I am
aweary of the trodden path._

"_She is very far from me to-night. Yonder in the Horselberg they
exult and make sweet songs, songs which are sweeter, immeasurably
sweeter, than this song of mine, but in the trodden path I falter, for
I am tired, tired in every fibre o' me, and I am aweary of the trodden
path._"

Followed a silence. "Ignorance spoke there," the Prince said. "It is
the song of a woman, or else of a boy who is very young. Give me the
lute, my little Miguel." And presently he, too, sang.

Sang the Prince:

"_I was in a path, and I trod toward the citadel of the land's
Seigneur, and on either side were pleasant and forbidden meadows,
having various names. And one trod with me who babbled of the brooding
mountains and of the low-lying and adjacent clouds; of the west wind
and of the budding fruit-trees; and he debated the significance of
these things, and he went astray to gather violets, while I walked in
the trodden path._

"_He babbled of genial wine and of the alert lips of women, of swinging
censers and of pale-mouthed priests, and his heart was troubled by a
world profuse in beauty. And he leaped a stile to share his allotted
provision with a dying dog, and afterward, being hungry, a wall to
pilfer apples, what while I walked in the trodden path._

"_He babbled of Autumn's bankruptcy and of the age-long lying promises
of Spring; and of his own desire to be at rest; and of running waters
and of decaying leaves. He babbled of the far-off stars; and he
debated whether they were the eyes of God or gases which burned, and he
demonstrated, very clearly, that neither existed; and at times he
stumbled as he stared about him and munched his apples, so that he was
all bemired, but I walked in the trodden path._

"_And the path led to the gateway of a citadel, and through the
gateway. 'Let us not enter,' he said, 'for the citadel is vacant, and,
moreover, I am in profound terror, and, besides, as yet I have not
eaten all my apples.' And he wept aloud, but I was not afraid, for I
had walked in the trodden path._"

Again there was a silence. "You paint a dreary world, my Prince."

"Nay, my little Miguel, I do but paint the world as the Eternal Father
made it. The laws of the place are written large, so that all may read
them; and we know that every path, whether it be my trodden one or some
byway through your gayer meadows, yet leads in the end to God. We have
our choice--or to co