They went into a room full of men and women; how many, he could not see. They were talking, but as he went in they were silent. He noticed that the carpet had a pattern of huge, impossible flowers in gaudy colours. They were as strange and monstrous as those on the curtains in his bedroom at home.
'So that is the gardener's little boy?' said a voice opposite him. 'Come here, my little friend; there is nothing to be afraid of.'
'Well, Robbie, you have found a nice little companion.'
What did it all mean? The deep lines gathered again above Johannes's dark childlike eyes, and he looked about him in bewilderment and alarm. A man dressed in black sat near him, looking at him with cold, grey eyes.
'So you want to see the Book of Books? I am surprised that your father, whom I know for a pious man, should not have put it into your hands before now.'
'You do not know my father; he is far, far away.'
'Indeed! Well, it is the same thing. Look here, my little friend! Read this diligently; it shall show you the way of life----'
But Johannes had already recognised the Book. This was not what he wanted. No, something very different. He shook his head.
'No, no! that is not what I mean. I know this Book. This is not it.'
He heard exclamations of surprise, and felt the looks which were fixed on him from all sides.
'I know this book. It is the book men believe in. But there is not enough in it--if there were, there would be peace and goodwill among men. And there is none. I mean something different--something which no one can doubt who sees it; in which it is written, precisely and clearly, why everything is as it is.'
'How is that possible? Where can the boy have picked up such a notion?'
'I am afraid that you have read some wicked books, child, and are talking like them.'
Thus spoke the various voices. Johannes felt his cheeks burning--his eyes were dim and dazzled--the room turned round, and the huge flowers on the carpet swayed up and down. Where was the little mouse who had so faithfully helped him that day in the school-room? He wanted her badly.
'I am not talking like any book, and he who taught me what I know is worth more than all of you together. I know the language of flowers and animals, and am friends with them all. And I know too what men are, and how they live. I know all the fairies' secrets and the wood-sprites'; for they all love me--more than men do.'