He brooded over it so
much, and it made him so anxious and so vexed, that his brothers
ate his porridge and he did not notice it, his sisters pulled his
curls and he did not feel it, his father brought a stick down on
his back, and he only started and stared, and his mother cried
because he was losing his mind, and would grow daft, and even his
mother's tears he scarcely saw. He was always thinking of
Findelkind in heaven.
When he went for water, he spilt one-half; when he did his
lessons, he forgot the chief part; when he drove out the cow, he
let her munch the cabbages; and when he was set to watch the oven
he let the loaves burn, like great Alfred. He was always busied
thinking, "Little Findelkind that is in heaven did so great a
thing: why may not I? I ought! I ought!" What was the use of
being named after Findelkind that was in heaven, unless one did
something great, too?
Next to the church there is a little stone lodge, or shed, with
two arched openings, and from it you look into the tiny church,
with its crucifixes and relics, or out to great, bold, sombre
Martinswand, as you like best; and in this spot Findelkind would
sit hour after hour while his brothers and sisters were playing,
and look up at the mountains or on to the altar, and wish and
pray and vex his little soul most wofully; and his ewes and his
lambs would crop the grass about the entrance, and bleat to make
him notice them and lead them farther afield, but all in vain.
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