beat their brains,
But they could not answer him at all,
In spite of all their pains.

But still he wandered here and there,
This man of great renown,
And still he questioned everywhere,
The folk of Haarlem town:

"If all the world was paper,
And if all the sea was ink,
And if the trees were bread and cheese,
What would we do for drink?"

Full thin he grew, as, day by day,
He toiled with mental strain,
Until the wind blew him away,
And he ne'er was seen again.

And now methinks I hear you say,
"Was ere a man so foolish, pray,
Since first the world began?"
Oh, hush! I'll tell you secretly
Down East there dwells a man, and he
Is asking questions constantly,
That none can answer, that I see,
Yet he's a wise-wise man!

H. Pyle

[Illustration]

HANS HECKLEMANN'S LUCK

Hans Hecklemann had no luck at all. Now and then we hear folks say that
they have no luck, but they only mean that their luck is bad and that
they are ashamed of it. Everybody but Hans Hecklemann had luck of some
kind, either good or bad, and, what is more, everybody carries his luck
about with him; some carry it in their pocket-books, some carry it in
their hats, some carry it on their finger tips, and some carry it under
their tongues--these are lawyers. Mine is at this moment sitting astride
of my pen, though I can no more see it than though it was thin air;
whether it is good or bad depends entirely as to how _you_ look upon it.

But Hans Hecklemann had no luck at all. How he lost it nobody knows, but
it is certain that it was clean gone from him.

He was as poor as charity, and yet his luck was not bad, for, poor as he
was, he always had enough for his wife and his family and himself to
eat. They all of them worked from dawn to nightfall, and yet his luck
was not good, for he never laid one penny on top of the other, as the
saying is. He had food enough to eat, and clothes enough to wear, so his
luck was not indifferent. Now, as it was neither good, bad, nor
indifferent, you see that it could have been no luck at all.

Hans Hecklemann's wife was named Catherine. One evening when Hans came
into the cottage with just enough money to buy them all bread and not a
cracked farthing to spare, Catherine spoke to him of this matter.

"Hans," said she, "you have no luck at all."

[Illustration: Hans Hecklemann, Catherine.]

"No," said Hans, "I have not," which was the truth, as I have already
told you.

"What are