'But in what book do you think that the truth is to be found?'
'I have read a great deal, but I do not believe that I have ever read that book. It is not the Elves' Book nor the Sprites'. Yet it must exist.'
'That I do not know, but I do not think it. For the True Book must bring with it great peace and great happiness. In it there must be an exact explanation of why everything is as it is, so that no one need ever ask or inquire any more. Now men, I believe, have not got so far as that.'
'Is there anywhere such a book?' said Johannes eagerly.
'Yes, yes,' whispered the sprite. 'I know there is, from very ancient legends. And--hush!--I know where it is, and who can find it.'
'Why then have you not yet got it?' asked Windekind.
'Patience, patience,--it will be found. I know as yet no particulars,--but I shall soon find it. I have toiled for it and sought it all my life. For to him who finds it life shall be one perpetual autumn day--blue air above and blue mists all round,--only no falling leaves shall rustle, no twigs shall snap, no raindrops patter, the shadows shall not change, the sun-gold on the tree-tops shall not fade. What seems to us now to be light shall be darkness; what seems to us now to be joy shall be woe by comparison, to those who read that book! Ay! I know this much, and some day I shall find it.'
The Wood-Sprite raised his eyebrows very much and laid his finger on his lips.
'Wistik, if you could but teach me----' Johannes began; but before he could say more he felt a strong gust of wind and saw a great, broad black shroud overhead, which silently and swiftly swept by. When he looked for Wistik again he saw one little foot just vanishing into the hollow tree. Whisk! the sprite had leapt into his cave, book and all. The candles burnt paler and paler and suddenly went out. Those were very strange little candles.
'What was that?' asked Johannes, clinging in terror to Windekind in the darkness.
'An owl,' said Windekind. Then they were both silent for some time. Presently Johannes said:--
'Wistik is not so wise as he thinks himself. He will never find such a book, nor you either.'
'It exists, as your shadow exists, Johannes. However fast you run, however cautiously you seize it, you can never overtake it or hold it. And at last you discover that you are trying to catch yourself. Do not be foolish; forget the sprite's chatter. I can tell you a hundred finer tales. Come along! We will go to the outskirts of the wood and see how our good father draws off the white woollen coverlets of dew from the sleeping meadows. Come.'