"It is not trash. It is faith."
And Findelkind's face began to burn and his blue eyes to darken
and moisten. There was a little crowd beginning to gather, and the
crowd was beginning to laugh. There were many soldiers and rifle-
shooters in the throng, and they jeered and joked, and made fun of
the old man in the long cloak, who grew angry then with the child.
"You are a little idolater and a little impudent sinner!" he said
wrathfully, and shook the boy by the shoulder, and went away, and
the throng that had gathered round had only poor Findelkind left
to tease.
He was a very poor little boy indeed to look at, with his
sheepskin tunic, and his bare feet and legs, and his wallet that
never was to get filled.
"Where do you come from, and what do you want?" they asked; and he
answered, with a sob in his voice:--
"I want to do like Findelkind of Arlberg."
And then the crowd laughed, not knowing at all what he meant, but
laughing just because they did not know: as crowds always will do.
And only the big dogs that are so very big in this country, and
are all loose, and free, and good-natured citizens, came up to him
kindly, and rubbed against him, and made friends; and at that
tears came into his eyes, and his courage rose, and he lifted his
head.
"You are cruel people to laugh," he said indignantly; "the dogs
are kinder.
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