Findelkind | Page 6

cabbages; and when he was set to watch the oven he let the loaves burn,
like great Alfred. He was always busied thinking, "Little Findelkind
that is in heaven did so great a thing: why may not I? I ought! I ought!"
What was the use of being named after Findelkind that was in heaven,
unless one did something great, too?
Next to the church there is a little stone lodge, or shed, with two arched
openings, and from it you look into the tiny church, with its crucifixes
and relics, or out to great, bold, sombre Martinswand, as you like best;
and in this spot Findelkind would sit hour after hour while his brothers
and sisters were playing, and look up at the mountains or on to the altar,
and wish and pray and vex his little soul most wofully; and his ewes
and his lambs would crop the grass about the entrance, and bleat to
make him notice them and lead them farther afield, but all in vain.
Even his dear sheep he hardly heeded, and his pet ewes, Katte and
Greta, and the big ram Zips, rubbed their soft noses in his hand

unnoticed. So the summer droned away,--the summer that is so short in
the mountains, and yet so green and so radiant, with the torrents
tumbling through the flowers, and the hay tossing in the meadows, and
the lads and lasses climbing to cut the rich, sweet grass of the alps. The
short summer passed as fast as a dragon- fly flashes by, all green and
gold, in the sun; and it was near winter once more, and still Findelkind
was always dreaming and wondering what he could do for the good of
St. Christopher; and the longing to do it all came more and more into
his little heart, and he puzzled his brain till his head ached. One autumn
morning, whilst yet it was dark, Findelkind made his mind up, and rose
before his brothers, and stole down-stairs and out into the air, as it was
easy to do, because the house-door never was bolted. He had nothing
with him; he was barefooted, and his school-satchel was slung behind
him, as Findelkind of Arlberg's wallet had been five centuries before.
He took a little staff from the piles of wood lying about, and went out
on to the highroad, on his way to do heaven's will. He was not very
sure what that divine will wished, but that was because he was only
nine years old, and not very wise; but Findelkind that was in heaven
had begged for the poor; so would he.
His parents were very poor, but he did not think of them as in any want
at any time, because he always had his bowlful of porridge and as much
bread as he wanted to eat. This morning he had nothing to eat; he
wished to be away before any one could question him.
It was quite dusk in the fresh autumn morning. The sun had not risen
behind the glaciers of the Stubaithal, and the road was scarcely seen;
but he knew it very well, and he set out bravely, saying his prayers to
Christ, and to St. Christopher, and to Findelkind that was in heaven.
He was not in any way clear as to what he would do, but he thought he
would find some great thing to do somewhere, lying like a jewel in the
dust; and he went on his way in faith, as Findelkind of Arlberg had
done before him.
His heart beat high, and his head lost its aching pains, and his feet felt
light; so light as if there were wings to his ankles. He would not go to
Zirl, because Zirl he knew so well, and there could be nothing very
wonderful waiting there; and he ran fast the other way. When he was
fairly out from under the shadow of Martinswand, he slackened his
pace, and saw the sun come on his path, and the red day redden the

gray-green water, and the early Stellwagen from Landeck, that had
been lumbering along all the night, overtook him.
He would have run after it, and called out to the travellers for alms, but
he felt ashamed. His father had never let him beg, and he did not know
how to begin.
The Stellwagen rolled on through the autumn mud, and that was one
chance lost. He was sure that the first Findelkind had not felt ashamed
when he had knocked at the first castle gates.
By and by, when he could not see Martinswand by turning his head
back ever so, he came to an inn that used to be a post-house in the old
days when men travelled only by road. A