Johannes gladly did so, and Robinetta listened attentively, believing all he said.
"But what is to prevent all that, now? Why can you not go again with me to all those places? I should love to go."
Johannes tried his best to remember, but a sunny haze obscured the dim distance over which he had passed. He could not exactly tell how he had lost his former happiness.
"I do not quite know – you must not ask about it. A silly little creature spoiled it all. But now it is all right again; still better than before."
The perfume of the lilacs settled gently down upon them; and the humming of the insects over the water, and the peaceful sunshine, filled them with a sweet drowsiness; until a shrill bell at the house began to ring, and Robinetta sped away.
That evening, when Johannes was in his little room, looking at the moon-shadows cast by the ivy leaves which covered the window-panes – there seemed to be a tapping on the glass. Johannes thought it was an ivy leaf fluttering in the night wind. Yet it tapped so plainly – always three taps at a time – that Johannes very gently opened the window and cautiously looked about. The ivy against the house gleamed in the blue light. Below, lay a dim world full of mystery. There were caverns and openings into which the moonlight cast little blue flecks – making the darkness still deeper.
After Johannes had been gazing a long time into this wonderful world of shadows, he saw the form of a mannikin close by the window, half hidden by a large ivy leaf. He recognized Wistik instantly, by his great, wonder-struck eyes under the uplifted brows. A tiny moonbeam just touched the tip of Wistik's long nose.
"Have you forgotten me, Johannes? Why are you not thinking about it now? It is the right time. Did you ask Robin Redbreast the way?"
"Ah, Wistik, why should I ask? I have everything I could wish for. I have Robinetta."
"But that will not last long. And you can be still happier – Robinetta, too. Must the little key stay where it is, then? Only think how grand it would be if you both should find the book! Ask Robin Redbreast about it. I will help you whenever I can."
"At least, I can ask about it," said Johannes.
Wistik nodded, and scrambled nimbly down the vines.
Before he went to bed, Johannes stayed a long time – looking at the dark shadows and the shining ivy leaves.
The next day he asked the redbreast if he knew the way to the golden chest. Robinetta listened, in astonishment. Johannes saw the robin nod, and peep askance at Robinetta.
"Not here, not here!" chirped the little bird.
"What do you mean, Johannes?" asked Robinetta.
"Do you not know about it, Robinetta, and where to find it? Are you not waiting for the little gold key?"
"No! no! Tell me – what is that?"
Johannes told her what he knew about the book.
"And I have the little key. I thought you had the golden chest. Is it not so, Birdie?"
But the bird feigned not to hear, and fluttered about among the fresh, bright beech leaves.
They were resting against a slope on which small beech and spruce trees were growing. A narrow green path ran slantingly by, and they sat at the border of it, on thick, dark-green moss. They could look over the tops of the lowest saplings upon a sea of green foliage billowing in sun and shade.
"I do believe, Johannes," said Robinetta, after a little, "that I can find what you are looking for. But what do you mean about the little key? How did you come by it?"
"Why! How did I? How was it?" murmured Johannes, gazing far away over the green expanse.
Suddenly, as though fledged in the sunny sky, two white butterflies met his sight. They whirled about with uncertain capricious flight – fluttering and twinkling in the sunlight. Yet they came closer.
"Windekind! Windekind!" whispered Johannes, suddenly remembering.
"Who is that? Who is Windekind?" asked Robinetta.
The redbreast flew up, chattering, and the daisies in the grass before him seemed suddenly to be staring at Johannes in great alarm with their white, wide-open eyes.
"Did he give you the little key?" continued the girl. Johannes nodded, in silence; but she wanted to know more.
"Who was it? Did he teach you all those things? Where is he?"
"He is not any more. It is Robinetta now – no one but Robinetta. Robinetta alone!" He clasped her arm, and pressed his little head against it.
"Silly boy!" she said, laughing. "I will find the book for you – I know where it is."
"But then I must go and get the key, and it is far away."
"No, no, you need not. I will find it without a key – to-morrow – I promise you."
On their way home, the little butterflies flitted back and forth in front of them.
Johannes dreamed of his father that night – of Robinetta, and of many others. They were all good friends, and they stood near looking at him cordially, and trustfully. Yet later, their faces changed. They grew cold and ironical. He looked anxiously around; on all sides were fierce, hostile faces. He felt a nameless distress, and waked up weeping.
IX
Johannes had already sat a long while, waiting. The air was chilly, and great clouds were drifting close above the earth in endless, majestic succession. They spread out sombre, wide-waving mantles, and reared their haughty heads toward the clear light that shone above them. Sunlight and shadow chased each other swiftly over the trees, like flickering flames. Johannes was in an anxious state of mind, thinking about the book; not believing that he should really find it that day. Between the clouds – much higher – awfully high, he saw an expanse of clear blue sky; and upon it, stretched out in motionless calm, were delicate, white, plume-like clouds.
"It ought be like that," he thought. "So high, so bright, so still!"
Then came Robinetta. The robin was not with her.
"It is all right, Johannes," she cried out. "You may come and see the book."
"Where is Robin Redbreast?" said Johannes, mistrustfully.
"He did not come. But we are not going for a walk."
Then he went with her, thinking all the time to himself:
"It cannot be! Not this way! – it must be entirely different!"
Yet he followed the sunny, blonde hair that lighted his way.
Alas! things went sadly now with little Johannes. I could wish that his story ended here. Did you ever have a splendid dream of a magical garden where the flowers and animals all loved you and talked to you? And did the idea come to you then, that you might wake up soon, and all that happiness be lost? Then you vainly try to hold the dream – and not to wake to the cold light of day. That was the way Johannes felt when he went with Robinetta.
He went into the house – and down a passage that echoed with his footsteps. He breathed the air of clothes and food; he thought of the long days when he had had to stay indoors, of his school-tasks, and of all that had been sombre and cold in his life.
He entered a room with people in it – how many he did not see. They were talking together, yet when he came they ceased to speak. He noticed the carpet; it had big, impossible flowers in glaring colors. They were as strange and deformed as those of the hangings in his bedroom at home.
"Well, is this the gardener's little boy?" said a voice right in front of him. "Come here, my young friend; you need not be afraid."
And another voice sounded suddenly, close beside him: "Well, Robbi, a pretty little playmate you have there!"
What did all this mean? The deep wrinkles came again above the child's dark eyes, and Johannes looked around in perplexity.
A man in black clothes sat near – looking at him with cold, grey eyes.
"And