Johannes had sat waiting for a long time. The air was chill, and heavy clouds swept over the scene in endless succession. They spread a dark grey mantle in wide folds, and lifted their proud heads to the bright light which shone above them. Sunshine and shadow chased each other with wonderful swiftness across the trees, like a fitfully blazing fire. Johannes was uneasy in his mind; he was thinking of the Book, not really believing that he should ever find it. Between the clouds very, very high up, he saw the clear, deep blue strewn with fleecy white clouds, soft and feathery, floating in calm and motionless rest.
'It must be like that!' thought he. 'So high, so bright, so still!'
Then came Robinetta. Her bird 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 doubtfully.
'He did not come; as we are not going for a walk.'
So he went with her, still thinking to himself: 'It cannot be.—It will not be like this,—it must be quite different.' However, he followed the shining golden hair which lighted up the way.
Alas! Sad things now befell little Johannes. I wish that his history ended here. Did you ever have a beautiful dream of an enchanted garden, with flowers and beasts who loved you and talked to you? And have you in your dream had the consciousness that you would presently awake, and all the glory of it vanish? Then you try with all your might to hold it fast, and not to see the cold light of morning.
Johannes had just such a feeling as he followed Robinetta.