enbein would allow him the primacy, made the
weaver's life a burden to him, and managed to put off half of the
little work he was supposed to do upon the willing Holdria. He was thus
comfortable and cheerful; he began to settle down as in a warm nest,
and resolved not to worry under these delightful circumstances, but to
live many years for his own pleasure and the annoyance of the citizens.
Now that Huerlin was gone, he was the eldest of the Sun-Brothers. He
made himself quite at home, and had never in his life found himself so
much in harmony with his environment, whose secure though not luxurious
peace and idleness left him time to stretch himself easily and to
contemplate himself as a respectable and not altogether useless member
of society--of the town, and of the world as a whole.

It was otherwise with Finkenbein. The ideal picture of a
Sun-Brother's life which his lively fancy had painted in such glowing
colors was far different from what he had found the reality to be. To
be sure, to all appearance he was still the same light-footed jester as
of old; he enjoyed his good bed, the warm stove, the solid and
sufficient food, and seemed to find no fault with anything. He
continued to bring back from mysterious trips into the town a few small
coins for drink and tobacco, in which he generously allowed the
sailmaker to share. He was seldom at a loss to know how to pass the
time, for he knew every face up and down the road, and was a general
favorite--so that at any house or shop door, on bridge or steps, by
wagons or push-carts, as well as at the "Star" and the "Lion," he was
able to enjoy a gossip with any one who came along.

In spite of all this, he was not at ease. To begin with, Heller and
Holdria were hardly satisfying daily companions for him, who had been
used to intercourse with livelier and more rewarding people; and then
he found increasingly burdensome the regularity of this life, with its
fixed hours for rising, eating, working, and going to bed. Finally, and
this was the main point, the life was too good and comfortable for him.
He was trained to alternating days of hunger with days of feasting, to
sleeping now on linen and now on straw, to being sometimes admired and
sometimes browbeaten. He was used to wandering where the spirit moved
him, to being afraid of the police, to having little games with the
fair sex, and to expecting something new from each new day. He missed
this poverty, freedom, movement