And now we had reached the station. I still had five minutes. I thanked the young man for his companionship and wished him all the best for the new association that he was representing in such an outstanding manner. With his right index finger he wiped away the dust that seemed to be burdening the windowsill of the little waiting room, and was quite lost in his thoughts. I must admit that I was already flattering myself that it was my little stories that had made him so pensive. When, by way of farewell, he pulled a small red thread out of my glove, out of gratitude I gave him the following advice: “You can cut across the fields on the way back; that way is significantly shorter than going by the road.”

“Pardon me,” said the eager young man with a bow, “in any case I shall go back by the road. At this very moment I’m trying to think of where that was. While you were being kind enough to recount some really important things to me, I thought I saw a scarecrow in the field in an old coat, and one of the sleeves, I think the left one, had gotten hung up on the pole so it couldn’t blow in the wind at all. I now somehow feel I have a duty to make my small contribution to the general good of humanity—which also seems to me to be a kind of association in which we each have our bit to do—by restoring to this sleeve its true significance, which is to blow in the wind.” The young man then retired with the sweetest of smiles. I, on the other hand, nearly missed my train.

Fragments of this story were sung by the young man at one of the “evenings” of the association. God knows who made up the music for them. Mr. Baum, the honorary standard bearer, imparted these to the children, and the children took a liking to some of the melodies.

The Beggar and the Proud Maiden

The Beggar and the Proud Maiden

It happened that we—the schoolteacher and I—were witness to the following small incident. In our town, at the edge of the woods, from time to time an old beggar stands. He was there again today, poorer, more miserable than ever, and through a pitiable mimicry almost indistinguishable from the decrepit board fence on which he was leaning. But then it happened that a very little girl came running up to him to give him a small coin. There was nothing particularly remarkable about this. The only surprising thing was the way she did it. She made a well-behaved, handsome little curtsy, handed her gift to the old man quickly as though to keep it from being noticed, curtsied again, and was quickly gone. These two little curtsies, however, were fit for an emperor at least.