and loam and could turn them into something better and alive.”
“Well said, little Peter,” replied the king, smiling sadly.
And now the west, which had been like a vast, stained-glass window, streaming with warm light, fell into gray opaqueness, and the grassy plateau became a place of shadows in which night things were born gently. And the king looked away to the beast-shaped bushes and to all the striving land.
“Oh, my kingdom, my kingdom!” he cried, grieving. “Now, would that this little Peter here could help you in the making.”
And then little Peter stood upright in the faint light.
“May it please the king,” he said softly, “I will take the message to his people.”
The king stared down at him.
“You?” he said. “You, little man? And how, pray, would you take my message?”
“May it please the king,” said little Peter, “I would tell everyone in the kingdom till all should have been told.”
“Little man,” said the king, “you are no bigger than a trumpet.”
