They were supplied with water from
the mountain, which was sent them every morning by a carrier. It was
the master's rule that each should have his urn clean, that the fresh
supply might not be mingled with the old. For a time all were faithful:
as each day's supply was used the urn was made clean for the new. But,
alas for human weakness! so prone to fall from the line of duty--soon a
murmur was heard among the people.
"I have had no fresh water for days," said one of the group standing
idly by the roadside.
"Neither have I," said another.
"It's no use for the master to expect us to labor," remarked a third,
"if we are not supplied with fresh water. Life is hard enough to bear
with all we can have to help us," he continued. "Now there's our
neighbor, Cheerful, over the way--his urn is full of pure, sparkling
water each morning."
"And why?" broke in a voice in tones of remonstrance. The idlers
looked at each other, and then at the face of old Faithful, who was just
returning from his evening walk and had heard their words of complaint.
"Let me assure you, my neighbors," he said mildly, yet with force,
"it's all your own fault that your urns are not filled. You each know the
master's command, that they should be kept clean and ready for the fresh
supply. Have you all been faithful to the command?"
They thought among themselves, and answered with but partial truth,
saying, "We may not always have had our urns clean, but why should
they be unfilled for that?"
"Because the new water would be made unclean and useless by being
mixed with the old, as you each can see for yourselves.
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