the village was making ready to perform a miracle-play on the
morrow.

Findelkind ran to the robed singing-folk, quite sure that he
saw the people of God. "Oh, take me, take me!" he cried to them;
"do take me with you to do heaven's work."

But they pushed him aside for a crazy little boy that spoiled
their rehearsing.

"It is only for Hotting folk," said a lad older than himself.
"Get out of the way with you, Liebchen." And the man who carried
the cross knocked him with force on the head, by mere accident;
but Findelkind thought he had meant it.

Were people so much kinder five centuries before, he wondered,
and felt sad as the many-coloured robes swept on through the
grass, and the crack of the rifles sounded sharply through the
music of the chanting voices. He went on, footsore and sorrowful,
thinking of the castle doors that had opened, and the city gates
that had unclosed, at the summons of the little long-haired boy
whose figure was painted on the missal.

He had come now to where the houses were much more numerous,
though under the shade of great trees,--lovely old gray houses,
some of wood, some of stone, some with frescoes on them and gold
and colour and mottoes, some with deep barred casements, and
carved portals, and sculptured figures; houses of the poorer
people now, but still memorials of a grand and gracious time. For
he had wandered into the quarter of St. Nicholas in this fair