Tramp! tramp! The master was coming. In the time it took Johannes to dip his pen, the mouse had disappeared. The master himself, who was impatient to go home, excused Johannes from the forty-eight remaining lines.
For two long days Johannes lived in constant fear. He was closely watched, and no opportunity was allowed him for escaping to the dunes. Friday came, and he was still carrying around that precious key. The following evening he must take his weekly bath; the key would be discovered and taken away from him. He grew stiff with fear at the thought of it. He dared not hide it in the house—nor in the garden—no place seemed to him safe enough.
It was Friday afternoon and the twilight began to fall. Johannes sat before his bedroom window, looking wistfully out over the green shrubs of the garden to the distant dunes.
"Windekind, Windekind, help me!" he whispered, anxiously.
There was a gentle rustling of wings near him, then came the fragrance of lilies-of-the-valley, and suddenly he heard the sweet, familiar voice.
Windekind sat near him on the window-seat, making the little lily-bells swing on their slender stalk.
"At last! Have you come? I have longed for you so!" said Johannes.
"Come with me, Johannes; we will go and bury your key."
"I cannot," said Johannes, with a sigh.
But Windekind took him by the hand, and, light as the feathery seed of a dandelion, he was drifting away through the still evening air.