He was also enstranged from his home by the occupation of his mind with matters of which no one around him had ever heard. He could not talk about them with anybody,--not even with Nat. Thus he was a stranger in his own home: his thoughts were not their thoughts.
Nat beat his brains to gladden the heart of the poor boy whom he so often saw out of spirits. Ivo had told him with delight of the pretty dovecote which the judge's sons had at home: so Nat repaired the old dovecote, which was in ruins, and bought five pairs of pigeons with his own money, and peas to feed them with. Ivo fell upon his neck when, one morning, without saying a word, he took him up into the garret and made him a present of it all.
Of a Sunday morning Ivo might have been seen standing under the walnut-tree, in his shirt-sleeves, with his arms folded, watching his little treasures on the roof, as they cooed and bowed and strutted and at last flew into the field. From possessions which he could hold in his hand, which walked the earth with him, he had now advanced to such as could only be followed with a loving look. It was only in thought he owned them: caress them he could not. They flew freely in the air, and nothing bound them but their confidence in his goodness. Is not this a symbol of the turn which the course of his life had taken?
When he whistled, the pigeons would come down from the roof, dance at his feet, and pick up the food he threw them. But he could not touch them to express his pleasure: he had to content himself with cherishing them in his soul, if he would not scare them suddenly away.
When Ivo entered the church, his soul was so full of love and childlike confidence that he almost always said, "Good-morning, God." With a happy home feeling, he then went into the vestry, put on his chorister's dress, and performed his functions during mass.
A deep-seated fear of God, sustained by a glowing love for the mother of God, and, above all, for the dear child Jesus, dwelt in the soul of Ivo. With especial joy he used to call to mind that the Savior too had been the son of a carpenter. Of all the festival-days he liked Palm-Sunday most: it made almost a deeper impression upon him than Good Friday. Huge nosegays as high as a man, made particularly odorous with wild sallow and torch-weed, were carried into the church. The nosegays were sprinkled with holy water, and after the ceremony they were hung up in the stables to protect the cattle from all harm. At home, all parties were solemn and serious; no one spoke above his voice,--not even Valentine; everyone was kind and gentle to everybody else, and this made Ivo happy.
But, with all this, a thoughtful spirit soon showed itself in him, even in religious matters. One day the chaplain was explaining that St. Peter carried the keys because he opened the gates of heaven for the redeemed.
"How so?" asked Ivo. "Where does he stay?"
"At the gate of heaven."
"Why, then, he never gets into heaven himself, if he is kept sitting outside all the time opening the door for other people."