"But of what use are you then, if it be not to rouse in us the discontent that is alone divine? Would you have me go fat and happy, listening to your babble of kingfishers and cuckoos, while my brothers and sisters in the world are starving?"
The boy was silent for a moment.
"I give my songs to the poor for nothing," he said slowly. "Certainly they are not much use to empty bellies, but they are all I have to give. And I take it, since you speak so feelingly, that you, too, do your best. And these others, these people who must be reminded hourly to throw their crusts out of window for the poor—would you have me sing to them? They must be told that life is evil, and I find it good; that men and women are wretched, and I find them happy; that food and cleanliness, order and knowledge are the essence of content while I only ask for love. Would you have me lie to cheat mean folk out of their scraps?"
The baker scratched his head in astonishment.
"Certainly you are very mad," he said. "But you won't get much money in this town with that sort of talk. You had better come in and have breakfast with me."
"But why do you ask me?" said the boy, in surprise.
"Well, you have a decent, honest sort of face, although your tongue is disordered."
"I had rather it had been because you liked my songs," said the boy, and he went in to breakfast with the baker.
II
Over his breakfast the boy talked wisely on art, as is the wont of young singers, and afterwards he went on his way down the street.