"No, my dear children--or yes, as people may regard it, but I shall get well with you!" And, clasping half a dozen of the little hands in his, he walked on with them.
"Will you play the divine friend of children with us again?" asked one of the larger girls beseechingly.
"When Christmas comes, we will all play it again!" A strange smile transfigured Freyer's features, and tears filled his eyes.
"Will you stay with us now?" they asked.
"Yes!" It was only a single word, but the children felt that it was a vow, and the little band pressed closer and closer around him: "Yes, now you must never go away!"
Freyer lifted a little boy in his arms and hid his face on the child's breast: "No, never, never more!"
A solemn silence reigned for a moment. The grief of a pure heart is sacred, and a child's soul feels the sacredness. The little group passed quietly through the village, and the children formed a protecting guard around him, so that the grown people could not hurt him with curious questions. The children showed their parents that peace must dwell between him and them--for the Ammergau people knew that in their children dwelt the true spirit which they had lost to a greater or less degree in the struggle for existence. The children had adopted him--now he was again at home in Ammergau; no parish meeting was needed to give him the rights of citizenship.
The little procession reached the town-hall. Freyer put the child he was carrying on the ground--it did not want to leave him. The grown people feared him, but the children considered him their own property and were reluctant to give him up. Not until after long persuasion would they let him enter. As he ascended the familiar stairs his heart throbbed so violently that he was obliged to lean against the wall. A long breath, a few steps more--then a walk through the empty council room to the office, a low knock, the well-known "come in!"--and he stood before the burgomaster. It is not the custom among the people of Ammergau to rise when receiving each other. "Good-morning!" said the burgomaster, keeping his seat as if to finish some pressing task--but really because he was struggling for composure: "Directly!"
Freyer remained standing at the door.
The burgomaster went on writing. A furtive glance surveyed the figure in his coat and shoes--but he did not raise his eyes to Freyer's face, the latter would have seen it. At last he gained sufficient composure to speak, and now feigned to be aware for the first time of the new-comer's identity. "Ah, Herr Freyer!" he said, and the eyes of the two men met. It was a sad sight to both.