"That was foolish enough!" said the Baron.
John sighed deeply. "Oh, sir, I had to spend my life among Turks and heretics; should I not at least go to rest in a Catholic cemetery?"
The lord of the estate had taken out his purse. "Here, John, now go and come back soon. You must tell me the whole story more in detail; today it was a bit confused. I suppose you are still very tired."
"Very tired," replied John; "and"—he pointed to his forehead—"my thoughts are at times so curious I cannot exactly tell how things are."
"I understand," said the baron; "that is an old story. Now, go. Huelsmeyer will probably put you up for another night; come again tomorrow."
Herr von S. felt the deepest sympathy with the poor chap; by the next day he had decided where to lodge him; he should take his meals in the castle and his clothing could, of course, be provided for too. "Sir," said John, "I can still do something; I can make wooden spoons and you can also send me on errands."
Herr von S. shook his head sympathetically. "But that wouldn't work so remarkably well."
"Oh, yes, sir, if once I get started—I can't move very fast, but I'll get there somehow, and it won't be as hard as you might think, either."
"Well," said the Baron, doubtfully, "do you want to try it? Here is a letter to P. There is no particular hurry." The next day John moved into his little room in the house of a widow in the village. He carved spoons, ate at the castle, and did errands for the Baron. On the whole he was getting along tolerably well; the Baron's family was very kind, and Herr von S. often conversed with him about Turkey, service in Austria, and the ocean. "John could tell many things," he said to his wife, "if he wasn't so downright simple."
"More melancholic than simple," she replied; "I am always afraid he'll lose his wits some day."