It was ten by the bells of Zirl when they came once more under
the solemn shadow of grave Martinswand. There were lights moving
about his house, his brothers and sisters were still up, his
mother ran out into the road, weeping and laughing with fear and
joy.
Findelkind himself said nothing.
He hung his head.
They were too fond of him to scold him or to jeer at him; they
made him go quickly to his bed, and his mother made him a warm
milk posset, and kissed him.
"We will punish thee tomorrow, naughty and cruel one," said his
parent. "But thou art punished enough already, for in thy place
little Stefan had the sheep, and he has lost Katte's lambs,--the
beautiful twin lambs! I dare not tell thy father tonight. Dost
hear the poor thing mourn? Do not go afield for thy duty again."
A pang went through the heart of Findelkind, as if a knife had
pierced it. He loved Katte better than almost any other living
thing, and she was bleating under his window childless and alone.
They were such beautiful lambs, too!--lambs that his father had
promised should never be killed, but be reared to swell the
flock.
Findelkind cowered down in his bed, and felt wretched beyond
all wretchedness. He had been brought back; his wallet was empty;
and Katte's lambs were lost. He could not sleep.
His pulses were beating like so many steam-hammers; he felt as
if his body were all one great throbbing heart.
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