of these?"

"I do not deal in the tricks of apes," answers Nature coldly; "the
culture of these friends of yours is a mere pose, a fashion of the hour,
their talk mere parrot chatter. Yes, you can purchase such culture as
this, and pretty cheaply, but a passion for skittles would be of more
service to you, and bring you more genuine enjoyment. My goods are of a
different class. I fear we waste each other's time."

And next comes the boy, asking with a blush for love, and Nature's
motherly old heart goes out to him, for it is an article she loves to
sell, and she loves those who come to purchase it of her. So she leans
across the counter, smiling, and tells him that she has the very thing
he wants, and he, trembling with excitement, likewise asks the figure.

"It costs a good deal," explains Nature, but in no discouraging tone;
"it is the most expensive thing in all my shop."

"I am rich," replies the lad. "My father worked hard and saved, and
he has left me all his wealth. I have stocks and shares, and lands and
factories; and will pay any price in reason for this thing."

But Nature, looking graver, lays her hand upon his arm.

"Put by your purse, boy," she says, "my price is not a price in reason,
nor is gold the metal that I deal in. There are many shops in various
streets where your bank-notes will be accepted. But if you will take an
old woman's advice, you will not go to them. The thing they will sell
you will bring sorrow and do evil to you. It is cheap enough, but, like
all things cheap, it is not worth the buying. No man purchases it, only
the fool."

"And what is the cost of the thing YOU sell then?" asks the lad.

"Self-forgetfulness, tenderness, strength," answers the old Dame; "the
love of all things that are of good repute, the hate of all things
evil--courage, sympathy, self-respect, these things purchase love. Put
by your purse, lad, it will serve you in other ways, but it will not buy
for you the goods upon my shelves."

"Then am I no better off than the poor man?" demands the lad.

"I know not wealth or poverty as you understand it," answers Nature.
"Here I exchange realities only for realities. You ask for my treasures,
I ask for your brain and heart in exchange--yours, boy, not your
father's, not another's."

"And this price," he argues, "how shall I obtain it?"

"Go about the world," replies the great Lady. "Labour, suffer, help.
Come back to me when you have earned your wages, and acc