hands lies a dead mouse; yonder is
an open window. Cast the dead thing out into the furnace of life, that
it may speedily make an end thereof."

With sudden obedient resolve the prisoner made the endeavor to reach it.
The chain pulled the collar hard, and the manacle wrenched his wrist;
but he caught the dead thing by the tail, and with a fierce effort threw
it; out of the window it flew and fell--and the air of his dungeon
seemed already clearer.

After a silence, came the voice again:

"Behind thee lies a broom," it said; "reach forth and take it, and sweep
around thee as far as thy chains will yield thee scope."

The man obeyed, and, as he swept, at every stroke he reached farther. At
length,--how it came he could not tell, for his chains hung heavy upon
him still,--he found himself sweeping the very foot of the walls.

A moment more, and he stood at the open window, looking out into the
world. A dove perched upon the window-sill, and walked inquiringly in;
he caught it in his hands, and looked how to close the window, that he
might secure its company. Then came the voice:

"Wilt thou, a prisoner, make of thyself a jailer?"

He opened his hands, and the dove darted into the sunlight. There it
fluttered and flashed for a moment, like a bird of snow; then
re-entered, and flew into his very hands. He stroked and kissed it. The
bird went and came, and was his companion.

Still, his chains hung about him, and he sighed and groaned under their
weight.

"Set thee down," said the voice, "and polish thine irons."

He obeyed, rubbing link against link busily with his hands. And thus he
labored--as it seemed to the boy in the vision--day after day, until at
last every portion within his reach, of fetter, and chain, and collar,
glittered with brightness.

"Go to the window," then said the voice, "and lay thee down in the
sunshine."

He went and lay down, and fell asleep. When he awoke, he began to raise
himself heavily; but, lo! the sun had melted all the burnished parts of
his bonds, the rest dropped from him, and he sprung to his feet. For
very joy of lightness, he ran about the room like a frolicking child.
Then said the voice once more:

"Now carve thee out of the wall the figure of a man, as perfect as thou
canst think and make it."

"Alas!" said the prisoner to himself, "I know not how to carve or
fashion the image of anything."

But as he said it, he turned with a sigh to find among the fragments of
h