under the raised visor; and our poor Findelkind, weeping, threw
his small arms closer and closer around the bronze knees of the
heroic figure, and sobbed aloud, "Help me, help me! Oh, turn the
hearts of the people to me, and help me to do good!"

But Theodoric answered nothing.

There was no sound in the dark, hushed church; the gloom grew
darker over Findelkind's eyes; the mighty forms of monarchs and
of heroes grew dim before his sight. He lost consciousness, and
fell prone upon the stones at Theodoric's feet; for he had
fainted from hunger and emotion.

When he awoke it was quite evening; there was a lantern held
over his head; voices were muttering curiously and angrily;
bending over him were two priests, a sacristan of the church, and
his own father. His little wallet lay by him on the stones,
always empty.

"Boy of mine! were you mad?" cried his father, half in rage,
half in tenderness. "The chase you have led me!--and your mother
thinking you were drowned!--and all the working day lost, running
after old women's tales of where they had seen you! Oh, little
fool, little fool! What was amiss with Martinswand, that you
must leave it?"

Findelkind slowly and feebly rose, and sat up on the pavement,
and looked up, not at his father, but at the knight Theodoric.

"I thought they would help me to keep the poor," he muttered,