He would never dream any more now, he thought to himself. His
dreams had cost Katte her lambs, and the world of the dead
Findelkind was gone forever; gone were all the heroes and knights;
gone all the faith and the force; gone every one who cared for the
dear Christ and the poor in pain.
The bells of Zirl were ringing midnight. Findelkind heard, and
wondered that only two hours had gone by since his mother had
kissed him in his bed. It seemed to him as if long, long nights
had rolled away, and he had lived a hundred years.
He did not feel any fear of the dark calm night, lit now and then
by silvery gleams of moon and stars. The mountain was his old
familiar friend, and the ways of it had no more terror for him
than these hills here used to have for the bold heart of Kaiser
Max. Indeed, all he thought of was Katte--Katte and the lambs. He
knew the way that the sheep tracks ran; the sheep could not climb
so high as the goats; and he knew, too, that little Stefan could
not climb so high as he. So he began his search low down upon
Martinswand.
After midnight the cold increased; there were snow clouds hanging
near, and they opened over his head, and the soft snow came flying
along. For himself he did not mind it, but alas for the lambs!--
if it covered them, how would he find them? And if they slept in
it, they were dead.
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