whirling spools.

Now in the year there was one day they gave her for her own--one perfect
day when she could walk in the sweet, sweet meadows, or wander toward
the far, strange hills. And this one precious day was so shining and
full of joy to Pippa that its light shone all about her until the next,
making itself into dreams and little songs that she sang to her whirring
spools.

One night, when the blessed time would be next morning, she said to the
day:

"Sweet Day, I am Pippa, and have only you for the joy of my whole long
year; come to me gentle and shining, and I will do whatever loving deed
you bring me."

And the blessed day broke golden and perfect!

She sprang up singing; she sang to the sunbeams, and to her lily, and to
the joy in the world; she ran out, and leaped as she went; the grass
blew in the wind, and the long yellow road rolled away like unwound
silk.

She sang on and on, hardly knowing. And it was a sweet song no one had
ever heard. It was what birds sing, only this had words; and this song
was so full of joy that when a sad poet heard it he stopped the lonely
tune he piped, and listened till his heart thrilled. And when he could
no longer hear, he took up the sweet strain and played it so strong and
clear that it set the whole air a-singing. The children in the street
began dancing and laughing as he played; the old looked up; a lame man
felt that he might leap, and the blind who begged at corners forgot they
did not see, the song was so full of the morning wonder.

But little Pippa did not know this; she had passed on singing.

Out beyond the village there were men who worked, building a lordly
castle. And there was a youth among them who was a stair-builder, and he
had a deep sorrow. The dream of the perfect and beautiful work was in
his life, but it was given to him to build only the stairs men trod on.
And as he knelt working wearily at his task, from somewhere beyond the
thicket there came a strange, sweet song, and these were the words:

"All service ranks the same with God:
... there is no last nor first."

The youth sprang up; the wind lifted his hair, the light leaped into
his eyes, and he began to do the smallest thing perfectly.

Farther down the road there was a ruined house; a man leaned his head on
his hand and looked from the window. A great deed that the world needed
must be done; and the man loved the great deed, but his heart had grown
faint, and he waited.