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He
laughed
,
grasped
the
rope
,
and
set
the
pulley
working
.
And
the
pulley
groaned
the
way
an
old
weather
vane
groans
when
the
wind
has
been
asleep
a
long
time
.
"
Hear
that
?
"
said
the
little
prince
.
"
We
've
awakened
this
well
and
it
's
singing
.
"
I
did
n't
want
him
to
tire
himself
out
.
"
Let
me
do
that
,
"
I
said
to
him
.
"
It
's
too
heavy
for
you
.
"
Slowly
I
hoisted
the
bucket
to
the
edge
of
the
well
.
I
set
it
down
with
great
care
.
The
song
of
the
pulley
continued
in
my
ears
,
and
I
saw
the
sun
glisten
on
the
still-trembling
water
.
"
I
'm
thirsty
for
that
water
,
"
said
the
little
prince
.
"
Let
me
drink
some
...
"
And
I
understood
what
he
'd
been
looking
for
!
I
raised
the
bucket
to
his
lips
.
He
drank
,
eyes
closed
.
It
was
as
sweet
as
a
feast
.
That
water
was
more
than
merely
a
drink
.
It
was
born
of
our
walk
beneath
the
stars
,
of
the
song
of
the
pulley
,
of
the
effort
of
my
arms
.
It
did
the
heart
good
,
like
a
present
.
When
I
was
a
little
boy
,
the
Christmas-tree
lights
,
the
music
of
midnight
mass
,
the
tenderness
of
people
's
smiles
made
up
,
in
the
same
way
,
the
whole
radiance
of
the
Christmas
present
I
received
.
"
People
where
you
live
,
"
the
little
prince
said
,
"
grow
five
thousand
roses
in
one
garden
...
"
yet
they
do
n't
find
what
they
're
looking
for
...
"
"
They
do
n't
find
it
,
"
I
answered
.
