Findelkind started and trembled. A kreutzer! he had never owned such a treasure in all his life. "I have no money," he murmured timidly; "I came to see if I could get money for the poor." The keeper of the bridge laughed. "You are a little beggar, you mean? Oh, very well! Then over my bridge you do not go." "But it is the city on the other side?" "To be sure it is the city; but over nobody goes without a kreutzer." "I never have such a thing of my own! never! never!" said Findelkind, ready to cry. "Then you were a little fool to come away from your home, wherever that may be," said the man at the bridge-head. "Well, I will let you go, for you look a baby. But do not beg; that is bad." "Findelkind did it!" "Then Findelkind was a rogue and a vagabond," said the taker of tolls. "Oh, no--no--no!" "Oh, yes--yes--yes, little sauce-box; and take that," said the man, giving him a box on the ear, being angry at contradiction. Findelkind's head drooped, and he went slowly over the bridge, forgetting that he ought to have thanked the toll taker for a free passage. The world seemed to him very difficult. How had Findelkind done when he had come to bridges?--and, oh, how had Findelkind done when he had been hungry? For this poor little Findelkind was getting very hungry, and his stomach was as empty as was his wallet. A few steps brought him to the Goldenes Dachl. He forgot his hunger and his pain, seeing the sun shine on all that gold, and the curious painted galleries under it. He thought it was real solid gold. Real gold laid out on a house roof--and the people all so poor! Findelkind began to muse, and wonder why everybody did not climb up there and take a tile off and be rich? But perhaps it would be wicked. Perhaps God put the roof there with all that gold to prove people. Findelkind got bewildered. If God did such a thing, was it kind? His head seemed to swim, and the sunshine went round and round with him. There went by him, just then, a very venerable-looking old man with silver hair; he was wrapped in a long cloak. Findelkind pulled at the coat gently, and the old man looked down. "What is it, my boy?" he asked. Findelkind answered, "I came out to get gold; may I take it off that roof?" "It is not gold, child, it is gilding." "What is gilding?" "It is a thing made to look like gold: that is all." "It is a lie, then!" The old man smiled. "Well, nobody thinks so. If you like to put it so, perhaps it is. What do you want gold for, you wee thing?" "To build a monastery and house the poor." The old man's face scowled and grew dark, for he was a Lutheran pastor from Bavaria. "Who taught you such trash?" he said crossly. "It is not trash. It is faith."