They went a long way this morning--in a railway train and afoot. They went farther than at other times, for Johannes had never yet been taken outside the town. It was a warm, sunny day. Looking out of the train, Johannes saw the great green meadows go by, with their long-plumed grass, and grazing cows. He saw white butterflies fluttering above the flower-decked ground, where the air was quivering with the heat of the sun. And, suddenly, he felt a thrill. There lay, outspread, the long and undulating dunes! "Now, Johannes!" said Pluizer, with a grin, "now you have your wish, you see." Only half believing, Johannes continued to gaze at the dunes. They came nearer and nearer. The long ditches on both sides seemed to be whirling around their centre, and the lonely dwellings along the road sped swiftly past. Then came some trees--thick-foliaged chestnut trees, bearing great clusters of red or white flowers--dark, blue-green pines--tall, stately linden trees. It was true, then; he was going to see his dunes once more. The train stopped and then the three went afoot, under the shady foliage. Here was the dark-green moss--here were the round spots of sunshine on the ground--this was the odor of birch-sprouts and pine-needles. "Is it true? Is it really true?" thought Johannes. "Am I going to be happy?" His eyes sparkled, and his heart bounded. He began to believe in his happiness. He knew these trees, this ground; he had often walked over this wood-path. They were alone on the way, yet Johannes felt forced to look round, as though some one were following them; and he thought he saw between the oak leaves the dark figure of a man who again and again remained hidden by the last turn in the path. Pluizer gave him a cunning, uncanny look. Doctor Cijfer walked with long strides, looking down at the ground. The way grew more and more familiar to him--he knew every bush, every stone. Then suddenly he felt a sharp pang, for he stood before his own house. The chestnut tree in front of it spread out its large, hand-shaped leaves. Up to the very top the glorious white flowers stood out from the full round masses of foliage. He heard the sound he knew so well of the opening of the door, and he breathed the air of his own home. He recognized the hall, the doors, everything--bit by bit--with a painful feeling of lost familiarity. It was all a part of his life--his lonely, musing child-life. He had talked with all these things--with them he had lived in his own world of thought that he suffered no one to enter. But now he felt himself cut off from the old house, and dead to it all--its chambers, halls, and doorways. He felt that this separation was past recall, and as if he were visiting a churchyard--it was so sad and melancholy. If only Presto had sprung to meet him it would have been less dismal--but Presto was certainly away or dead. Yet where was his father?