“One day in early June I was lyin’ under the big apple tree in the garden—­sure I was.  It was all white and sweet with the blossoms like a bride in her veil—­an’ I heard the hum o’ the bee’s wing an’ odors o’ the upper world come down to me.  I was lookin’ at the little bird house that we had hung in the tree-top.  Of a sudden I saw a tiny bit o’ a ‘warf—­no longer than the thumb o’ Mary—­God love her!—­on its wee porch an’ lookin’ down at me.

“‘Good luck to ye!’ says I.  ‘Who are you?’

“‘Who do ye think I am?’ says he.

“‘Nobody,’ says I.

“‘That’s just who I am,’ says he, ’I’m Nobody from Nowhere—­God save you from the like.’

“‘Glad to see ye,’ says I.

“‘Glad to be seen,’ says he.  ‘There’s a mighty few people can see me.’

“‘Looks to me as if ye were tellin’ the truth,’ says I.

“‘Nobody is the only one that always tells the truth—­God help ye,’ says he.  ‘And here’s a big chunk o’ it.  Not one in a thousand ever gets the feet o’ his mind in the land o’ Nowhere—­better luck to them!’

“‘Where is it?’ says I.

“‘Up above the earth where the great God keeps His fiddle,’ says he.

“‘What fiddle?’ says I.

“‘The fiddle o’ silence,’ says he.  ‘Sure, I’m playin’ it now.  It has long strings o’ gold that reach ‘way out across the land o’ Nowhere—­ye call ’em stars.  The winds and the birds play on it.  Sure, the birds are my hens.’

“He clapped his little hands and down came a robin and sat beside him.  Nobody rumpled up the feathers on her back and she queed like she was goin’ to peck me—­the hussy!

“‘She’s my watch hen,’ says Nobody.  ’Guards the house and lays eggs for me—­the darlin’!  Sure, I’ve a wonderful farm up here in the air—­millions o’ acres, and the flowers and the tops o’ the trees and the gold mines o’ the sky are in it.  The flowers are my cattle and the bees are my hired men.  Do ye see ’em milkin’ this big herd o’ apple-blossoms?  My hired men carry their milk away to the hollow trees and churn it into honey.  There’s towers and towers of it in the land o’ Nowhere.  If it wasn’t for Nowhere your country would be as dark as a pocket and as dry as dust—­sure it would.  Somewhere must be next to Nowhere—­or it wouldn’t be anywhere, I’m thinkin’.  All the light and rain and beauty o’ the world come out o’ Nowhere—­don’t they?  We have the widest ocean up here with wonderful ships.  I call it God’s ferry.  Ye see, Nowhere is not to be looked down upon just because ye don’t find it in Mary’s geography.  There’s lots o’ things ye don’t know, man.  I’m one o’ them.  What do ye think o’ me?’

“‘Sure, I like ye,’ says I.

“‘Lucky man!’ says he.  ‘Everybody must learn to like me an’ play with me as the children do.  I can get along with the little folks, but it’s hard to teach men how to play with me—­God pity them!  They forget how to believe.  I am the guide to paradise and unless ye become as a little child I can not lead ye.’