not born in you in vain, you are destined to speak before many thousands who are today still dumb. And you will find comrades, friends—you will not be alone."
The little Dryad nodded laughingly to Paul, swept lightly upwards, and sat on a branch of the birch.
"Are you going already," asked little Paul, worried.
"You must go home, little Paul. But you must always come back and I will comfort you and help you."
"Wait a little," begged Paul. "The Owl said in eighty years, not until eighty years from now, she will be able to answer my question. That is a long time. Did the Owl speak truly?"
"That depends on you people," replied the light, silvery voice of the tiny Dryad. "Perhaps it will take you eighty years to become wise, perhaps if you, you and your comrades, do not stop asking questions, it may only take fifty years. The great day of freedom may come in twenty, in ten years. Yes, perhaps even tomorrow.
The tiny Dryad disappeared into the tree, but all the tree called in light, joyous voices to little Paul:
"Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Tomorrow!"
