They are very quaint, and kept by poor folks for poor folks; but
to the dazed eyes of Findelkind they looked like a forbidden
paradise, for he was so hungry and so heartbroken, and he had
never seen any bigger place than little Zirl.
He stood and looked wistfully, but no one offered him anything.
Close by was a stall of splendid purple grapes, but the old woman
that kept it was busy knitting. She only called to him to stand
out of her light.
"You look a poor brat; have you a home?" said another woman, who
sold bridles and whips and horses' bells and the like.
"Oh, yes, I have a home--by Martinswand," said Findelkind, with a
sigh.
The woman looked at him sharply. "Your parents have sent you on an
errand here?"
"No; I have run away."
"Run away? Oh, you bad boy!--unless, indeed--are they cruel to
you?"
"No; very good."
"Are you a little rogue, then, or a thief?"
"You are a bad woman to think such things," said Findelkind,
hotly, knowing himself on how innocent and sacred a quest he was.
"Bad? I? Oh ho!" said the old dame, cracking one of her new whips
in the air, "I should like to make you jump about with this, you
thankless little vagabond. Be off!"
Findelkind sighed again, his momentary anger passing; for he had
been born with a gentle temper, and thought himself to blame much
more readily than he thought other people were,--as, indeed, every
wise child does, only there are so few children--or men--that are
wise.
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