Elkanan slept peacefully, totally unaware of his adventure, and when he opened his eyes he thought he must be dreaming. He was not in his own room, but a much smaller one which seemed to be jolting and moving, like a carriage, and opposite to him was a priest.
"Where am I?" he asked in alarm.
"Lie still, Andreas," was the reply.
"But my name is not Andreas," he answered. "That is not a Jewish name. I am Elkanan, the son of Simon."
To his amazement, however, the priest looked at him pityingly and shook his head.
"You have had a nasty accident," he said, "and it has affected your head. You must not speak."
Not another word would he say in response to all the boy's eager queries. He simply ignored Elkanan who puzzled his head over the matter until he really began to feel ill and to wonder whether he was Elkanan after all. Tired out, he fell asleep again, and next time he awoke he was lying on a bed in a bare room. A bell was tolling, and he heard a chanting chorus. By his side stood a priest.
Elkanan looked at the priest like one dazed. Before he could utter a word, the priest said: "Rise, Andreas, and follow me."
The boy had no alternative but to obey. To his horror he was taken into a chapel and made to kneel. The priests sprinkled water on him. He did not understand what the service meant, and when it was over he began to cry for his father and mother. For days nobody took the slightest notice of his continual questionings until a priest, with a harsh, cruel face, spoke to him severely one day.
"I perceive, Andreas," he said, "thou hast a stubborn spirit. It shall be curbed. Thy father and mother are dead—all the world is dead to thee. Thou hast strange notions in thy head. We shall rid thee of them."