did not come. But we are not going for a walk."
Then he went with her, thinking all the time to himself:
"It cannot be! Not this way!—it must be entirely different!"
Yet he followed the sunny, blonde hair that lighted his way.
Alas! things went sadly now with little Johannes. I could wish that his story ended here. Did you ever have a splendid dream of a magical garden where the flowers and animals all loved you and talked to you? And did the idea come to you then, that you might wake up soon, and all that happiness be lost? Then you vainly try to hold the dream—and not to wake to the cold light of day. That was the way Johannes felt when he went with Robinetta.
He went into the house—and down a passage that echoed with his footsteps. He breathed the air of clothes and food; he thought of the long days when he had had to stay indoors, of his school-tasks, and of all that had been sombre and cold in his life.
He entered a room with people in it—how many he did not see. They were talking together, yet when he came they ceased to speak. He noticed the carpet; it had big, impossible flowers in glaring colors. They were as strange and deformed as those of the hangings in his bedroom at home.
"Well, is this the gardener's little boy?" said a voice right in front of him. "Come here, my young friend; you need not be afraid."
And another voice sounded suddenly, close beside him: "Well, Robbi, a pretty little playmate you have there!"
What did all this mean? The deep wrinkles came again above the child's dark eyes, and Johannes looked around in perplexity.
A man in black clothes sat near—looking at him with cold, grey eyes.
"And so you wish to make acquaintance with the Book of Books! It amazes me that your father, whom I know to be a devout man, has not already given it to you."
"You do not know my father—he is far away."
"Is that so? Well, it is all the same. Look here, my young friend! Read a great deal in this. Upon your path in life it will. … "
But Johannes had already recognized the book. It could not possibly come to him in this way! No! he could not have it so. He shook his head.
"No, no! This is not what I mean. This I know. This is not it."
He heard sounds of surprise, and felt the looks which were fastened on him from all sides. "What! What do you mean, child?"
"I know this book; it is the Book of Human Beings. But there is not enough in it; if there were there would be rest among men—and peace. And there is none. I mean something else about which no one can doubt who sees it—wherein is told why everything is as it is—precisely and plainly."
"How is that possible? Where did the boy get that notion?"
"Who taught you that, my young friend?"
"I believe you have been reading depraved books, boy, and are repeating the words!"
Thus rang the various voices. Johannes felt his cheeks burning, and he began to feel dizzy. The room spun round, and the huge flowers on the carpet floated up and down. Where was the little mouse which had warned him so faithfully that day at school? He needed him now.
"I am not repeating it out of books, and he who taught me is worth more than all of you together. I know the language of flowers, and of animals—I am their intimate friend. I know, too, what human beings are, and how they live. I know all the secrets of fairies and of goblins, for they love me more than human beings do."
Oh, Mousie! Mousie!
Johannes heard coughing and laughing, around and behind him. It all rang and rasped in his ears.
"He seems to have been reading Andersen."
"He is not quite right in his head."
The man in front of him said:
"If you know Andersen, little man, you ought to have more respect for God and His Word." "God!" He knew that word, and he thought about Windekind's lesson.
"I have no respect for God. God is a big oil-lamp, which draws thousands to wreck and ruin."
No laughing now, but a serious silence in which the horror and consternation were palpable. Johannes felt even in his back the piercing looks. It was like his dream of the night before.
The man in black stood up and took him by the arm. That hurt, and almost broke his heart.
"Listen, boy! I do not know whether you are foolish or deeply depraved, but I will not suffer such godlessness here. Go away and never come into my sight again, wretched boy! I shall ask about you, but never again set foot in this house. Do you understand?"
Everybody looked at him coldly and unkindly—as in his dream the night before. Johannes looked around him in distress.
"Robinetta! Where is Robinetta?"
"Well, indeed! Corrupt my child? If you ever speak to her again, look out!"
"No, let me go to her! I will not leave her. Robinetta!" cried Johannes.
But she sat in a corner, frightened, and did not look up.
"Out, you rascal! Do you hear? Take care, if you have the boldness to come back again."
The painful grip led him through the sounding corridor—the glass door rattled, and Johannes stood outside, under the dark, lowering clouds.
He did not cry now, but gazed quietly out in front of him as he slowly walked on. The sorrowful wrinkles were deeper above his eyes, and they stayed there.
The little redbreast sat in a linden hedge and peered at him. He stood still and silently returned the look. But there was no trust now in the timid, peeping little eyes; and when he took a step nearer, the quick little creature whirred away from him.
"Away, away! A human being!" chirped the sparrows, sitting together in the garden path. And they darted away in all directions.
The open flowers did not smile, but looked serious and indifferent; as they do with every stranger.
Johannes did not heed these signs, but was thinking of what the cruel men had done to him. He felt as if his inmost being had been violated by a hard, cold touch. "They shall believe me!" thought he. "I will get my little key and show it to them."
"Johannes! Johannes!" called a light, little voice. There was a bird's nest in a holly tree, and Wistik's big eyes peeped over the brim of it. "Where are you bound for?"
"It is all your fault, Wistik," said Johannes. "Let me alone."
"How did you come to talk about it to human beings? They do not understand. Why do you tell them these things? It is very stupid of you."
"They laughed at me, and hurt me. They are miserable creatures. I hate them!"
"No,
