SUNSHINE AT LAKE GARDA
Two years had passed since Rico had come to his home, and it seemed to
them all that every day was filled with more pleasure than the
preceding one. Stineli knew that the time was at hand when she ought
to go home, and it made her sad whenever she thought of it. There was
the possibility that she might not be allowed to come back, and she
could think of nothing worse than that. Rico, too, began to be unhappy
about it, for he had promised that she should go back to be confirmed.
It seemed to be his duty to let her go, and though he put it off from
day to day, it weighed upon his mind to such an extent that he
scarcely spoke except when it was necessary.
Mrs. Menotti saw that something was wrong, and inquired into the
cause; she had long ago forgotten that Stineli would ever have to
leave them. When they told her she said, "Stineli is still very young;
it will be just as well to wait until she is older"; so they had one
more year of undisturbed pleasure.
One day, about a year later, a message came from Bergamo, saying that
some one was there who was to take Stineli back with him. There was no
way out of it now, so the preparations for the journey began. Silvio
cried and cried because his Stineli was going away.
"You must be sure to come back," said Mrs. Menotti. "Promise your
father anything he wants if he will only let you come."
Rico said scarcely a word when Stineli went, but it seemed to him that
she took all the sunshine in the world away with her. The clouds
remained from November to the following Easter. The days had dragged
along in monotonous fashion, with the zest of life completely gone.
Now it was Easter Sunday. The festivities of the day were over, the
garden was one mass of bloom, and the fields gave promise of a
bountiful harvest. It ought to have made everybody happy, yet here was
Rico, sitting with Silvio in the midst of all this luxury and beauty,
playing the most melancholy tunes he could think of. To be sure they
suited Rico's mood, but they depressed Silvio and made him extremely
fretful. Suddenly they heard, "Rico, haven't you a more cheerful
welcome?"
Silvio screamed for joy. Rico threw the violin on the bed and rushed
out. Mrs. Menotti came in from an adjoining room to see what had
happened. There on the threshold stood Stineli. The sunshine was back
again. She had not had the slightest notion of the hearty welcome that
awaited her return. In fact, the others had not realized how necessary
she was to their happiness until she was gone. They gathered about
Silvio's bed as usual, and they asked questions and answered them and
rejoiced that the days of separation were over.
A few years later something came about so naturally that it seemed as
if it could not have been otherwise. One lovely day in May--as fine a
day as Peschiera had ever seen--a long wedding procession moved from
the church to the Golden Sun. The tall, handsome Rico was at the head,
and by his side, with a wreath of roses on her fair brow, was the
beautiful Stineli. Next came Silvio, in a softly upholstered cart
drawn by two Peschiera boys. Next in line was the mother, in her
rustling festive attire, looking somewhat pale and tired. The flower
girls who came next were almost hidden in the roses they carried;
following them came the guests, and it seemed from their number that
all Peschiera must have turned out to do honor to the young bride and
bridegroom.
The pride of the landlady of the Golden Sun, when she saw the
procession coming, can be better imagined than described. Ever after,
when anybody told about a wedding, she would say scornfully, "That is
nothing compared to Rico's wedding at the Golden Sun."
The loyal Peschierans rejoiced that Rico was to make his home among
them. The sunshine never again left him, and the home nestled in the
beautiful garden was always a happy one. Stineli never let the Lord's
Prayer be forgotten, and the grandmother's song could be heard every
Sunday night.
WISELI FINDS HER PLACE
CHAPTER I
COASTING
Directly opposite the city of Bern lies a small village beautifully
situated on a hill. I cannot tell you what it is called, but I will
describe it to you so that you may know it if you are ever there. On
the summit of the hill there is but one house; it is surrounded by a
flower garden, which meets on each side of the house the stretch of
lawn at the front. This residence is called The Hill, and is the home
of Colonel Ritter. A short distance down the hill, on a level stretch
of ground, stands the church, with the parsonage beside it. This is
where Mrs. Ritter spent her happy girlhood as the pastor's daughter.
