The next day he appeared again and quickly ran to Vinzi. “I have to mind the cows today, but the others can stay,” he said breathlessly. “But I have a message for you. I showed grandfather the pipe and he made me play on it. When he said I didn’t know how to play, I told him that you could do it better than anybody else. So he wants you to come and play for him sometimes. Won’t you come some day when I have to stay up there? Please come tomorrow, if you can,” Vereli called back as he ran away.
“I must ask uncle first. Where shall I go if he lets me?” Vinzi called after the boy.
But he got no answer from Vereli, who was already far away.
“You go up to the Tower Boys,” replied Russli. He was as usual close to Vinzi’s side and so had heard his question.
“But I don’t know where they live,” replied Vinzi.
“In the tower, of course,” said Russli.
“Is that the reason why you call them the Tower Boys?”
“Of course,” Russli calmly informed him.
The old gray tower that had filled him with such grave misgivings rose before Vinzi’s eyes now. In his wild state of fear it had seemed to him no less than a prison in which his uncle might be living and where he might be obliged to live, too. But besides the tower he had a vague recollection of a bright meadow with shining flowers surrounding the building. His glance had hardly rested on these things in his foolish terror. Now he felt suddenly seized by an intense desire to wander up along the highway to see how all the things looked that had grown so dim in his recollection.
That evening he repeated Vereli’s words to his uncle, asking at the same time what he was to do.