errand here?"

"No; I have run away."

"Run away? Oh, you bad boy!--unless, indeed--are they cruel to
you?"

"No; very good."

"Are you a little rogue, then, or a thief?"

"You are a bad woman to think such things," said Findelkind,
hotly, knowing himself on how innocent and sacred a quest he was.

"Bad? I? Oh ho!" said the old dame, cracking one of her new whips
in the air, "I should like to make you jump about with this, you
thankless little vagabond. Be off!"

Findelkind sighed again, his momentary anger passing; for he had
been born with a gentle temper, and thought himself to blame much
more readily than he thought other people were,--as, indeed, every
wise child does, only there are so few children--or men--that are
wise.

He turned his head away from the temptation of the bread and fruit
stalls, for in truth hunger gnawed him terribly, and wandered a
little to the left. From where he stood he could see the long,
beautiful street of Teresa, with its oriels and arches, painted
windows and gilded signs, and the steep, gray, dark mountains
closing it in at the distance; but the street frightened him, it