than these things to suffer in their pilgrimage. He had fancied
these riders were knights--such knights as the priest had shown
him the likeness of in old picture books, whose mission it had
been to ride through the world succoring the weak and weary, and
always defending the right.

"What are your swords for, if you are not knights?" he cried,
desperately struggling in his captor's grip, and seeing through
his half-closed lids the sunshine shining on steel scabbards.

"What does he want?" asked the officer in command of the garrison,
whose staff all this bright and martial array was. He was riding
out from the barracks to an inspection on the Rudolfplatz. He was
a young man, and had little children himself, and was half amused,
half touched, to see the tiny figure of the little dusty boy.

"I want to build a monastery, like Findelkind of Arlberg, and to
help the poor," said our Findelkind, valorously, though his heart
was beating like that of a little mouse caught in a trap; for the
horses were trampling up the dust around him, and the orderly's
grip was hard.

The officers laughed aloud; and indeed he looked a poor little
scrap of a figure, very ill able to help even himself.

"Why do you laugh?" cried Findelkind, losing his terror in his
indignation, and inspired with the courage which a great
earnestness always gives. "You should not laugh. If you were true
knights, you would not laugh; you would fight for me. I am little,
I know,--I am very little,--but he was no bigger than I; and see