We made our morning fire; its blue smoke rose slowly and crookedly, and the brittle wood burning crackled like little dogs barking; the kettle hissed on the hot, black stones where we had balanced it over the fire, it puffed, it growled, blew out its steam and boiled, boiled over; tea, bread and cheese, bright yellow plums from a tree hard by, and then away once more we sped on our journey, not walking, but running, scarcely running but flying, leaping, clambering ... and my companion performed the most astonishing feats, for he was ever more lively than I was.

The sun strengthened.  First it had empowered us to go forward, but after some hours it bid us rest.  Seven o’clock ran to eight, eight to nine; nine to ten was hot, ten was scorching, and by eleven we were conquered.  We rested and let the glorious husband of the earth look down upon us, and into us.

“How pathetic it is that men are even now at this moment sweating, and grinding, and cursing in a town,” said my companion to me.  He was lying outstretched before me on a slope of the sheep-cropped downs.  “They altogether miss life, life, the inestimable boon.  And they get nothing in return.  Even what they hope to gain is but dust and ashes.  They waited perhaps a whole eternity to be born, and when they die it may be that for a whole eternity they must wait again.  God allotted them each year eighty days of summer and eighty summers in their lives, and they are content to sell them for a small price, content to earn wages....  And their share in all this beauty, they hardly know of it, their share in the sun.

“Have you not realised that we have more than our share of the sun?  The sun is fuller and more glorious than we could have expected.  That is because millions of people have lived without taking their share.  We feel in ourselves all their need of it, all their want of it.  That is why we are ready to take to ourselves such immense quantities of it.  We can rob no one, but, on the contrary, we can save a little to give to those who have none—­when we meet them.  You must pull down the very sun from heaven and put it in your writings.  You must give samples of the sun to all those who live in towns.  Perhaps some of those attracted by the samples will give up the smoke and grind of cities and live in this superfluity of sunshine.”

Then I said to my joyous comrade:  “Many live their lives of toil and gloom and ugliness in the belief that in another life after this they will be rewarded.  They think that God wills them to live this life of work.”

“Then perhaps in the next life they will again live in toil and gloom, postponing their happiness once more,” said my companion.  “Or on the Day of Judgment they will line up before God and say with a melancholy countenance, ‘Oh Lord we want our wages for having lived!’ ...  An insult to God and to our glorious life, but how terrible, how unutterably sad!  And the reply of the angel sadder still, ’Did you not know that life itself was a reward, a glory?’”