The soldier who rode the horse reined him in
with difficulty. He was at the head of the little staff, being
indeed no less or more than the general commanding the garrison,
which in this city is some fifteen thousand strong. An orderly
sprang from his saddle and seized the child, and shook him, and
swore at him. Findelkind was frightened; but he shut his eyes and
set his teeth, and said to himself that the martyrs must have had
very much worse than these things to suffer in their pilgrimage.
He had fancied these riders were knights, such knights as the
priest had shown him the likeness of in old picture-books, whose
mission it had been to ride through the world succouring the weak
and weary, and always defending the right.
"What are your swords for, if you are not knights?" he cried,
desperately struggling in his captor's grip, and seeing through
his half-closed lids the sunshine shining on steel scabbards.
"What does he want?" asked the officer in command of the
garrison, whose staff all this bright and martial array was. He
was riding out from the barracks to an inspection on the
Rudolfplatz. He was a young man, and had little children himself,
and was half amused, half touched, to see the tiny figure of the
little dusty boy.
"I want to build a monastery, like Findelkind of Arlberg, and
to help the poor," said our Findelkind, valorously, though his
heart was beating like that of a little mouse caught in a trap;
for the horses were trampling up the dust around him, and the
orderly's grip was hard.
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