“I have declared a half-holiday that I may celebrate the return of health to Brother Kellar,” said Gerson Brandt, smiling upon his old friend, who lay, weak and prostrated, among the pillows. At this point Piepmatz abandoned the doxology and burst into a flood of song.
“Hush, thou saucy bird,” Walda commanded. She went to the cage and playfully shook her finger at the chaffinch. “See, he knoweth there is reason to be glad,” she declared. “Verily he hath much wisdom.”
“Piepmatz is something of a philosopher,” remarked Everett. “He makes the best of his imprisonment. Like the people of Zanah, he appears to care little for the great world.”
“He hath taught me many a lesson of submission,” said Walda.
“Still, his tiny heart is easily touched by worldly things,” said the school-master. “He hath shown a dangerous inclination to take up the song the stranger hath whistled.”
“Let me see whether you have forgotten the worldly song.” It was Everett who spoke. Going to the cage he whistled the minor strain of the love-song. Piepmatz proudly imitated him.
“You see, I might have been a good school-master if fate had not decreed otherwise,” said Everett, addressing Gerson Brandt.
“What is thy work in the world?” asked Walda. “Since my thoughtless plea kept thee here I have often wondered about thy daily labors. At first I thought thou didst tend the sick, but once I heard thee say that thou hadst not yet begun that labor.”
“So far I have not done any one thing,” Everett confessed, with a feeling of shame.
“How dost thou spend thy days?” the school-master inquired.