"Oh, yes--yes--yes, little sauce-box; and take that," said the man,
giving him a box on the ear, being angry at contradiction.

Findelkind's head drooped, and he went slowly over the bridge,
forgetting that he ought to have thanked the toll-taker for a free
passage. The world seemed to him very difficult. How had Findelkind done
when he had come to bridges?--and, oh, how had Findelkind done when he
had been hungry?

For this poor little Findelkind was getting very hungry, and his stomach
was as empty as was his wallet.

A few steps brought him to the Goldenes Dachl.

He forgot his hunger and his pain, seeing the sun shine on all that
gold, and the curious painted galleries under it. He thought it was real
solid gold. Real gold laid out on a house-roof,--and the people all so
poor! Findelkind began to muse, and wonder why everybody did not climb
up there and take a tile off and be rich? But perhaps it would be
wicked. Perhaps God put the roof there with all that gold to prove
people. Findelkind got bewildered.

If God did such a thing, was it kind?

His head seemed to swim, and the sunshine went round and round with
him. There went by him, just then, a very venerable-looking old man with
silver hair; he was wrapped in a long cloak. Findelkind pulled at the
coat gently, and the old man looked down.

"What is it, my boy?" he asked.

Findelkind answered, "I came out to get gold: may I take it off that
roof?"

"It is not gold, child, it is gilding."

"What is gilding?"

"It is a thing made to look like gold; that is all."

"It is a lie, then!"

The old man smiled. "Well, nobody thinks so. If you like to put it so,
perhaps it is. What do you want gold for, you wee thing?"

"To build a monastery, and house the poor."

The old man's face scowled and grew dark, for he was a Lutheran pastor
from Bavaria.

"Who taught you such trash?" he said, crossly.

"It is not trash. It is faith."

And Findelkind's face began to burn, and his blue eyes to darken and
moisten. There was a little crowd beginning to gather, and the crowd was
beginning to laugh. There were many soldiers and rifle-shooters in the
throng, and they jeered and joked, and made fun of the old man in
the long cloak, who grew angry then with the child. "You are a little
idolater and a little impudent sinner!" he said, wrathfully, and shook
the boy by the shoulder, and went away, and the throng that had gathered
around had only poor Findelkind lef