little doubted were to be sheathed in his heart.

The officers stared, laughed again, then whispered together, and
Findelkind heard them mutter the word "toll." Findelkind, whose quick
little ears were both strained like a mountain-leveret's, understood
that the great men were saying amongst themselves that it was not safe
for him to be about alone, and that it would be kinder to him to catch
and cage him--the general view with which the world regards enthusiasts.

He heard, he understood: he knew that they did not mean to help him,
these men with the steel weapons and the huge steeds, but that they
meant to shut him up in a prison--him, little free-born, forest-fed
Findelkind. He wrenched himself out of the soldier's grip as the rabbit
wrenches itself out of the jaws of the trap, even at the cost of leaving
a limb behind, shot between the horses' legs, doubled like a hunted
thing, and spied a refuge. Opposite the avenue of gigantic poplars and
pleasant stretches of grass shaded by other bigger trees there stands a
very famous church--famous alike in the annals of history and of
art--the church of the Franciscans that holds the tomb of Kaiser Max,
though, alas! it holds not his ashes, as his dying desire was that it
should. The church stands here, a noble sombre place, with the Silver
Chapel of Philippina Wessler adjoining it, and in front the fresh cool
avenues that lead to the river and the broad water-meadows, and the
grand road bordered with the painted stations of the Cross.

There were some peasants coming in from the country driving cows; some
burghers in their carts with fat, slow horses; some little children were
at play under the poplars and the elms; great dogs were lying about on
the grass: everything was happy and at peace except the poor throbbing
heart of little Findelkind, who thought the soldiers were coming after
him to lock him up as mad, and ran and ran as fast as his trembling legs
would carry him, making for sanctuary, as in the old bygone days that he
loved many a soul less innocent than his had done. The wide doors of the
Hof Kirche stood open, and on the steps lay a black and tan hound,
watching no doubt for its master and mistress, who had gone within to
pray. Findelkind in his terror vaulted over the dog, and into the church
tumbled headlong.

It seemed quite dark, after the brilliant sunshine on the river and the
grass: his forehead touched the stone floor as he fell, and as he raised
hims