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HEIMATLOS
_TWO STORIES FOR CHILDREN, AND FOR THOSE WHO LOVE CHILDREN_
BY
JOHANNA SPYRI
TRANSLATION BY
EMMA STELTER HOPKINS
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
FREDERICK RICHARDSON
GINN AND COMPANY
BOSTON . NEW YORK . CHICAGO . LONDON
COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY EMMA S. HOPKINS
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
912.8
The Athenaeum Press
GINN AND COMPANY . PROPRIETORS . BOSTON . U.S.A.
PREFACE
In the translation of "Heimatlos" an effort has been made to hold as
far as possible to the original, in order to give the reader of
English the closest possible touch with the story as it stands in the
German. This method retains the author's delightful simplicity, and it
leaves revealed, even in her roundabout way of telling things, her
charming adaptability as a writer for children.
The adult reader will pardon the repetitions, where the same thought
is expressed in different ways, when it is remembered that the author
is making doubly sure of reaching the understanding of the young mind.
The literal rendering has been sacrificed only in a few instances, and
then because of local idioms and national standards.
It is the hope of the translator that these two stories, so widely
read by the children of Germany, will help our own little ones, in
these days of general prosperity, to appreciate the everyday comforts
of home, to which they grow so accustomed as often to take them for
granted, with little evidence of gratitude.
E. S. H.
CONTENTS
LAKE SILS AND LAKE GARDA
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE QUIET HOME 1
II. IN SCHOOL 5
III. THE SCHOOLMASTER'S VIOLIN 10
IV. THE DISTANT LAKE WITHOUT A NAME 17
V. THE LAKE HAS A NAME 22
VI. RICO'S MOTHER 25
VII. A PRECIOUS LEGACY AND A PRECIOUS PRAYER 28
VIII. AT LAKE SILS 33
IX. A PUZZLING OCCURRENCE 39
X. A LITTLE LIGHT 43
XI. A LONG JOURNEY 45
XII. THE JOURNEY CONTINUED 54
XIII. LAKE GARDA 60
XIV. NEW FRIENDS 67
XV. AN EMPHATIC APPEAL 82
XVI. THE ADVICE 86
XVII. OVER THE MOUNTAINS 94
XVIII. TWO HAPPY TRAVELERS 103
XIX. CLOUDS AT LAKE GARDA 111
XX. AT HOME 117
XXI. SUNSHINE AT LAKE GARDA 127
WISELI FINDS HER PLACE
CHAPTER PAGE
I. COASTING 133
II. THE HOME ON THE HILL 138
III. ANOTHER HOME 155
IV. THE GOTTI HOME 163
V. HOW LIFE CONTINUES AND SUMMER COMES 174
VI. A NEW FEATURE 192
VII. BRIGHTER DAYS FOR THE PATIENT
AND FOR SOME ONE ELSE 205
VIII. THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 216
PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY 231
HEIMATLOS
LAKE SILS AND LAKE GARDA
CHAPTER I
THE QUIET HOME
In the Upper Engadine Valley, on the road leading up to the Maloja
Pass, lies a lonely town called Sils. Taking a diagonal path from the
street back to the mountains, one comes to a smaller village known as
Sils-Maria. Here, a little aside from the highway, in a field, two
dwellings stood opposite each other. Both had old-fashioned doors and
tiny windows set deep in the wall. One house had a garden, where herbs
and vegetables and a few straggling flowers were growing. The other,
which was much smaller, had only an old stable with a couple of
chickens wandering in and out of it.
At the same hour every morning there came out of this forlorn little
house a man who was so tall that he had to stoop in order to pass
through the doorway. His hair and eyes were very dark, and the lower
part of his face was hidden by a heavy black beard. Familiar as this
man's figure was to the people of Sils, they always spoke of him as
"the Italian." His work took him regularly up the Maloja, where the
roads were being improved, or down the Pass to St. Moritz Bath, where
some new houses were going up.
Each morning a boy followed the man to the door and stood looking
wistfully after him. It would have been hard to say just what those
great dark eyes were fixed upon, their gaze seemed so far reaching.
Sunday afternoons, when the weather was favorable, the father and son
would go for a walk together. So striking was the likeness between
them that no one could help noticing it, although in the bearded face
of the man the sadness was less apparent. They seldom spoke, but
sometimes the man would hum or whistle a tune, and then the boy would
listen eagerly. It was easy to see that music was their chief
pleasure. When they were kept in the house by bad weather, the father
would play familiar airs on a mouth organ or on a whistle that he had
made himself--perhaps on a comb or even on a leaf from a tree. Once he
brought home a violin, which delighted the boy beyond measure. He
watched the father intently as he played, and later tried to bring out
the same notes himself. He must have succeeded fairly well, for the
man laughed, and laying his own fingers over the little ones, played
several melodies from beginning to end.
The next day, while the father was away, the boy practiced until he
succeeded in playing his favorite tune, but after that the violin
disappeared and was never brought back again. Sometimes, however, the
father would sing in his deep voice,--softly, perhaps, at first, but
louder as he caught the spirit of the music. Then the boy would sing,
too, and when the words failed him--for the songs were in Italian,
which he did not understand--he could still hum the air. There was one
tune that he knew better than all the rest, for it was one his father
had sung over and over again. It had many verses, and this was the way
it began:
"Una sera
In Peschiera--"
Though the music was sad, this song was the boy's favorite. He would
always sing it with much feeling, his clear, bell-like voice blending
smoothly with the father's rich bass. Often when they had finished all
the verses, the man would put his hand on his son's shoulder and say,
"Good, Enrico! that went very well." Only his father called him
"Enrico"; to all others he was simply "Rico."
There was still another person who lived in the little cottage. This
was Rico's aunt, who kept house for the father and himself. In the
winter, when she sat spinning beside the stove and it was too stormy
to be out of doors, Rico had to be very careful of his behavior.
Everything he did seemed to annoy her. The faultfinding made the
loneliness still harder to bear when, as often happened, the father's
work kept him away from home for days at a time.
Sometimes when Rico tried to escape from the presence of his aunt, she
would say sharply: "Shut the door and sit down, Rico. You are forever
letting the cold air into the house."
He was thankful that his bed upstairs offered a safe retreat after
supper; and then he always had the pleasant anticipation that his
father would probably soon come home again.