“Oh, yes, indeed,” said Andy.
“But the trouble with that work-with-a-little-’w’ is that you do it only for the pay there is in it—never for the love of it—that’s why it seems to you a shame to waste your whole life at it, you know.”
“Indeed it does, and that’s why I’m here away from it all,” said Andy.
“All very well for a while,” said the Voice. “But you’ll have to keep on at it somewhat—say, half your life at work-with-a-little-’w,’ sitting at your machine down yonder at the mill, turning ’em out the stuff they know to be useful.”
At that Andy fell silent and was sad again. Where would he find a beginning at the Big-“W” Work? he asked himself.
But the Voice seemed to know what was in his mind, and answered him: “I can give you that sort of Work. But it will take the best there is in you to do that sort of Work; and the Work will surely die as soon as you’ve accomplished it. And there will be no money in it for you, at all, and a great deal of pain, care and weariness. But you will find great love in your Work, and for your Work; and though it all vanishes at once you will experience so wonderful a joy that it will seem as if, night and day, God is whispering the secrets of life in your ear.”
“What is the Work like?” asked Andy.
“Would you be willing to try it? Remember, it is difficult and wearying and is dead as soon as it is born.”
“Yes, by glory, I would,” shouted Andy.
“Then dress this maid until you die!” commanded the Voice.