"What are you moping about there, Johannes?" cried Pluizer. "You know I do not approve of dreaming." Johannes raised his pensive eyes, imploringly. "Let me stay a little longer," said he. "The sun is so good." "What do you find in the sun?" asked Pluizer. "It is nothing but a big candle; it does not make a bit of difference whether you are in candle-light or sunlight. Look! see those shadows and dashes of light on the street. They are nothing but the varied effect of one little light that burns steadily--without a flicker. And that light is really a tiny flame, which shines upon a mere speck of the earth. There, beyond that blue--above and beneath us--it is dark--cold and dark! It is night there--now and ever." But his words had no effect on Johannes. The still warm sunshine penetrated him, and filled his whole being with light and peace. Pluizer led him away to the chilly house of Doctor Cijfer. For a little while the image of the sun hovered before his vision, then slowly faded away; and by the middle of the day all was dark again. When the evening came and he passed through the town once more, the air was sultry and full of the stuffy smells of spring. Everything was reeking, and he felt oppressed in the narrow streets. But in the open squares he smelled the grass and the buds of the country beyond; and he saw the spring in the tranquil little clouds above it all--in the tender flush of the western sky. The twilight spread a soft grey mist, full of delicate tints, over the town. It was quiet everywhere--only a street-organ in the distance was playing a mournful tune. The buildings seemed black spectres against the crimson sky--their fantastic pinnacles and chimneys reaching up like countless arms. When the sun threw its last rays out over the great town, it seemed to Johannes that it gave him a kind smile--kind as the smile that forgives a folly. And the sweet warmth stroked his cheeks, caressingly. Then a great sadness came into Johannes' heart--so great that he could go no farther. He took a deep breath, and lifted up his face to the wide heavens. The spring was calling him, and he heard it. He would answer--he would go. He was all contrition and love and forgiveness. He looked up longingly, and tears fell from his sorrowful eyes. "Come, Johannes! Do not act so oddly--people are looking at you," said Pluizer. Long, monotonous rows of houses stretched out on both sides--dark and gloomy--offensive in the soft spring air, discordant in the springtime melody. People sat at their doors and on the stoops to enjoy the season. To Johannes it was a mockery. The dirty doors stood open, and the musty rooms within awaited their occupants. In the distance the organ still prolonged its melancholy tones. "Oh, if I could only fly away--far away to the dunes and to the sea!" But he had to return to the high-up little room; and that night he lay awake.