"
When the angel had faded from sight,
the hermit bowed his head again, but this
time with great sorrow and fear. Had his
forty years of prayer been a terrible
mistake, and was his soul indeed like a clown,
fooling in the market-place? He knew not
what to think. Almost he hoped he should
not find the man, and could believe that he
had dreamed the angel vision. But when
he came, after a long, toilful walk, to the
village, and the square, alas! there was the
clown, doing his silly tricks for the crowd.
The hermit stood and looked at him
with terror and sadness, for he felt that he
was looking at his own soul. The face he
saw was thin and tired, and though it kept
a smile or a grin for the people, it seemed
very sad to the hermit. Soon the man felt
the hermit's eyes; he could not go on with
his tricks. And when he had stopped and
the crowd had left, the hermit went and
drew the man aside to a place where they
could rest; for he wanted more than
anything else on earth to know what the man's
soul was like, because what it was, his was.
So, after a little, he asked the clown, very
gently, what his life was, what it had been.
And the clown answered, very sadly, that
it was just as it looked,--a life of foolish
tricks, for that was the only way of earning
his bread that he knew.
"But have you never been anything
different?" asked the hermit, painfully.
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