The Quest. Frederik van Eeden
about him was again the same as it had formerly been. The flowers nodded cheerfully, and their perfume chased away the melancholy longing for home which, until now, he had felt and encouraged. Amid the tender greenery, in the soft, mild, vernal air, he felt all at once at home, like a bird that had found its nest. He stretched out his arms and took in a full, deep breath—he was so happy! On his way home, wherever he looked he always saw gliding before him the figure in light blue with the golden hair. It was as though he had been looking at the sun, until its image was stamped upon everything he saw.
From this day on Johannes went to the pond every clear morning. He went early—as soon as he was wakened by the squabbling of the sparrows in the ivy about his window, and by the tedious chirping and chattering of the starlings, as they fluttered in the water-leader in the early sunshine. Then he hurried through the dewy grass, close to the house, and watched from behind the lilac-bush until he heard the glass door open, and saw the bright figure coming toward him.
Then they wandered through the woods, and over the hills which lay beyond. They talked about everything in sight; the trees, the plants, and the dunes. Johannes had a strange, giddy sensation as he walked beside her. Sometimes he felt light enough again to fly through the air. But he never could. He told the story of the flowers and of the animals, as Windekind had given it to him. But he forgot how he had learned it, and Windekind existed no more for him—only Robinetta. He was happy when she laughed with him, and he saw the friendship in her eyes; and he spoke to her as he had formerly done to his little dog—saying whatever came into his head, without hesitation or shyness. When he did not see her he spent the hours in thinking of her; and each thing he did was with the question whether Robinetta would find it good or beautiful.
And she, herself, appeared always so pleased to see him. She would smile and hasten her steps. She had told him that she would rather walk with him than with any one else.
"But, Johannes," she once asked, "how do you know all these things? How do you know what the May-bugs think, what the thrushes sing, and how it looks in a rabbit-hole, or on the bottom of the water?"
"They have told me," answered Johannes, "and I have myself been in a rabbit-hole and on the bottom of the water."
Robinetta knitted her delicate eyebrows and looked at him half mockingly. But his face was full of truth.
They were sitting under lilac trees, from which hung thick, purple clusters. Before them lay the pond with its reeds and duck-weed. They saw the black beetles gliding in circles over the surface, and little red spiders busily darting up and down. It swarmed with life and movement. Johannes, absorbed in remembrances, gazed into the depths, and said:
"I went down there once. I slipped down a reed to the very bottom. It is all covered with fallen leaves which make it so soft and smooth. It is always twilight there—a green twilight—for the light falls through the green duck-weed. And over my head I saw the long, white rootlets hanging down.
"The newts, which are very inquisitive, came swimming about me. It gives a strange feeling to have such great creatures swimming above one; and I could not see far in front, for it was dark there—yet green, too. And in that darkness the living things appeared like black shadows. There were paddle-footed water-beetles, and flat mussels, and sometimes, too, a little fish. I went a long way—hours away, I believe—and in the middle was a great forest of water-plants, where snails were creeping, and water-spiders were weaving their glistening nests. Minnows darted in and out, and sometimes they stayed with open mouths and quivering fins to look at me, they were so amazed. There I made the acquaintance of an eel whose tail I had the misfortune to step on. He told me about his travels. He had been as far as the sea, he said. Because of this, he had been made King of the Pond—for no one else had been so far. He always lay in the mud, sleeping, except when others brought him something to eat. He was a frightful eater. That was because he was a king. They prefer a fat king—one that is portly and dignified. Oh, it was splendid in that pond!"
"Then why can you not go there again—now?"
"Now?" asked Johannes, looking at her with great, pondering eyes. "Now? I can never go again. I should be drowned. But there is no need of it. I would rather be here by the lilacs, with you."
Robinetta shook her little blonde head wonderingly, and stroked Johannes' hair. Then she looked at her robin, which seemed to be finding all kinds of tid-bits at the margin of the pond. Just then it looked up, and kept watching the two with its bright little eyes.
"Do you understand anything about it, Birdling?"
The bird gave a knowing glance, and then went on with its hunting and pecking.
"Tell me something more, Johannes, of what you have seen."
Johannes gladly did so, and Robinetta listened attentively, believing all he said.
"But what is to prevent all that, now? Why can you not go again with me to all those places? I should love to go."
Johannes tried his best to remember, but a sunny haze obscured the dim distance over which he had passed. He could not exactly tell how he had lost his former happiness.
"I do not quite know—you must not ask about it. A silly little creature spoiled it all. But now it is all right again; still better than before."
The perfume of the lilacs settled gently down upon them; and the humming of the insects over the water, and the peaceful sunshine, filled them with a sweet drowsiness; until a shrill bell at the house began to ring, and Robinetta sped away.
That evening, when Johannes was in his little room, looking at the moon-shadows cast by the ivy leaves which covered the window-panes—there seemed to be a tapping on the glass. Johannes thought it was an ivy leaf fluttering in the night wind. Yet it tapped so plainly—always three taps at a time—that Johannes very gently opened the window and cautiously looked about. The ivy against the house gleamed in the blue light. Below, lay a dim world full of mystery. There were caverns and openings into which the moonlight cast little blue flecks—making the darkness still deeper.
After Johannes had been gazing a long time into this wonderful world of shadows, he saw the form of a mannikin close by the window, half hidden by a large ivy leaf. He recognized Wistik instantly, by his great, wonder-struck eyes under the uplifted brows. A tiny moonbeam just touched the tip of Wistik's long nose.
"Have you forgotten me, Johannes? Why are you not thinking about it now? It is the right time. Did you ask Robin Redbreast the way?"
"Ah, Wistik, why should I ask? I have everything I could wish for. I have Robinetta."
"But that will not last long. And you can be still happier—Robinetta, too. Must the little key stay where it is, then? Only think how grand it would be if you both should find the book! Ask Robin Redbreast about it. I will help you whenever I can."
"At least, I can ask about it," said Johannes.
Wistik nodded, and scrambled nimbly down the vines.
Before he went to bed, Johannes stayed a long time—looking at the dark shadows and the shining ivy leaves.
The next day he asked the redbreast if he knew the way to the golden chest. Robinetta listened, in astonishment. Johannes saw the robin nod, and peep askance at Robinetta.
"Not here, not here!" chirped the little bird.
"What do you mean, Johannes?" asked Robinetta.
"Do you not know about it, Robinetta, and where to find it? Are you not waiting for the little gold key?"
"No! no! Tell me—what is that?"
Johannes told her what he knew about the book.
"And I have the little key. I thought you had the golden chest. Is it not so, Birdie?"
But the bird feigned not to hear, and fluttered about among the fresh, bright beech leaves.
They were resting against a slope on which small beech and spruce trees were growing. A narrow green path ran slantingly by, and