He went into the house--and down a passage that echoed with his footsteps. He breathed the air of clothes and food; he thought of the long days when he had had to stay indoors, of his school-tasks, and of all that had been sombre and cold in his life. He entered a room with people in it--how many he did not see. They were talking together, yet when he came they ceased to speak. He noticed the carpet; it had big, impossible flowers in glaring colors. They were as strange and deformed as those of the hangings in his bedroom at home. "Well, is this the gardener's little boy?" said a voice right in front of him. "Come here, my young friend; you need not be afraid." And another voice sounded suddenly, close beside him: "Well, Robbi, a pretty little playmate you have there!" What did all this mean? The deep wrinkles came again above the child's dark eyes, and Johannes looked around in perplexity. A man in black clothes sat near--looking at him with cold, grey eyes. "And so you wish to make acquaintance with the Book of Books! It amazes me that your father, whom I know to be a devout man, has not already given it to you." "You do not know my father--he is far away." "Is that so? Well, it is all the same. Look here, my young friend! Read a great deal in this. Upon your path in life it will...." But Johannes had already recognized the book. It could not possibly come to him in _this_ way! No! he could not have it so. He shook his head. "No, no! This is not what I mean. This I know. This is not it." He heard sounds of surprise, and felt the looks which were fastened on him from all sides. "What! What do you mean, child?" "I know this book; it is the Book of Human Beings. But there is not enough in it; if there were there would be rest among men--and peace. And there is none. I mean something else about which no one can doubt who sees it--wherein is told why everything is as it is--precisely and plainly." "How is that possible? Where did the boy get that notion?" "Who taught you that, my young friend?" "I believe you have been reading depraved books, boy, and are repeating the words!" Thus rang the various voices. Johannes felt his cheeks burning, and he began to feel dizzy. The room spun round, and the huge flowers on the carpet floated up and down. Where was the little mouse which had warned him so faithfully that day at school? He needed him now. "I am not repeating it out of books, and he who taught me is worth more than all of you together. I know the language of flowers, and of animals--I am their intimate friend. I know, too, what human beings are, and how they live. I know all the secrets of fairies and of goblins, for they love me more than human beings do." Oh, Mousie! Mousie! Johannes heard coughing and laughing, around and behind him. It all rang and rasped in his ears. "He seems to have been reading Andersen." "He is not quite right in his head." The man in front of him said: