They are very quaint, and kept by poor folks
for poor folks; but to the dazed eyes of Findelkind they looked
like a forbidden paradise, for he was so hungry and so heart-
broken, and he had never seen any bigger place than little Zirl.
He stood and looked wistfully, but no one offered him anything.
Close by was a stall of splendid purple grapes, but the old woman
that kept it was busy knitting. She only called to him to stand
out of her light.
"You look a poor brat ; have you a home?" said another woman,
who sold bridles and whips and horses' bells, and the like.
"Oh, yes, I have a home,--by Martinswand," said Findelkind,
with a sigh.
The woman looked at him sharply. "Your parents have sent you on
an errand here?"
"No; I have run away."
"Run away? Oh, you bad boy!--unless, indeed,--are they cruel to
you?"
"No; very good."
"Are you a little rogue, then, or a thief?"
"You are a bad woman to think such things," said Findelkind,
hotly, knowing himself on how innocent and sacred a quest he was.
"Bad? I? Oh, ho!" said the old dame, cracking one of her new
whips in the air, "I should like to make you jump about with
this, you thankless little vagabond. Be off!"
Findelkind sighed again, his momentary anger passing; for he
had been born with a gentle temper, and thought himself to blame
much more readily than he thought other people were,--as, indeed,
every wise child does, only there are so few children--or men--
that are wise.
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