A year had scarcely passed, when, as the father sat looking at the western sky, the youngest son came running breathlessly up the path. "So soon returned?" asked his father—which caused a look of disappointment to pass over the face of the youth; and his words were shaded with regret as he replied, "I thought you would be glad to see me, and would rejoice that I got through so quickly." "Not so, my son," replied the father. "You cannot, in the brief time you have been absent, have performed many, if any, deeds of goodness compared with what you might have done by tarrying longer; and your gold—you surely cannot have used it all in so brief a period." "Why, I've brought all the money back you gave me, father. You see, I got through without its costing me a penny." "It grieves me more than all, my son, that you should go through any country and return no equivalent for deeds and kindness given. Rest awhile, and in a few days return to the land and the people I sent you among, and come not back again to me till every farthing is wisely spent." The youth murmured within himself, but dared not reply. A few days later he departed, to go over the same ground and do the work he had neglected for the sake of a speedy return. At the end of the second year another returned, looking sad and dispirited. "Thou hast soon returned, my son," said the father. "Is thy work done in so brief a period?" The youth hung his head, and answered slowly, "I was so weary, father. I saw so much sorrow among those people, I longed to come home where all is rest and peace. Surely, I was right in that, was I not?" "Far from it, my child. If there was much sorrow there, that was the very reason why you should have remained. Dost thou not remember those lines I have so often quoted,— "'Rest is not quitting the busy career: Rest is the fitting of self to one's sphere'?" "I remember them well, father," the youth replied; "but I never felt their meaning until now." "And if you sense it now, my son, what is your duty?" "To return, I suppose."