As he could give no other reason for his interest in the prisoner than that he was his friend, and as this reason was not enough to exalt him in the esteem of police authority, none of the functionaries felt called upon to put him on the track. They supposed that the scissors-grinder had very likely gone back to the Fair. That was all the help they gave. Johannes returned to his aunt's baffled and in dismay. There, happily, he found relief; for the good aunt had already discovered that Markus had been led out of the town, and that, with his cart, he had taken the road to Utrecht. Already, lying in plain sight, he saw a large, old-fashioned satchel of hairy leather (a sort of bag which could be hung about one), full of neatly packed sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs. And in the inside of a waistcoat Aunt Seréna had sewed a small pocket. Within that pocket was a purse containing five little gold-pieces. "I do not give you more, Johannes, for by the time this is gone you will surely know if you really wish to stay away for good or to come back again. Do not be ashamed to return. I will not say anything to you about it." "I will be honest, and give it back to you when I have earned it," said Johannes. He spoke in sober earnest; but he had, no more than had his aunt, any clear expectation that it would be possible. Johannes took just a run into the garden to say good-by to his favorite places--his paths and his flowers. Swiftly and shyly, so as not to be seen, he ran past the kitchen where Daatje, loudly singing hymns the while, stood chopping spinach. After that, he embraced Aunt Seréna in the vestibule for the first and for the last time. "Cuckoo! Cuckoo!" came insultingly and triumphantly from the little trap-door, as the clock struck two. Then the stately green front door closed between him and Aunt Seréna. That was a painful moment; yet there quickly followed in Johannes' heart a delightful glow--a feeling of freedom such as he had never yet known. He almost felt himself a man. He had extricated himself from soft and perilous ways; he was going out into the wide world; he would find his beloved brother again; he had a bagful of rolls, and in his waistcoat were five gold-pieces. These last were only lent to him; he would earn as much, and give them back again. * * * * * It was a still, humid, August day, and Johannes, full of gladness, saw his beautiful native land lying in white light under a canopy of delicate grey. He saw thickly wooded dikes, black and white cattle, and brown boats in water without a ripple. He walked briskly, inquiring everywhere for Markus the scissors-grinder. In front of an inn, not far from the city, sat three little gentlemen. They were apparently government or post-office clerks, who had taken their midday stroll and their glass of bitters. Johannes asked information of the waiter who brought drinks, but received no answer.