On they came, the people, a joyous, bright-colored procession. They all bore flowers--as wreaths upon their heads, as festoons in their hands or about their shoulders-flute-players, men, women, and children. And they themselves seemed living flowers, in their clear-colored, charming apparel. They all had abundant, curling hair which gleamed like dull gold in the sunshine, that tinted everything. Their limbs and faces were tanned by the sun, but when the folds of their garments fell aside, their bodies beneath them shone white as milk. The older ones kept step, with careful dignity; the children bore little baskets, with fruit, ribbons, and green branches; but the young men and maidens danced as they went, keeping the rhythm of the music in a way Johannes had never seen before. They swayed their bodies in a swinging movement, with little leaps; sometimes even standing still, in graceful postures, their arms alternately raised above their heads, their loosened garments flowing free, and again arranging themselves in charming folds. And how beautiful they were! Not one, Johannes noted, old or young, who had not those noble, refined features, and those clear, ardent eyes, in which was to be found the deep meaning he was always seeking in human faces--that which made a person instantly his friend--that made him long to be cordial and intimate--that which he had first perceived in Windekind's eyes, and that he missed so keenly in all those human faces among which he had had to live. _That_, they all had--man and woman, grey-haired one and little child. "Oh, Wistik," he whispered, so moved he could scarcely speak, "are they really human beings, and not elves? Can human beings be so beautiful? They are more beautiful than flowers--and much more beautiful than the animals. They are the most beautiful of all things in this world!" "What did I tell you?" said Wistik, rubbing his little legs in his satisfaction. "Yes, human beings rank first in nature,--altogether first. But until now we have had to do with the wrong ones--the trash, Johannes--the refuse. The right ones are not so bad. I have always told you that." Johannes did not remember about it, but would not contradict his friend. He only hoped that those dear and charming people would come to him, recognize him as their comrade, and receive him as one of them. That would make him very happy; he would love the people truly, and be proud of his human nature. But the splendid train drew near, and passed on, without his having been observed by any one; and Johannes also heard them singing in a strange, unintelligible language. "May I not speak to them?" he asked, anxiously. "Would they understand me?" "Indeed, no!" said Wistik, indignantly. "What are you thinking about? This is not a fairy tale nor a dream. This is real--altogether real." "Then shall I have to go hack again to Aunt Seréna, and Daatje, and the dominie?" "Yes, to be sure!" said Wistik, in confusion.