A great truth was almost within Wendell’s grasp for the moment,—that it is not the attainment of a wish, but the effort to attain it that brings us happiness: that right activity, not idle possession, is man’s happiest endowment. Wendell had his finger on this key to happiness, but as he was only a small boy flying a toy aeroplane, and not a great philosopher, he did not grasp the key, but let his thoughts wander to the Pixie, who would probably be all ready with another task after dinner.
When the Pixie suddenly appeared that evening (sitting this time on top of the chiffonier, with his thin long legs drooping over the drawers), Wendell said triumphantly,
“Well, I got the aeroplane.” He stroked it lovingly where it stood balanced on his desk.
“Why, yes, it’s an aeroplane, all right,” granted the Pixie; “but it isn’t traveling underground.”
“But it was when I found it,” protested Wendell. “A boy had it in the Subway.”
The Pixie looked crestfallen.
“I never thought of that,” he admitted. “You win.”
“Tell me all about it,” he added with some curiosity.
Wendell told him the whole thing, but the Pixie looked grave when he mentioned the Wishing Stone.
“You’re not using them up too fast, are you?” he said doubtfully. “That makes two, you know.”