"'Who are you?' asked the hunter.
"'I am Wisdom,' answered the old man; 'but some men call me Knowledge. All
my life I have grown in these valleys; but no man sees me till he has
sorrowed much. The eyes must be washed with tears that are to behold me;
and, according as a man has suffered, I speak.'
"And the hunter cried:
"'Oh, you who have lived here so long, tell me, what is that great wild
bird I have seen sailing in the blue? They would have me believe she is a
dream; the shadow of my own head.'
"The old man smiled.
"'Her name is Truth. He who has once seen her never rests again. Till
death he desires her.'
"And the hunter cried:
"'Oh, tell me where I may find her.'
"But the old man said:
"'You have not suffered enough,' and went.
"Then the hunter took from his breast the shuttle of Imagination, and wound
on it the thread of his Wishes; and all night he sat and wove a net.
"In the morning he spread the golden net upon the ground, and into it he
threw a few grains of credulity, which his father had left him, and which
he kept in his breast-pocket. They were like white puff-balls, and when
you trod on them a brown dust flew out. Then he sat by to see what would
happen. The first that came into the net was a snow-white bird, with
dove's eyes, and he sang a beautiful song--'A human-God! a human-God! a
human-God!' it sang.
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