"Oh, you poor thing, does no one want to play with you?" I said, looking about for the World. I had been busy; why deny it? I was always busy. I knew I hadn't given it as much attention as it deserved. But then, I never asked it to come and stay with me. It just presented itself one day, wagging its tail affectionately, as though terribly pleased with itself about something. I didn't want it, but I couldn't turn it away. So I put out some milk for it each day, and didn't really pay much attention to whether it came or went.

Just now, however, I remembered it afresh. I said to myself: “You say you are always busy, but you cannot always be busy; that is impossible. There must be times when you are more busy or less busy. Confess. You just don't like the World very much at all. You are making excuses.”

Realising the truth of this, I went out to search for the World. But though I called around the garden, it was nowhere to be found. I suspected it had most probably been eaten by the dog next door, which I often saw watching it with his alert, black eyes.