He would never dream any more now, he thought to himself. His
dreams had cost Katte her lambs, and the world of the dead
Findelkind was gone for ever: gone were all the heroes and
knights; gone all the faith and the force; gone every one who
cared for the dear Christ and the poor in pain.
The bells of Zirl were ringing midnight. Findelkind heard, and
wondered that only two hours had gone by since his mother had
kissed him in his bed. It seemed to him as if long, long nights
had rolled away, and he had lived a hundred years.
He did not feel any fear of the dark calm night, lit now and
then by silvery gleams of moon and stars. The mountain was his
old familiar friend, and the ways of it had no more terror for
him than these hills here used to have for the bold heart of
Kaiser Max. Indeed, all he thought of was Katte,--Katte and the
lambs. He knew the way that the sheep-tracks ran; the sheep could
not climb so high as the goats; and he knew, too, that little
Stefan could not climb so high as he. So he began his search low
down upon Martinswand.
After midnight the cold increased; there were snow-clouds
hanging near, and they opened over his head, and the soft snow
came flying along. For himself he did not mind it, but alas for
the lambs!--if it covered them, how would he find them? And if
they slept in it, they were dead.
It was bleak and bare on the mountain-side, though there were
still patches of grass such as the flocks liked, that had grown
since the hay was cut.
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