Windekind laughed, and whisked away the cigar smoke with a fern-leaf. The tears came into Johannes' eyes, but not from the smoke.
"Windekind," said he, "I want to go away—it is so ugly and horrid here."
"No, we must stay a while longer. You will laugh; it is going to be still more comical."
The singing was over, and the pale man began to speak. He shouted, so that all could hear, but what he said sounded very kind. He called the people brothers and sisters, and spoke of glorious nature, and the wonders of creation, of God's sunshine and of the dear birds and flowers....
"What is that?" asked Johannes. "Why does he speak of those things? Does he know you? Is he a friend of yours?"
Windekind shook his garlanded head disdainfully.
"He does not know me; still less the sun, the birds, the flowers. Everything he says is false."
The people all listened very attentively. The fat woman who was sitting on the blue-bell began several times to cry, and wiped away her tears with her skirt, because she had not the use of her handkerchief.
The pale man said that God had caused the sun to shine so brightly for the sake of their meeting. Then Windekind laughed and, out of the thick foliage, threw an acorn at his nose.
"He shall find it otherwise," said he. "My father shine for him! How conceited!"