I met a fair child plucking flowers near the highway, and called to her
saying: ‘Little one, what can I do to make you happy?’
Thereupon she came running towards me, crying, ‘Tell me a tale, a tale!’
So I told her a tale of the Castle beneath the Sea, and went my way.
Soon I came upon an old man, warming his blood in the sunshine. I gave
him greeting, and he creased his face with a smile, saying: ‘Stay a
while and I will tell you a tale.’
So I stayed, and he told me a tale I had never heard before. It was
called ‘The Man who could not eat Porridge’; but I have forgotten it
now.
Further down the highway was the edge of a Pine Forest, dark and full of
years, and as I passed I heard Time and Death whispering and chuckling
together in the gloom. I hurried along and came near to the End of the
World. There I met an Angel, sitting on a great flat stone.
‘Tell me, Angel,’ I said, ‘what do you do in the High Hall of Heaven in
the long evenings?’
‘We tell tales,’ replied the Angel, ‘but they are better tales than you
have ever heard or read. Go burn your books, and sit among the crows
until you can understand their tongue!’