bridge, he spoke.

"Son," he asked, "did you run away truly thinking to please God
and help the poor?"

"Truly I did!" answered Findelkind, with a sob in his throat.

"Then thou wert an ass!" said his father. "Didst never think of
thy mother's love and of my toil? Look at home."

Findelkind was mute. The drive was very long, backward by the
same way, with the river shining in the moonlight, and the
mountains half covered with the clouds.

It was ten by the bells of Zirl when they came once more under
the solemn shadow of grave Martinswand. There were lights moving
about his house, his brothers and sisters were still up, his
mother ran out into the road, weeping and laughing with fear and
joy.

Findelkind himself said nothing.

He hung his head.

They were too fond of him to scold him or to jeer at him; they
made him go quickly to his bed, and his mother made him a warm
milk posset, and kissed him.

"We will punish thee tomorrow, naughty and cruel one," said his
parent. "But thou art punished enough already, for in thy place