“ Wohin gehen Sie? ” asked the boy — he was little more.
Simon told him they were on their way to Jenbach and thence to Innsbruck.
“We go also to Jenbach,” said the boy. “ Kommen Sie mit! ”
The group re-formed around them, and they went on together, past Seespitz and down the long hill that leads to the Inn valley. Belinda was happy. She was proud to be able to keep up with them tirelessly, and their singing made light of the miles. She was seeing everything as if she had been blind from her birth until that day. At one place a gang of men were working on the road; once she would have passed by without looking at them — they would have been merely common workmen, dirty but necessary cattle to serve the needs of those whose cars used the road. Now she saw them. They were stripped to the waist, bodies muscled like statues and polished with sweat like oil, harmonies of brown skin and blue cotton trousers. One party called “ Grüss Gott! ” to the other, smiling, fellow freemen of the air.
“What does that mean — Grüss Gott?” she asked the Saint.
“Greet God,” he answered, and looked at her. “Isn’t that only gratitude?”
The boy on her other side spoke a little English. She asked him where they came from and what they were doing.
“We are Wandervogel. We are tired of the cities, and we make ourselves gypsies. We sing for money, and work in the fields when we can, and make things to sell. Your sandals — they are a pattern made by the Wandervogel. We live now, and some day perhaps we die.”
“Are you happy?” she asked, and he looked at her in simple wonder.
“Why not? We do not want to be rich. We have all the world to live in, and we are free like the birds.”