Little Johannes Part 5

'Hark! There he is!' cried the elder, 'beware of him, my young friend, and be thankful that I have given you timely warning. You have the whole night before you. Make good use of your time. The less you eat, the greater the risk of the bat's seizing you. And none but those who choose a serious vocation in life ever go to the house where the beautiful light is. Mark that; a serious vocation.'

Then the chafer, who was by a whole day the elder, disappeared among the blades of gra.s.s, leaving the other greatly impressed.

'Do you know what a vocation is, Johannes? No? Well, the young chafer did not know. It had something to do with eating--he understood that.

But how was he to find the lime-walk? Close at hand stood a slender but stalwart gra.s.s-stem, waving softly in the evening air. This he firmly clutched with his six crooked legs. It seemed a long journey up to the top, and very steep. But the c.o.c.kchafer was determined to reach it.

'This is a vocation!' he thought to himself, and began to climb with much toil. He went but slowly and often slipped back; but he got on, and when at last he found himself on the slender tip, and rocked with its swaying, he felt triumphant and happy. What a view he had from thence!

It seemed to him that he could see the whole world. How blissful it was to be surrounded by air on all sides! He eagerly breathed his fill. What a wonderful feeling had come over him! Now he craved to go higher!'

'In his rapture he raised his wing-cases and quivered his gauzy wings.

Higher! and yet higher I His wings fluttered, his legs released the gra.s.s-stem, and then--oh joy! Whoo-oo I He was flying--freely and gladly, in the still, warm evening air!'

'And then?' said Johannes.

'The end is not happy. I will tell it you some day later.'

They were hovering over the pool. A pair of white b.u.t.terflies fluttered to meet them.

'Whither are you travelling, elves?' they asked.

'To the large wild rose-tree which blooms by yonder mound.'

'We will go with you; we will go too!'

The rose-bush was already in sight in the distance, with its abundance of pale-yellow sheeny blossoms. The buds were red and the open flowers were dashed with red, as if they remembered the time when they were still buds.

The wild down-rose bloomed in peaceful solitude, and filled the air with its wonderfully sweet odours. They are so fine that the down-elves live on nothing else. The b.u.t.terflies fluttered about and kissed flower after flower.

'We have come to place a treasure in your charge,' cried Windekind.

'Will you keep it safe for us?'

'Why not--why not?' whispered the rose. 'It is no pain to me to keep awake--and I have no thought of going away unless I am dragged away. And I have sharp thorns.'

Then came the field-mouse--the cousin of the school-mouse--and burrowed quite under the roots of the rose-tree. And there he buried the little key.

'When you want it again you must call me; for you must on no account hurt the rose.'

The rose twined its th.o.r.n.y arms thickly over the entrance and took a solemn oath to guard it faithfully. The b.u.t.terflies were witnesses.

Next morning Johannes awoke in his own little bed, with Presto, and the clock against the wall. The cord with the key was gone from round his neck.

IV

'Children! children! A summer like this is a terrible infliction!'

sighed one of three large stoves which stood side by side to bewail their fate in a garret of the old house. 'For weeks I have not seen one living soul or heard one rational remark. And always that hollow within!

It is fearful!'

'I am full of spiders' webs,' said the second. 'And that would never happen in the winter.'

'And I am so dry and dusty that I shall be quite ashamed when, as winter comes on, the Black Man appears again, as the poet says.'

This piece of learning the third stove had of course picked up from Johannes, who had repeated some verses last winter, standing before the hearth.

'You must not speak so disrespectfully of the smith,' said the first stove, who was the eldest. 'It annoys me.'

A few shovels and tongs which lay on the floor, wrapped in paper to preserve them from rust, also expressed their opinion of this frivolous mode of speech.

But suddenly they were all silent, for the shutter in the roof was raised; a beam of light shone in on the gloomy place, and the whole party lapsed into silence under their dust and confusion.

It was Johannes who had come to disturb their conversation. This loft was at all times a delightful spot to him, and now, after the strange adventures of the last few days, he often came here. Here he found peace and solitude. There was a window, too, closed by a shutter, which looked out towards the sand-hills. It was a great delight to open the shutter suddenly, and, after the mysterious twilight of? the garret, to see all at once the sunlit landscape shut in by the fair, rolling _dimes_.

It was three weeks since that Friday evening, and Johannes had seen nothing of his friend since. The key was gone, and there was nothing now to a.s.sure him that he had not dreamed it all. Often, indeed, he could not conquer a fear that it was all nothing but fancy. He grew very silent, and his father was alarmed, for he observed that since that night out of doors Johannes had certainly had something the matter with him. But Johannes was only pining for Windekind.

'Can he be less fond of me than I of him?' he murmured, as he stood at the garret window and looked out over the green and flowery garden. 'Why is it that he never comes near me now? If I could--but perhaps he has other friends, and perhaps he loves them more than me. I have no other friend, not one. I love no one but him! I love him so much--oh so much!'

Then, against the deep blue sky he saw a flight of six white doves, who wheeled, flapping their wings, above the roof over his head. It seemed as though they were moved by one single impulse, so quickly did they veer and turn all together, as if to enjoy to the utmost the sea of suns.h.i.+ne and summer air in which they were flying.

Suddenly they swept down towards Johannes' window in the roof, and settled with much flapping and fussing on the water-pipe, where they pattered to and fro with endless cooings. One of them had a red feather in his wing. He plucked and pulled at it till he had pulled it out, and then he flew to Johannes and gave it to him.

Hardly had Johannes taken it in his hand when he felt that he was as light and swift as one of the doves. He stretched out his arms, the doves flew up, and Johannes found himself in their midst, in the s.p.a.cious free air and glorious suns.h.i.+ne. There was nothing around him but the pure blue, and the bright s.h.i.+mmer of fluttering white wings.

They flew across the great garden, towards the wood, where the thick tree-tops waved in the distance like the swell of a green sea. Johannes looked down and saw his father through the open window, sitting in the house-place,--Simon was lying in the window seat with his crossed forepaws, basking in the sun.

'I wonder if they see me!' thought he; but he dared not call out to them.

Presto was trotting about the garden walks, sniffing at every shrub and behind every wall, and scratching against the door of every shed or greenhouse to find his master.

'Presto, Presto!' cried Johannes. The dog looked up and began to wag his tail and yelp most dolefully.

'I am coming back, Presto! only wait,' cried Johannes, but he was too far away.

They soared over the wood, and the rooks flew cawing out of the top branches where they had built their nests. It was high summer, and the scent of the blossoming limes came up in steamy gusts from the green wood.

In an empty nest, at the top of a tall lime-tree, sat Windekind, with his wreath of bindweed. He nodded to Johannes.

'There you are! that is good,' said he. 'I sent for you; now we can remain together for a long time--if you like.'

'I like it very much,' said Johannes.

Then he thanked the friendly doves who had brought him hither, and went down with Windekind into the woods. There it was cool and shady. The oriole piped his tune, almost always the same, but still a little different.

'Poor bird!' said Windekind. 'He was once a bird of Paradise. That you still may see by his strange yellow feathers; but he was transformed and turned out of Paradise. There is a word which can restore him to his former splendid plumage, and open Paradise to him once more; but he has forgotten the word; and now, day after day, he tries to find his way back there. He says something like the word, but it is not quite right.'

Numberless insects glittered like dancing crystals in the sun's rays where they pierced between the thick leaves. When they listened sharply they could hear a humming, like a great concert on one string, filling the whole wood. This was the song of the sunbeams.