"
But his little swaying body and pleading hands and shouting voice
and blowing curls frightened the horses; one of them swerved and
very nearly settled the woes of Findelkind forever and aye by a
kick. The soldier who rode the horse reined him in with
difficulty; he was at the head of the little staff, being indeed
no less or more than the general commanding the garrison, which in
this city is some fifteen thousand strong. An orderly sprang from
his saddle and seized the child, and shook him, and swore at him.
Findelkind was frightened; but he shut his eyes and set his teeth,
and said to himself that the martyrs must have had very much worse
than these things to suffer in their pilgrimage. He had fancied
these riders were knights--such knights as the priest had shown
him the likeness of in old picture books, whose mission it had
been to ride through the world succoring the weak and weary, and
always defending the right.
"What are your swords for, if you are not knights?" he cried,
desperately struggling in his captor's grip, and seeing through
his half-closed lids the sunshine shining on steel scabbards.
"What does he want?" asked the officer in command of the garrison,
whose staff all this bright and martial array was. He was riding
out from the barracks to an inspection on the Rudolfplatz. He was
a young man, and had little children himself, and was half amused,
half touched, to see the tiny figure of the little dusty boy.
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