Once there was a tailor. He was known far and wide as an artist who could take mere thread and turn it into apparel fit for a king.

One day, a wealthy businessman came to him with a special job. While traveling in the East, he had given a king's ransom to buy a bolt of pure Cathay silk -- the finest of its kind in the world. The tailor's eyes lit up. Never had he seen such fabric. He measured the businessman and a price was struck for the work.

The very next morning, the tailor set to work with relish. He worked with extra-special care, trying not to waste a single thread.

A week of finger-breaking work followed. It was about two in the morning when the tailor stitched the last button onto the suit. He snipped off the thread and sat back to admire his work. Here was a suit the likes of which had never been seen!

He yawned, picked up his tired bones and made his way to bed. The businessman would be coming bright and early the following day to collect his suit. The tailor left the room and closed the door. Then, unable to resist, he turned and opened the door again for a final peek. There it was in all its glory, bathed in a shaft of moonlight.

He closed the door with a soft click. Silence. And then the sound of rustling. Two little dark eyes squinted out from a crack in the wall. A furry nose twitched from side to side expectantly, and a tiny mouse suddenly scuttled into the center of the room. He was followed by another, and another and another. Scores of mice came pouring out, all with a single objective -- the suit.

It was all over in ten minutes. All that was left were a few pieces of cloth with tell-tale teeth marks.

When the tailor came down the next morning and saw what had happened, he was distraught beyond words. He stood in the middle of his workroom with tears welling up in his eyes and sighed in resignation.

Looking up, he saw the business man standing over him, beaming with expectation and blissfully unaware of what had happened to his priceless Cathay silk.

With measured tones, the tailor told him how he had worked so hard on his suit; how it was a creation unmatched in all his years of tailoring; of the long loving hours he had devoted to it; and finally, what had happened last night after he had left the workroom.

"But," continued the tailor, "I would like you to pay me what we originally agreed, because even though you don't have the suit, I did put my heart and soul into making it." The businessman's face turned green. "It's enough I don't sue you for the price of my Cathay silk! You bungling oaf!" And with that, he stormed out of the house.

There is no job in the world which pays for effort alone. Even if you put your heart and soul into your work; if you produce nothing, that's what you get paid. Nothing.

With one exception -- learning Torah. If a person really tries, and puts his heart and soul into his learning, he receives reward, even he ends up understanding nothing.

Even if he comes away with just a few tattered pieces of material where others have stitched a suit.