"Johannes! Johannes!"
He knew that voice. He lifted up his head and took a good look.
Seated upon the bed-tassel, astride the handle, was his old friend Wistik.
He was the same old Wistik, looking as important as ever; yes, his puckered little face wore a peculiar, almost frightened expression of suspense. He was not wearing his little acorn-cup, but a smart cap that appeared black in the twilight.
"I have news for you," cried Wistik. "A great piece of news. Come with me, quick!"
"How do you do, Wistik?" whispered Johannes. He lay cozily between the sheets, and was glad to see his friend again. Let the chest of drawers and the cuckoo be as disagreeable as they wanted to, now; here was his friend again. "Must I go with you? How can I? Where to?"
"This way—up here with me," whispered Wistik. "I have found something. It will make you open your eyes. Just give me your hand. That's the best way. You can leave your body lying here while you are away."
"That will be a fine sight," said Johannes.
But it happened without any trouble. He put out his hand, and in a twinkling he was sitting beside Wistik, on the bed-tassel. And truly, as he looked down below, there he saw his body lying peacefully fast asleep. A ray of light streamed into the room, through the clover-leaf opening in the blinds, and lighted up the sleeping head. Johannes thought it an extremely pretty sight, and himself still a really nice boy as he lay there among the pillows, with his dark curly hair about the slightly contracted brows.
"Do you believe that I am very bad, Wistik?" said he, looking down upon himself.