once more, and still Findelkind was always dreaming and wondering
what he could do for the good of St. Christopher; and the longing
to do it all came more and more into his little heart, and he
puzzled his brain till his head ached. One autumn morning, whilst
yet it was dark, Findelkind made his mind up, and rose before his
brothers, and stole downstairs and out into the air, as it was
easy to do, because the house door never was bolted. He had
nothing with him; he was barefooted, and his school satchel was
slung behind him, as Findelkind of Arlberg's wallet had been five
centuries before.

He took a little staff from the piles of wood lying about, and
went out on to the highroad, on his way to do heaven's will. He
was not very sure what that divine will wished, but that was
because he was only nine years old, and not very wise; but
Findelkind that was in heaven had begged for the poor; so would
he.

His parents were very poor, but he did not think of them as in any
want at any time, because he always had his bowlful of porridge
and as much bread as he wanted to eat. This morning he had nothing
to eat; he wished to be away before any one could question him.

It was quite dusk in the fresh autumn morning: the sun had not
risen behind the glaciers of the Stubaithal, and the road was
scarcely seen; but he knew it very well, and he set out bravely,
saying his prayers to Christ, and to St. Christopher, and to
Findelkind that was in heaven.

He was not in any way clear as to what he would do, but he thought