"Windekind! Windekind!" whispered Johannes, suddenly remembering. "Who is that? Who is Windekind?" asked Robinetta. The redbreast flew up, chattering, and the daisies in the grass before him seemed suddenly to be staring at Johannes in great alarm with their white, wide-open eyes. "Did he give you the little key?" continued the girl. Johannes nodded, in silence; but she wanted to know more. "Who was it? Did he teach you all those things? Where is he?" "He is not any more. It is Robinetta now--no one but Robinetta. Robinetta alone!" He clasped her arm, and pressed his little head against it. "Silly boy!" she said, laughing. "I will find the book for you--I know where it is." "But then I must go and get the key, and it is far away." "No, no, you need not. I will find it without a key--to-morrow--I promise you." On their way home, the little butterflies flitted back and forth in front of them. Johannes dreamed of his father that night--of Robinetta, and of many others. They were all good friends, and they stood near looking at him cordially, and trustfully. Yet later, their faces changed. They grew cold and ironical. He looked anxiously around; on all sides were fierce, hostile faces. He felt a nameless distress, and waked up weeping. IX Johannes had already sat a long while, waiting. The air was chilly, and great clouds were drifting close above the earth in endless, majestic succession. They spread out sombre, wide-waving mantles, and reared their haughty heads toward the clear light that shone above them. Sunlight and shadow chased each other swiftly over the trees, like flickering flames. Johannes was in an anxious state of mind, thinking about the book; not believing that he should really find it that day. Between the clouds--much higher--awfully high, he saw an expanse of clear blue sky; and upon it, stretched out in motionless calm, were delicate, white, plume-like clouds. "It ought be like that," he thought. "So high, so bright, so still!" Then came Robinetta. The robin 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, mistrustfully. "He did not come. But we are not going for a walk." Then he went with her, thinking all the time to himself: "It cannot be! Not _this_ way!--it must be entirely different!" Yet he followed the sunny, blonde hair that lighted his way. Alas! things went sadly now with little Johannes. I could wish that his story ended here. Did you ever have a splendid dream of a magical garden where the flowers and animals all loved you and talked to you? And did the idea come to you then, that you might wake up soon, and all that happiness be lost? Then you vainly try to hold the dream--and not to wake to the cold light of day. That was the way Johannes felt when he went with Robinetta.