'Ay, ay! That's it, that's it. If I tell you, will you help me?'
'If I can—certainly.'
'Then listen, Johannes.' Wistik opened his eyes astonishingly wide, and raised his eyebrows higher than ever. Then he whispered behind his little hand. 'Men have the golden casket; elves have the golden key; the foe of the elves can never find it, the friend of men alone can open it. The first night of Spring is the right time, and Robin Redbreast knows the way.'
'Is that true, quite true?' cried Johannes, remembering his little key.
'Yes,' said Wistik.
'How is it that no one has found it yet?' asked Johannes, 'so many men are seeking for it.'
'I have never confided to any man, never to any man, what I have told you. I never before knew a friend of the Elves.'
'I have it, Wistik, I can help you!' Johannes leaped and clapped his hands. 'I will ask Windekind about it.'
Away he flew over the moss and dry leaves. But he stumbled now and then and his feet were heavy. Stout twigs snapped under his tread, while before, it had not even bent the blades of grass. There was the shady fern under which they had been sleeping. Their bed was empty.
'Windekind!' he called. But he started at the sound of his own voice. 'Windekind!' It sounded like a human voice.