Before the next
wall of rock he began to work. The height of this seemed infinite, and he
said nothing. The sound of his tool rang night and day upon the iron rocks
into which he cut steps. Years passed over him, yet he worked on; but the
wall towered up always above him to heaven. Sometimes he prayed that a
little moss or lichen might spring up on those bare walls to be a companion
to him; but it never came." The stranger watched the boy's face.
"And the years rolled on; he counted them by the steps he had cut--a few
for a year--only a few. He sang no more; he said no more, 'I will do this
or that'--he only worked. And at night, when the twilight settled down,
there looked out at him from the holes and crevices in the rocks strange
wild faces.
"'Stop your work, you lonely man, and speak to us,' they cried.
"'My salvation is in work, if I should stop but for one moment you would
creep down upon me,' he replied. And they put out their long necks
further.
"'Look down into the crevice at your feet,' they said. 'See what lie
there--white bones! As brave and strong a man as you climbed to these
rocks.' And he looked up. He saw there was no use in striving; he would
never hold Truth, never see her, never find her. So he lay down here, for
he was very tired. He went to sleep forever.
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