauty and harmony within. And when they left the house,

there always seemed to remain a memory of their presence as a ray of light at sunset leaves a memory

of joyous days, and a sense of hope for brighter days yet to come.

When this thing happened the neighbors would gather together, and it was said,

the master has built the house. Then the great beam which rested on the pillars of the doors was

lifted and where it had stood was built an arch of stone, and last of all was dropped in place

the keystone which held the arch, and there was great rejoicing for the people said,

the house is finished. Some there were who would have lifted the beam and built the arch,

but unless the master had been in the house, always some accident would occur and the house

be destroyed. In the center of the arch was placed a great light which was ever kept burning,

for it was fed with oil of gold which never burns away, but whose smoke ever turns to oil again.

Each light was like the greater light which ever shown from the dome of the temple,

a light to lighten all around. Such light as it was said went out to the world from the temple

itself in the knowledge of the laws of life and of all things good and great and beautiful.

Never was the light to be put out, less harm should come. Day and night it was held a sacred

duty to guard the light. When that light shown there was peace and plenty in the land,

for fellowship made life joyful. Some called that glorious time the golden age.

Some there are even now among us who will bring that golden age again to earth as then,

through brotherhood and the joy of life, that misery shall not always be among us,

nor poverty, sorrow and pain. 11. But there came a day when messengers from far off lands came

oversee a great journey to the temple, and to Eileen they told the despair and want and the madness

of unbrotherliness that men knew in the countries once they came. Countries where the light

shown no longer, of wars and of famines they spoke, of poverty, oppression and crime.

Eileen's great compassion could not be silent to appeal. From these things I say humanity shall

be saved," said she. I have a duty here, but there are guardians in the temple,

and the call comes loud to me from the world beyond. I will go."

Those messengers heard with joy of the success of their journey, for they had traveled far,

and had overcome many trials and difficulties, by the way. And all the time they had hoped in

perfect faith that they would return with some encouragement to the country once they came,

and outless it was because of the grand faith they showed that Eileen herself answered their call.

Guard well the temple while I am away, Eileen charged to people. I must travel far,

but at no time I will return. I will return. Be watchful therefore that the light be burning,

that the oil fade not. None can tell the time of the coming, whether it be by night or day,

with your lives must you guard the light. She spoke somewhat sadly as it seemed to them,

and they supposed she thought of the great misery and need of those she went to suck or in their

distress, and they answered them more eagerly, we will, we will. For the first time since it had

been built the temple was left without its head, a sacred trust indeed. They thought they knew

themselves. They thought they knew the evil in their natures and the good, did those temple watchers,

and in their surety of knowing they grew careless so that in no long time they lost their

caution. Some there were who were faithless, and these began to tell them of their great success,

how they had built the temple, how their industry and labor had succeeded, how well they had learned

to know themselves. Gently they suggested these things, gently these sayings took root, almost

unperceived. Our temple which we have built is very mighty, it can never fail, they said.

Some few there were who would have spoken for Eileen, but they were timid and afraid of those who

talked so boastfully, wherefore they were silent. It is true that one or two attempted to recall

the noble deeds of the absent one, and to point out that she had really built the temple,

they had supplied only the labor, hit the fruits of it were theirs and the worlds.

True, said the wicked and faithless ones, she had a great mind for building but she made mistakes.

She herself said so, we have learned by those mistakes and we know. She would have made the

temple's teachings too common altogether, why she actually began to turn into a teacher of virtues

of which the world is weary, instead of building as at first. She had taught all she knew but we

can teach greater things and better things. We can teach the world 20 different styles of building

in metals, wood, stone and marble, of ornaments and decorations enough to last for a century.

Thus we honor her, thus we carry on her work and make it grow, although she made mistakes.

Indeed, she didn't make mistakes, said one, and the greatest mistake of all was when she chose

such faithless craftsmen for the temple work, shame on you. Oh, faithful ones, said they,

such faith deserves a great reward. To you we will entrust the duty of finding her.

We will give you all you need for the voyage, a ship and provisions enough for a year.

12 So those treacherous ones cast a drift on the ocean, the one who remained faithful,

and those others who would have spoken out for their absent teacher were silenced against their

own better natures, for those wicked ones had been great among them, and they were afraid.

It was thought that in no long time the winds and waves would destroy the little ship with

its lonely voyager, yet with stout heart, knowing that he might not return alone, he held on fearless

and determined. Sometimes it seems that those who so follow the voice of their inner wisdom in

darkness courage are helped by nature, as though she ever loved such brave hearts.

I have heard the story told how the great Columbus who found a new world was beset by his

followers to return. How nature sent him messages that he was nearing land, birds and driftwood,

branches of trees and floating weed. He read the message with the eyes of one who loves all nature

well and promised sight of land to his men in three days, a promise that was fulfilled.

So it was that the little ship with the one who remained faithful did a greater work than ever

those desired who sent it. Slowly, slowly in the temple, it came about that the guardians

forgot their duty, forgot that they were there to guard the temple in sacred trust for humanity,

and as the wicked ones among them wished, they busied themselves about many things,

but not the one thing needful, the welfare and the progress of mankind.

How can the tale be told? A tale that is new yet old, old beyond count of years.

For the enemies of the world, with whom those wicked ones were leaked, came suddenly by night,

when the sacred lamp which sent rays of hope over the great ocean was allowed to flicker and go out.

And those enemies destroyed the temple so that scarcely one stone remained upon another.

And with it were destroyed those weak ones who failed in their trust. All perished, and with them

perished for a time the light of the world. 13. It is said, how truly I know not, that beneath the

foundation pillars of the temple was wisely prepared by Alene of Alt, a vast cave wherein were hidden

the most sacred records of the temple, and the sacred secret name which they had forgotten.

To her over the sea came the knowledge of the faithless guard, and in her agony she called upon

that sacred name, if by chance the temple should be saved. In days of old men knew that there is a

power in words, a power now forgotten. Stories there are which tell of city walls falling at a

trumpet blast, of cities rising as if by magic at a word, of mighty doors thrown open,

of nature spellbound by a song, of mighty names the gins and genie of the desert obey.

And this sacred name was such a one as these, her with its whispering a mighty thrill passed out

over the world, and the foundations of the sea were shaken. Vast continents were destroyed,

and men said the world was at an end. Terrible was the time, but Alene knew that it was better so,

for the remnant of the living might one day restore the ancient glory of that land.

But had it been that the land remained, those wicked ones would have lived and worked to destroy

the whole world, so that not even a remnant should be left in the bosom of the waters to

reap people the earth. After many days tossed and beaten by the waves, the little ship with the

outcast faithful one came drifting to the land where Alene was. The winds and the sea conspired,

as it seemed, to urge the ship on her voyage, and the dwellers of the ocean pointed the way,

watchful ever and untiring in their duty. Small as it was, and ill-found, Alene chose this ship

for her return, and once again she came to the place where the temple had stood. She and that

faithful one. She gazed at the ruins of that sacred spot, and sadly looked at the tops of the

mighty pillars, just rising above the waves of the sea, which at times filled the arches in between,

so that no man might pass beneath. Unseen guards there were, Alene knew, guards who would keep

that spot free for future generations of a world to come. Water nymphs, sea sprites, and earth

cobblins, undines, gnomes, and silphs throughout there as sentinels of a sacred trust, and Alene was

content to go. For she said the secret vault of the sacred name yet stands intact until these

same faithless ones shall come again, purified by many wanderings and trials, and shall again guard

that new old temple with me. That time they shall not fail. An array of glorious hope shown in her

face as she left the ruin temple. I will return, she said. I will return.

End of the Strange Little Girl by VM