"Indeed! I know nothing about the matter," answered Kummas, "and never ask him; for, as I am sure he does not waste the little money he gets, I let him do whatever he likes with his few halfpence."
"I suppose you think, at the same time, I have no cause to complain of his spending his money in this way?" Saying these words, the old men separated.
On the same Sunday, Christlieb, accompanied by Malchen, came out of the bird-catcher's house. "Stop a minute," said he to the young girl, taking out of her hand a finch, round whose right leg he fastened a small piece of red thread, but not very tightly.
"Oh! it is a fancy of mine," said Christlieb, taking hold of the bird, and bidding the girl good-bye; who looked after him with curiosity before she again went into the house.
Christlieb went a considerable way into the wood. "Don't be afraid," he said softly to the little bird, whose heart he felt beating as he held the terrified creature in his hand; "from me you have nothing to fear. Perhaps your young ones are dying with hunger, for want of you, in their solitary nest; or your father and mother are seeking you everywhere, calling to you to come back to them. Now take care, little stupid thing, and don't let wicked boys catch you by mock whistles, mock pipes, or mock food; and there, now, fly away!" With these words he opened his hand, and the finch, not needing to be told twice, flew quickly away. Christlieb looked after it until it disappeared in the blue distance. He then took a piece of paper out of his pocket, on which he made a small mark with a pencil. "Twenty-six finches," he repeated to himself, "nineteen larks, five thrushes, nine lapwings, two goldfinches, three blackbirds,--four-and-sixty birds I have saved from death or imprisonment.--Hurrah! hurrah!"
The same evening, Christlieb was again playing; and in the same room of that inn in which his foster-father had played twelve years before,--at the door of which he had found him. Waltzes, country dances, galops, quadrilles, and all manner of tunes dropped from his hand like water. He played unweariedly, although sleep every now and then shut his eyes, and the player of the violincello had to give him a gentle push with the point of his bow at the end of the hundredth-time-played pieces. Meanwhile, Kummas enjoyed rest at home. The grateful foundling now supplied his place, which he felt it neither difficult nor unpleasant to do. Obedient to the command of his father, he steadfastly refused to taste either beer or brandy, and contented himself with pure water,--an abstinence not at all disagreeable to the other musicians, as by that means their portions were the larger. About three o'clock in the morning, the dance ended, and dancers and musicians left the inn; all except Christlieb, who laid himself down on a bench, near the stove in the lower room, and slept for three hours the pleasant sleep of youth and weariedness. When he awoke, the landlady gave him a cup of delicious coffee, and a piece of fine cake, after partaking which he prepared for his walk home.