The Best Short Stories of 1915

l work at the machine like a machine-until one day he drew his pay, before you could say Jack Robinson, and started off walking anywhere. He did it of a

And when a young man really wants very much to die, he always comes out of that valley (at any rate,

t. And he made right away a queer discovery-he knew for the first time that New Year's is not the first day of January, at all. It's the first day of spring. Men are right sill

ike it and over a hill when he felt like that. But most of the time his heart was very sad in his body and his mind took no pleasure of the bluebirds. For he

e dark with pine or sunny with birch, and where echoes are the only memory (and they never last long). It was so far away, up in through there; as I've said, anything could happen the

y rabbits and skunks and woodchucks and deer. And in a clearing at one side he saw an old log cabin which had

rd, may God have mercy on my soul, I will lie down and nap under

lying down be

closed the other eye the same way; and then he knew nothing at all until suddenly a Voice came cl

am," with all his might, but without making

ired to death with work; work-with-a-little-'w' is killing the soul out of you, Andy; work-with-a-little-'w' always does that to men, if you give it the whole chance. But that can't be hel

yes were now wide open and he could see a robin hopping on

e Work's sake. It's Work you do because you

hard to underst

t that sort of Work. They know well enough what you're about as long

indeed,"

and turned 'em out horse shoes, or a bill clerk

indeed,"

only for the pay there is in it-never for the love of it-that's wh

at's why I'm here away

somewhat-say, half your life at work-with-a-little-'w,' sitting at your machi

gain. Where would he find a beginning

ll 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

Work like?"

member, it is difficult and wearyin

y, I would,"

id until you die!"

over the green earth; and the echoes of their tremendous singing shook all the trillions of tiny new leav

e enough, was a little naked

ey'd been colored by that very same fairy that goes about with a brush coloring a

ng up his lips and squinting up

d silk-for a mantle, you know?-And some apple-green tassels for my hair. And please do b

ld take some weaving, miss." He hesita

iedly away over her shoulder a

om up here; and no warp; and no filling.

one actually fading away before his eyes; and a pain most bitter ca

e an old handloom of my grandfather's; and I can go and hurry and fetch all the

Summer ever smiled. "There really isn't such an awful hurry," she said.

the begin

e days and two nights on it; and then she asked him to make it over with jack-in-the-pulpit inset, because she was sure to grow tired very soon of Sweet William; then she changed her mind about jack-in-the-pulpit and decided on wintergreen berries. This is just a sample of one teeny bit

han he heard the Voice roar loud

nd. It can't be done any other way. That is why you

nd he thought: "Well, the Voice is right. My hands wouldn't be any good without my thumbs. I have hands and

raft very interesting to him, so that he became determined to stick to it until he got the beauty out of it. (

the little Summer grew big and bigger in an amazingly short time; and she kept

interested in his Work, and then he paid attention to nothing at all save what was between his thumb and forefinger). But while he worked and the Summer danced or dozed and grew before him, he noticed something he had neve

er and bluer, all right, I know. And finally some day 'twill all be steel-blue everywh

s best, you see, and a whole new world of trying had been thrown open to him. And really he was begi

looks very handsome in those dresses; and for th

s little dream-girl must die, and there would be another, a different li

is lass her shroud?" a

ce did not

Summer cried for a whole week in amongst t

rning, she was

er. And then he fell to thinking how there were so many millions of pine trees, and he guessed to himself how each of the millions of Summers we have had must have gone into one of those

nd has thrown them away; so there is nothing left. Nothing left except the joy of good work well done, and the feeling that God has really whispered in your ear. Now you'll have t

n. And being as he was a clever man, he was put back on his job right away. And the gray mists of winte

off into the hills. And one day there came the birds riding up on the winds like cavaliers with feathers dancing about; and when they began their keen bugling it pierced here and there and everywhere an

rd, she went away in tears, the same as the other had done and as all Summers

shroud?" he had asked again. But a

h in his day. He became so good at his hand-work that in winter, at the mill, he was actually clumsy at his machine! So it was just 'tother way round, as you see, from what it was when he star

ally different idea of what work was. For his mates down in Gla

r. I'm dead all winter long-like all the Green Things." Then his comrades spoke wildly of him and touched their heads. They had learned the American i

d wrinkled and ugly and very sweet in his mind and cleverer and defter and finer in his finger-weaving. But the main carry of it all is just as I've been telling yo

lived. And now thi

asked the question: "And shall

d the Voice

ars had done his winter stint and his Big 'W' Work in the hills. But he did not feel tired that year. No; he simply felt odd-like, as if it might be something unforeseen was going to happen to him and it would not tell its name to him first. (You k

and ran, Andy again asked the old, old question he had

aving this las

ll please you, you might as well, Andy. Your Work is done. But-a question fir

elt as I handed her a bit of master-work and she flung it to the idle winds was in itself enough. As I look back at it, there has been n

know all there is to k

iles of it would not weigh a hundred pounds. And he said to himself, "I will weave a hundred pounds of it; and I'll wr

his eyes; and he worked day and night, fast and faster, eating nothing and sleeping not at

master-bit," h

ght got poorer and dimmer and there was a shorter lasting of it. Less light meant longer work; so it was thirty days and thirty nights befor

are ready to fall. And there was mile upon mile of it. It was wondrously fine, finer than anything Andy had done

w, one morning, in the gray, and he

of hills; and far down one gusset of valley he saw her dull-green robes a-trailing. He

at shroud in his arms and started down the roads and over the hills

roud! Wait for me, lass. I'm coming! I

with the shroud over his arm, he went on and on and on as best he could; his long, ragged gray hair

smitten to his bones, though the sweat still stood on his skin. He dropped down on the ground

eakly: "I have your shr

noticed-It

g forever and ever by tens of hundreds of thousands of millions and covering everything, all we do, all we are or were, far and wi

n a dream, and then-let me see; what did

ho weaves the shroud for every Summer. Look yonder at the snowflakes a-coming down! I can see God's shuttle weaving in and out amongst them. In and out amongst the years of snowflakes

imself face down upon the ground, wiping away a

e darkening sky, sturdy as a great captain's, an

t, Andy. You did the

d over to the Summer a bit of his best and she threw it away to the drifting winds like a bit of dying music-the joy he felt then was enough to last him till eternity ended. He had heard God's whisper in his ear; and