Once upon a time there was a little boy, who had neither father nor mother, who lived in the poorhouse in a little village. He was the only child in the whole house; all the others were broken-down old people who were always gloomy and cranky, who liked best to sit quietly in the sun, and who would become angry whenever the little boy, while at play, would bump against them or make too much noise.
A sad life it was for little Paul. He never heard a kind word, no one loved him, and no one petted or comforted him whenever he was unhappy. Instead of that he was scolded every day and often he was even spanked. One peculiarity of his particularly irritated the supervisors of the poorhouse: at every occasion he used to ask, "Why?" always wanting to know the cause for everything.
"You mustn't always ask why," angrily declared the stout Matron who was in charge of the poorhouse. "Everything is as it is, and therefore it is right."
"But why have I no parents like the other children of the village have?" insisted little Paul.
"Because they are dead."
"Why did they die?"
"Because the good Lord willed it so."
"Why did the Lord will it so?"
"Keep quiet, you good-for-nothing! Leave me alone with your eternal questions." The fat woman was quite red with anger, because she knew no answer to Paul's questions, and nothing angers ignorant persons more than to be forced to say, "I don't know."
