The Quest

"He had him walked clean out of the church, by the sexton and two cops."

"That's confounded silly. 'Twould have been better to see who could crow the loudest. It's the loudest cock that wins."

"The idea! You'd have me believe you mean it? Suppose they gave the prize to the wrong fellow?"

"Whether you are cheated by a fool of a preacher, or by a scissors-grinder, what's the difference?"

Johannes reflected a moment and wondered if it would not be commendable to do what he ached to do – fly at these people and rain blows upon their heads. But he controlled himself and passed on, convinced that in doing so he was escaping some hard work.

For five hours he walked on without being much the wiser for his inquiries. Some people thought they had seen Markus; others knew positively nothing about him.

Johannes began to fear he had passed him; for by this time he ought to have overtaken him.

It began to grow dark, and before him lay a wide river which he must cross by means of a ferry-boat. On the farther side were hills covered with an underwood of oak, and tall, purple-flowered heather.

The ferryman was positive that he had not that day taken over a scissors-grinder; but in yonder town, an hour's distance from the river, a Fair was to begin in the morning. Very likely Markus also would be there.

Johannes sat down by the roadside in the midst of the dark broom, with its millions of small purple flowers. The setting sun cast a glorious coloring over land and mist, and over the lustrous, flowing water. He was tired but not depressed, and he ate his bread contentedly, certain that he should find Markus. The road had become quiet and lonely. It was fun to be so free – so alone and independent – at home in the open country. Rather than anywhere else he should like to sleep out-of-doors – in the underwood.

But just as he was about to lay himself down, he saw the figure of a man with his hands in his pockets, and his cap pushed back. Johannes sat up, and waited until he came closer. Then he recognized him.

"Good evening, Director!" said Johannes.

"Good evening to you, my friend!" returned the other. "What are you doing here? Are you lost?"

"No; I am looking for friends. Is Markus with you?"

The man was the director of a Flea-Theatre; a little fellow, with a husky voice, and eyes inflamed by his fine work.

"Markus? I'm not sure. But come along – there's no knowing but he might be there."

"Are you looking for new apprentices?" asked Johannes.

"Do you happen to have any? They're worth a pretty penny, you know!"

They walked together to the camp of gypsy wagons, near the town. Johannes found there all the old acquaintances. There was the fat lady, who could rest a plate upon her bosom and thus eat out of it. Now, however, she was eating simply from a box, like the others, because there were no spectators. There were the mother and daughter who represented the living mermaid, taking turns because one could not hold out very long. There was the exhibitor of the collection of curiosities – a poor, humpbacked knave whose entire possessions consisted of a stuffed alligator, a walrus-tooth, and a seven-months baby preserved in alcohol. There were the two wild men, who, growling horribly, could eat grass and live rabbits, and who might come out of the wagon only at night, when the street boys were away; but who, far from savage now, were sitting in the light of a flickering lantern, "shaving" one another with exceedingly dirty cards.

The flea-tamer brought Johannes at last to Marjon's wagon.

"Bless me!" cried Lorum, who seemed to be in a good humor as he sat by the road smoking his pipe. "Here is our runaway young gentleman again! Now the girls will be glad!"

From behind the wagon came the soft tones of a voice, singing to a zither accompaniment. Johannes could hear the song distinctly, in the dreamlike stillness of the hour. It was sung in a whining, melancholy, street-organ style, but with unusual emotion:

"They have broken my heart —
Ah, the tears I have shed!
They have torn us apart —
His dear voice is now dead.
Alas! Alas!
How could you forsake me?
Alas! Alas!
How you have deceived me!"

It was a ditty that Johannes thought he had often heard the nurse-maids sing. But, because he recognized that dear voice, and perhaps even because he was worried over the applicability to himself, he was greatly touched by it.

"Hey, there!" cried Lorum to one behind him. "The kid has come back! Stop your squalling!"

Then Marjon appeared from behind the wagon, and ran up to Johannes. Also, the door of the wagon flew back, and Johannes saw Marjon's sister standing in the bright opening. Her fat arms were bare, and she was in her night-gown.

XI

Since that first night in the dunes with Windekind, Johannes had slept many a time in the open air, and he did not see why he should not now do so. He would lie down under the wagon, upon some hay. He was tired, and so would sleep well.

But sleep did not come to him very promptly. Adventures in the world of people proved to be even more exciting than those in Windekind's land of elves. He was full of the important and unusual situation in which he was placed; the strange human life that surrounded him claimed his attention. Above him, feet were shuffling over the wagon floor, and he could see the people crawling around one another inside the warm, dirty wagons. He was obliged to listen to the talking, singing, laughing and quarreling that frequently broke out here and there. A solitary ocarina continued to whistle awhile; then all was still.

It grew cold. He had with him only a thin cloak of Aunt Seréna's; and, as a horse-blanket could not be spared, he found a couple of empty oat-bags; but they were too short.

When all were asleep, and he was still lying awake, shivering, his spirits already inclined to droop, he heard the door of the wagon open. A voice called him, in a whisper. Johannes scrambled out into sight, and recognized Marjon's dark sister.

"Why don't you come in here, Kiddie?" she asked.

The truth was that Johannes, above all else, feared the closeness and the fleas. But he would not offer these insulting reasons, so he replied – intending to be very courteous and praiseworthy: "But that would not do for me – to be with you!"

Now, formality is not a very strong point in a house-wagon. In the very stateliest, a curtain does indeed sometimes define two sleeping-rooms at night, thus denoting regard for the proprieties. But in most cases the custom is to do as do the birds which change their suits but once a year, and not too much, at that; and as do the mice which also have no separate bedrooms.

"Aw! Come, Boy! You're silly. Just come on! It's all right."

And when Johannes, perplexed and very bashful, hesitated, he felt a fat, heavy arm around his neck, and a soft, broad, cold mouth upon his cheek.

"Come on, Youngster! Don't be afraid. Surely you are not so green! Hey? It's time for me to make you wiser."

Now there was nothing Johannes had learned more to value than wisdom, and he never willingly neglected a chance of becoming wiser. But this time there came to him a very clear idea of the existence of an undesirable wisdom.

He had no time to deliberate over this wonderful discovery; for, happily, there came to the help of his immature thoughts a very strong feeling of aversion, so that for once he knew betimes what he ought to do.

He said loudly, and firmly: "I will not! I rest better here." And he crept back under the wagon. The swarthy jade appeared not to like that, for she uttered an oath as she turned away, and said: "Clear out, then!" Johannes did not take it greatly to heart, although it did appear to him unfair. He slept, however, no more than before; and the sensation of the recent touches, and the wretched odor of poor perfumery which the woman had brought with her, remained with him, to his distress.

As soon as it began to grow light, the door of the wagon was again opened. Johannes, surprised, looked up. Marjon came softly out in her bare feet, with an old purple shawl thrown over her thin little shoulders. She went up to Johannes and sat down on the ground beside him.

"What did she do?" she asked, in a whisper.

"Who?" asked Johannes, in return. But that was from embarrassment, for he well knew whom she meant.

"Now, you know well enough. Did you think I was sleeping? Did she give you a kiss?"

Johannes nodded.

"Where? On your mouth?"

"No. On my cheek."