The officers laughed aloud; and indeed he looked a poor little
scrap of a figure, very ill able to help even himself.
"Why do you laugh?" cried Findelkind, losing his terror in his
indignation, and inspired with the courage which a great
earnestness always gives. "You should not laugh. If you were true
knights, you would not laugh; you would fight for me. I am
little, I know,--I am very little,--but he was no bigger than I;
and see what great things he did. But the soldiers were good in
those days; they did not laugh and use bad words--"
And Findelkind, on whose shoulder the orderly's hold was still
fast, faced the horses, which looked to him as huge as
Martinswand, and the swords, which he little doubted were to be
sheathed in his heart.
The officers stared, laughed again, then whispered together,
and Findelkind heard them say the word "crazed." Findelkind,
whose quick little ears were both strained like a mountain
leveret's, understood that the great men were saying among
themselves that it was not safe for him to be about alone, and
that it would be kinder to him to catch and cage him,--the
general view with which the world regards enthusiasts.
He heard, he understood; he knew that they did not mean to help
him, these men with the steel weapons and the huge steeds, hut
that they meant to shut him up in a prison--he, little free-born,
forest-fed Findelkind.
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