They were resting against a slope on which small beech and spruce trees were growing. A narrow green path ran slantingly by, and they sat at the border of it, on thick, dark-green moss. They could look over the tops of the lowest saplings upon a sea of green foliage billowing in sun and shade.
"I do believe, Johannes," said Robinetta, after a little, "that I can find what you are looking for. But what do you mean about the little key? How did you come by it?"
"Why! How did I? How was it?" murmured Johannes, gazing far away over the green expanse.
Suddenly, as though fledged in the sunny sky, two white butterflies met his sight. They whirled about with uncertain capricious flight—fluttering and twinkling in the sunlight. Yet they came closer.
"Windekind! Windekind!" whispered Johannes, suddenly remembering.
"Who is that? Who is Windekind?" asked Robinetta.
The redbreast flew up, chattering, and the daisies in the grass before him seemed suddenly to be staring at Johannes in great alarm with their white, wide-open eyes.
"Did he give you the little key?" continued the girl. Johannes nodded, in silence; but she wanted to know more.
"Who was it? Did he teach you all those things? Where is he?"
"He is not any more. It is Robinetta now—no one but Robinetta. Robinetta alone!" He clasped her arm, and pressed his little head against it.