With sudden obedient resolve the prisoner made the endeavor to reach it. The chain pulled the collar hard, and the manacle wrenched his wrist; but he caught the dead thing by the tail, and with a fierce effort threw it; out of the window it flew and fell—and the air of his dungeon seemed already clearer.
After a silence, came the voice again:
"Behind thee lies a broom," it said; "reach forth and take it, and sweep around thee as far as thy chains will yield thee scope."
The man obeyed, and, as he swept, at every stroke he reached farther. At length,—how it came he could not tell, for his chains hung heavy upon him still,—he found himself sweeping the very foot of the walls.
A moment more, and he stood at the open window, looking out into the world. A dove perched upon the window-sill, and walked inquiringly in; he caught it in his hands, and looked how to close the window, that he might secure its company. Then came the voice:
"Wilt thou, a prisoner, make of thyself a jailer?"
He opened his hands, and the dove darted into the sunlight. There it fluttered and flashed for a moment, like a bird of snow; then re-entered, and flew into his very hands. He stroked and kissed it. The bird went and came, and was his companion.
Still, his chains hung about him, and he sighed and groaned under their weight.
"Set thee down," said the voice, "and polish thine irons."
He obeyed, rubbing link against link busily with his hands. And thus he labored—as it seemed to the boy in the vision—day after day, until at last every portion within his reach, of fetter, and chain, and collar, glittered with brightness.