It was ten by the bells of Zirl when
they came once more under the solemn shadow of grave Martinswand.
There were lights moving about his house, his brothers and sisters
were still up; his mother ran out into the road, weeping and
laughing with fear and joy.
Findelkind himself said nothing.
He hung his head.
They were too fond of him to scold him or to jeer at him; they
made him go quickly to his bed, and his mother made him a warm
milk posset and kissed him.
"We will punish thee to-morrow, naughty and cruel one," said his
parent. "But thou art punished enough already, for in thy place
little Stefan had the sheep, and he has lost Katte's lambs--the
beautiful twin lambs! I dare not tell thy father to-night. Dost
hear the poor thing mourn? Do not go afield for thy duty again."
A pang went through the heart of Findelkind, as if a knife had
pierced it. He loved Katte better than almost any other living
thing, and she was bleating under his window childless and alone.
They were such beautiful lambs, too!--lambs that his father had
promised should never be killed, but be reared to swell the flock.
Findelkind cowered down in his bed, and felt wretched beyond all
wretchedness. He had been brought back; his wallet was empty; and
Katte's lambs were lost. He could not sleep.
His pulses were beating like so many steam hammers; he felt as if
his body were all one great throbbing heart.
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