but laughing just because they did not know, as crowds always
will do. And only the big dogs that are so very big in this
country, and are all loose, and free, and good-natured citizens,
came up to him kindly, and rubbed against him, and made friends;
and at that tears came into his eyes, and his courage rose, and
he lifted his head.

"You are cruel people to laugh," he said, indignantly; "the
dogs are kinder. People did not laugh at Findelkind. He was a
little boy just like me, no better and no bigger, and as poor,
and yet he had so much faith, and the world then was so good,
that he left his sheep, and got money enough to build a church
and a hospice to Christ and St. Christopher. And I want to do the
same for the poor. Not for myself, no; for the poor! I am
Findelkind too, and Findelkind of Arlberg that is in heaven
speaks to me."

Then he stopped, and a sob rose again in his throat.

"He is crazy!" said the people, laughing, yet a little scared;
for the priest at Zirl had said rightly, this is not an age of
faith. At that moment there sounded, coming from the barracks,
that used to be the Schloss in the old days of Kaiser Max and
Mary of Burgundy, the sound of drums and trumpets and the tramp
of marching feet. It was one of the corps of Jagers of Tyrol,
going down from the avenue to the Rudolfplatz, with their band
before them and their pennons streaming. It was a familiar sight,
but it drew the street-throngs to it like magic: the age is not
fond of dreamers, but it is very fond of drums. In almost a
moment the old dark arcades and the river-side and the passages