or little fellow, and he felt
so ashamed of himself,--so very ashamed; and the priest had told him
to try and do the same. He brooded over it so much, and it made him so
anxious and so vexed, that his brothers ate his porridge and he did
not notice it, his sisters pulled his curls and he did not feel it, his
father brought a stick down on his back, and he only started and stared,
and his mother cried because he was losing his mind, and would grow
daft, and even his mother's tears he scarcely saw. He was always
thinking of Findelkind in heaven.

When he went for water, he spilt one-half; when he did his lessons, he
forgot the chief part; when he drove out the cow, he let her munch the
cabbages; and when he was set to watch the oven he let the loaves burn,
like great Alfred. He was always busied thinking, "Little Findelkind
that is in heaven did so great a thing: why may not I? I ought! I
ought!" What was the use of being named after Findelkind that was in
heaven, unless one did something great, too?

Next to the church there is a little stone lodge, or shed, with two
arched openings, and from it you look into the tiny church, with its
crucifixes and relics, or out to great, bold, sombre Martinswand, as you
like best; and in this spot Findelkind would sit hour after hour while
his brothers and sisters were playing, and look up at the mountains or
on to the altar, and wish and pray and vex his little soul most wofully;
and his ewes and his lambs would crop the grass about the entrance, and
bleat to make him notice them and lead them farther afield, but all in
vain. Even his dear sheep he hardly heeded, and his pet ewes, Katte
and Greta, and the big ram Zips, rubbed their soft noses in his hand
unnoticed. So the summer droned away,--the summer that is so short
in the mountains, and yet so green and so radiant, with the torrents
tumbling through the flowers, and the hay tossing in the meadows, and
the lads and lasses climbing to cut the rich, sweet grass of the alps.
The short summer passed as fast as a dragon-fly flashes by, all green
and gold, in the sun; and it was near winter once more, and still
Findelkind was always dreaming and wondering what he could do for the
good of St. Christopher; and the longing to do it all came more and more
into his little heart, and he puzzled his brain till his head ached. One
autumn morning, whilst yet it was dark, Findelkind made his mind up, and
rose before his brothers, and stole down