“THE TWO BOYS STARED AT ONE ANOTHER”
“I must get out! I must get out!” said Olaf aloud. “I must get out and run after her.”
He reached the window and seized the bars. Oh, heavens, what was this? Consternation crushed into his heart, for crisscross along the iron bars there now ran new horizontal ones. Alas! alas! he had adventured too late. Impossible now to squeeze through to liberty. His palace was a prison. In vain he tugged at the cruel bars. They could not even be shaken. He stamped his foot. Strong sobs shook his small body; tears scalded his eyes.
But what was this he saw through the dancing blur of his tears? Exactly opposite, a face stared through at him! The moon had raced behind a cloud and her light was dim. Was he looking into a mirror instead of out of doors? No, this pale face was surrounded with dark hair, and now his fingers felt the touch of other warm fingers. Yes, other hands were clasping the forbidding bars, and sobs that were not his own fell on his ear. The moon again sailed forth into the open sky and clearly Olaf the Fair recognised the face of the shepherd-boy, the constant thought of whom had so much quickened his discontent. Yes, it was Olaf the Dark, who, shivering from the cold, stood outside and wistfully gazed at the warmth and wealth within.
The one craning in, the other craning out, the two boys stared at one another.
“Why are you crying, Boy?” asked Olaf the Fair.
“Because I can’t get in,” sobbed the little shepherd. “Why are you crying?”
“Because I can’t get out,” sobbed the little king.
“Do you want to get in?” }
} shrilled two surprised voices.