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Ah, well! “The dice of God are always loaded.” Doubtless we must always pay for greatness by isolation, or some more bitter toll. And for our insignificance, in turn, come the Bobbies as reward. It behooves those of us, then, who are insignificant, to appreciate our blessing, to cherish our penguins, the more since we, when “the world is too much with us,” when the tyranny of economic conditions oppresses and the wrongness of life seems almost more than we can bear, have not that inward strength, that Titanic defiance, which is the possession of the great, ultimately to fall back upon, and so sorely need to be shown a joke somewhere, anywhere, in the universal scheme, to find something that is “sympathetically ridiculous.” That is why the Penguin Persons are sent to us; thus we can see in them the swing of the Emersonian pendulum.

But they are naturally modest, and doubtless have no idea of their mission, further than to realize that “people are glad to have them around,” as Bobbie would express it, and that it is “up to them” (in the same idiom) to be cheerful,–not a hard task, since cheeriness sits in their soul. It is awful to think how self-consciousness might ruin the flavor of their Penguinity if they ever were awakened to a realization of the fact that they were involved in anything so serious as the Law of Compensation! Though I do believe that David at his best could make the eternal verities look ridiculous. No, when the Penguin Persons do become aware of their Penguinity, it is in a funny, shamefaced fashion, as if they had been up to boyish tricks their manhood should blush for. Came Bobbie to me the other day and confessed that he had about made up his mind to be “serious.”

“Everybody thinks I’m a joke,” he said, with a melancholy grin; “they always expect me to say something asinine, and get ready to laugh before I speak. What shall I do?”

“Do!” I cried. “Do what you’ve been doing, only do it more. Keep right on being a Penguin, and God bless you!”

Bobbie looked perplexed and a little hurt; but I was too wise to explain, and three minutes later he was rattling off some delicious absurdity to my four-year-old hopeful, who had fallen down on his nose and needed comforting–and a handkerchief. Bobbie was supplying the latter from his pocket, and from his penguinacious brain the former was effectively coming in the shape of a description of Rocky Mountain sheep, which, according to Bobbie, have right-side legs much shorter than their left-side legs, so they can run along the mountain slopes without ever falling on their noses.

“But how do they get back?” asks the hopeful, still bleeding, but eager for information.

“They put their heads between their hind legs and run backward,” says Bobbie. “They have long necks, you know.”

That, of course, may be unnatural history, but it was a very present help in time of trouble. Indeed, it made Bobbie, as well as the boy, forget, and I have heard no more of his dreadful intention to be serious.

Some one–probably it was Emerson–once said, “Each man has his own vocation. The talent is the call.” It is no small thing, in this grim world, to make people smile, to be absurd for their alleviation, to render all things “sympathetically ridiculous” for a time, to bear in a chalice of mirth the water of Lethe. If one’s talent lies that way, why, the call should be clear! The Penguin Person should have no doubt or shame of his vocation, nor should anyone else allow him to. Little Joe Weber, who was on the stage the most perfect example of Penguinity, was as a stage character beloved of all the thousands who saw him. He heard his call and followed his vocation, and honor and wealth and fame are now his. The merry host of Penguin Persons who move outside the radius of the spluttering calcium, whose proscenium is the door frame of a home, may earn neither wealth nor fame by doing as he has done, but they will win no less a reward, for they will have lightened for all around them the burdens of life, they will have smoothed the gathering frown and summoned the forgotten laugh, they will have made of the ridiculous a little religion, and out of Penguinity brought peace.