"Marvelous, matchless blue
I cleave in flight.
The spheres are not so fleet
As my winged feet.
"World after world speed by
Under my hand,
New ones I ever espy,
Countless as sand.
"Blue of the skies!
Blue of the deep!
Now make me wise—No
more to weep."
Johannes also heard the blue calling him; but what the magic word was he could not guess. He was on his knees now, before a small, garret window through which he could barely thrust his arm. Behind him he could hear a shuffling and sliding. It was the long arm again!
"It's a shame!" said Wistik again, his little face red with anger, "the way they have maligned me! I ought to be hail-fellow with the Evil One for not letting you be. What a rascal he is! Do you want to be rid of me, Johannes?"
"No, Wistik. I believe that you are good even if you have often disappointed me and made me very restless. You have shown me so much that is beautiful. But why do you not help me now? If you call me you ought to help me.
"No," said Wistik; "you must help yourself. You must act, you understand? Act! You know that It is behind you, do you not?"
"Yes, yes!" shrieked Johannes.
"But, boy, do not shriek at me! Shriek at It. It is much more afraid of you than you are of It. Try!"
That was an idea. Johannes set his teeth, clenched his fists, turned round and shouted:
"Out, I say! Out with you—you ugly, miserable wretch!"
I even believe he used a swear-word. But one ought to forgive him, because it was from sudden excitement. When he saw that the long arms shriveled and drew away, and that it grew still in the house—when he felt his distress abating and saw the sunlight burst out, revealing a spacious deep-blue sky—then his anger calmed down, and he felt rather ashamed of having been so vehement.