Suddenly, as though they had come into being under the sunny blue sky, a pair of white butterflies met his sight. They flitted and wheeled, and shone in the sunshine with purposeless giddy flutterings; but they came close to him. 'Windekind! Windekind!' The name came back to Johannes, and he spoke it in a whisper. 'What is Windekind?' asked Robinetta. The Redbreast flew chirping up, and the daisies in the grass at their feet seemed all at once to be staring at Johannes in alarm with their round white eyes. 'Did he give you the little key?' the girl went on. Johannes nodded; still he said nothing, but she wanted to know more about it. 'Who was it? Did he tell you all these things? Where is he?' 'He is gone.--Now it is Robinetta--no one but Robinetta--only Robinetta.' He took her arm and laid his head against it. 'Silly boy!' she said, laughing, 'I will make you find the Book; I know where it is.' 'But then I must go to fetch the key, and it is a long way off.' 'No, no, you need not. I can find it without the key.--To-morrow, I promise you, to-morrow.' And as they walked homewards, the butterflies flitted in front of them. That night, Johannes dreamed of his father, of Robinetta, and of many others. They were all good friends; they stood round him and looked at him kindly and trustfully. But on a sudden, their faces were changed, they looked coldly and laughed at him. He gazed about him in terror--on all sides there were none but angry, unfriendly faces. He felt a nameless misery, and awoke with a cry. IX Johannes had sat waiting for a long time. The air was chill, and heavy clouds swept over the scene in endless succession. They spread a dark grey mantle in wide folds, and lifted their proud heads to the bright light which shone above them. Sunshine and shadow chased each other with wonderful swiftness across the trees, like a fitfully blazing fire. Johannes was uneasy in his mind; he was thinking of the Book, not really believing that he should ever find it. Between the clouds very, very high up, he saw the clear, deep blue strewn with fleecy white clouds, soft and feathery, floating in calm and motionless rest. 'It must be like that!' thought he. 'So high, so bright, so still!' Then came Robinetta. Her bird was not with her. 'It is all right, Johannes!' she cried out. 'You may come and see the Book.' 'Where is Robin Redbreast?' said Johannes doubtfully. 'He did not come; as we are not going for a walk.' So he went with her, still thinking to himself: 'It cannot be.--It will not be like this,--it must be quite different.' However, he followed the shining golden hair which lighted up the way. * * * * *