His father had never let him beg,
and he did not know how to begin.
The Stellwagen rolled on through the autumn mud, and that was
one chance lost. He was sure that the first Findelkind had not
felt ashamed when he had knocked at the first castle gates.
By and by, when he could not see Martinswand by turning his
head back ever so, he came to an inn that used to be a post-house
in the old days when men travelled only by road. A woman was
feeding chickens in the bright clear red of the cold daybreak.
Findelkind timidly held out his hand. "For the poor!" he
murmured, and doffed his cap.
The old woman looked at him sharply. "Oh, is it you, little
Findelkind? Have you run off from school? Be off with you home! I
haves mouths enough to feed here."
Findelkind went away, and began to learn that it is not easy to
be a prophet or a hero in one's own country.
He trotted a mile farther, and met nothing. At last he came to
some cows by the wayside, and a man tending them.
"Would you give me something to help make a monastery?" he
said, timidly, and once more took off his cap. The man gave a
great laugh. "A fine monk, you! And who wants more of these lazy
drones? Not I."
Findelkind never answered: he remembered the priest had said
that the years he lived in were very hard ones, and men in them
had no faith.
Ere long he came to a big walled house, with turrets and grated
casements,--very big it looked to him,--like one of the first
Findelkind's own castles.
Pages:
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30