“Why are you crying, little child?” the silvery voice asked.
Paul looked upward and he saw the most wonderful little creature he had ever beheld in his life. Upon a branch of the birch sat a fairy. She had long golden-blond hair, which reached down to her feet, her little face was pale and delicate as moonlight, and her big eyes shone green like the leaves of the birch. She fluttered down toward Paul very lightly, alighted on his shoulder, it was as though a light leaf touched him, and stroked his face with her tiny white hands. Paul’s heart warmed. How good it was to be touched by tender hands! His tears stopped, he stared at the little creature, and asked at last, “Who are you?”
“I am a Dryad, I am the soul of the birchtree,” declared the little creature. “All day long I must sit in my tree, but when night comes I am free, I walk about on the earth, play with the other Dryads, my sisters. But tell me, for what reason are you sad?”
Paul told the Dryad of his unhappiness, saying at the end, “I must always ask why. The question burns in my heart, hurts me, and I believe if I ever receive an answer I will be happy. But now [[64]]this question stands between me and all other people who do not ask the question like a big wall and this makes me so lonesome.”
The little Dryad laughed and her pretty face became sweeter and more tender than before.
“You are mistaken, little Paul,” she said softly. “You are not alone. Hundreds and thousands ask the same question, sad and troubled. Put your ear down to the earth and tell me what you hear.”
Paul obeyed. At first he heard only an indistinct sighing and whispering, then he thought he heard a terrible weeping and crying, and at last he heard words.
“Mother, I am hungry, why is there nothing to eat?” cried a child’s voice.
“I am stifling in this hot city, why can’t I go to the country like my rich schoolmates?” murmured a boy’s voice.
“I work all day, why are wages so low that I scarcely have enough to live on?” sobbed a woman’s voice.