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"Men," said the little prince, "set out on their way in express trains, but they do not know what they are looking for. Then they rush about, and get excited, and turn round and round . . ."

And he added: "It is not worth the trouble . . ."

The well that we had come to was not like the wells of the Sahara.

The wells of the Sahara are mere holes dug in the sand.

This one was like a well in a village.

But there was no village here, and I thought I must be dreaming . . .

"It is strange," I said to the little prince.

"Everything is ready for use: the pulley, the bucket, the rope . . ."

He laughed, touched the rope, and set the pulley to working.

And the pulley moaned, like an old weathervane which the wind has long since forgotten.

"Do you hear?" said the little prince.

"We have wakened the well, and it is singing . . ."

I did not want him to tire himself with the rope.

"Leave it to me," I said. "It is too heavy for you."

I hoisted the bucket slowly to the edge of the well and set it there--happy, tired as I was, over my achievement.

The song of the pulley was still in my ears, and I could see the sunlight shimmer in the still trembling water.

"I am thirsty for this water," said the little prince.

"Give me some of it to drink. . ."

And I understood what he had been looking for.

I raised the bucket to his lips. He drank, his eyes closed.

It was as sweet as some special festival treat.

This water was indeed a different thing from ordinary nourishment.

Its sweetness was born of the walk under the stars, the song of the pulley, the effort of my arms.

Chapter 25

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