em to be understood. God alone
can understand foolishness."

"Then," I said, feeling naked and very worthless, "will you be so good
as show me the nearest way home? There are more ways than one, I know,
for I have gone by two already."

"There are indeed many ways."

"Tell me, please, how to recognise the nearest."

"I cannot," answered the raven; "you and I use the same words with
different meanings. We are often unable to tell people what they NEED to
know, because they WANT to know something else, and would therefore only
misunderstand what we said. Home is ever so far away in the palm of your
hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get
there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not
at home, has to go home. You thought you were at home where I found you:
if that had been your home, you could not have left it. Nobody can leave
home. And nobody ever was or ever will be at home without having gone
there."

"Enigma treading on enigma!" I exclaimed. "I did not come here to be
asked riddles."

"No; but you came, and found the riddles waiting for you! Indeed you
are yourself the only riddle. What you call riddles are truths, and seem
riddles because you are not true."

"Worse and worse!" I cried.

"And you MUST answer the riddles!" he continued. "They will go on asking
themselves until you understand yourself. The universe is a riddle
trying to get out, and you are holding your door hard against it."

"Will you not in pity tell me what I am to do--where I must go?"

"How should I tell YOUR to-do, or the way to it?"

"If I am not to go home, at least direct me to some of my kind."

"I do not know of any. The beings most like you are in that direction."

He pointed with his beak. I could see nothing but the setting sun, which
blinded me.

"Well," I said bitterly, "I cannot help feeling hardly treated--taken
from my home, abandoned in a strange world, and refused instruction as
to where I am to go or what I am to do!"

"You forget," said the raven, "that, when I brought you and you declined
my hospitality, you reached what you call home in safety: now you are
come of yourself! Good night."

He turned and walked slowly away, with his beak toward the ground. I
stood dazed. It was true I had come of myself, but had I not come with
intent of atonement? My heart was sore, and in my brain was neither
quest nor purpose, hope nor desire. I gazed after the raven,