Still farther down, amid a group of houses, is the schoolhouse. On the
left of these, all by itself, stands an attractive little house with a
garden. In the front lawn are placed some flower beds containing
roses, carnations, and mignonette. The asparagus beds at the sides of
the house are screened from the front by a low raspberry hedge. The
whole place presents a well-kept appearance. The road goes on down the
hill to the main road that follows along the Aar River to the open
country.
This long, sloping hill provided excellent coasting during the winter.
The distance from the top of the hill to the Aar road below made a
continuous coast of about ten minutes' duration. This incomparable
sledge course gave to the children of the village the greatest
pleasure of the year. No sooner was school dismissed than they ran for
their sleds and hurried up the hill. The hours passed like minutes, so
that six o'clock, the time when they were expected at home, came much
too soon. The closing scene on the hill was usually an interesting
one, for they always wanted to go down once more before they broke up
for the night, and then once again, and after that just one single
time more, so that it might be inferred from their excited haste that
their lives depended upon making as many trips as possible.
They were usually governed by a wise rule that compelled them all to
ride down and return in the same order, so as to avoid the possibility
of collision and confusion; but the rule was occasionally disregarded,
when the final excitement swayed them. This happened to be the case on
a bright January night, when the intense cold made the snow crackle as
it was crunched under the feet of the children, who came panting up
the hill, drawing their sleds after them, their faces glowing from
their exertions. The boys were shouting, "Once more! once more!" as
they turned their sleds and fell into line.
Now it happened that three of the boys claimed the same place in the
file, and not one was willing to go behind the others. During the
dispute two of them crowded the big boy Chappi to one side into the
snow, where his heavy sled sank into the drift. This made him angry,
for it gave the others the opportunity to get ahead of him. In
glancing back he noticed a little girl standing near, watching him;
she had wrapped her hands in her apron to keep them warm, but she was
shivering in her thin dress.
"Can't you get out of the way, you ragged thing?" he cried angrily.
"What business have you here anyway, since you have no sled? I'll
teach you how to get away."
He kicked a cloud of snow at her and was just ready to repeat it when
some one behind him gave him a fierce blow. In great rage he doubled
up his fist and turned savagely to attack his unknown foe.
It was Otto Ritter, who had just placed his sled in line and who now
stood looking calmly at Chappi's clenched fist and raised arm. "Strike
if you dare," was all he said.
Otto was a tall, slender boy, not nearly so stout as Chappi, but he
had already proved, in previous encounters, that he possessed a skill
in handling himself against which Chappi's weight counted for little.
Chappi was too wise to strike, but he shook his fist in the air and
snarled, "Clear out! I don't care to have anything to do with you."
"But I have something to do with you," retorted Otto. "What business
have you to drive Wiseli into the drift and then pelt her with snow
besides? You are a coward to attack a defenseless child."
Otto disdainfully turned his back upon Chappi and went toward the
girl, who was standing knee-deep in the snowdrift. "Come out of the
snow, Wiseli," he said gently. "Is it true that you have no sled?"
"I was only looking at the rest," she answered timidly.
"Take mine and go down once," said Otto. "Hurry, for they are going to
start in a minute."
Wiseli glanced quickly at Chappi, afraid that he would interfere with
her going, but the boy seemed to have forgotten all about her. Otto
helped her to seat herself on the sled, and the next minute she was
going down the hill behind the others.
Wiseli had watched them for ten or fifteen minutes, and had secretly
wished that she might be allowed to sit on one of the large sleds used
to carry several at a time, but to go down alone was more than she
had even hoped for; besides, this was the prettiest sled of all. It
had a lion's head for the front decoration, and was finished with
steel runners and made of light material so that it beat all the
others in a race.
It seemed to Otto but a moment before the party returned, so he
shouted, "Stay in line, Wiseli, and go down once more."
Wiseli immediately turned her sled and gladly led the line down the
hill. She murmured timid thanks to Otto when she returned with the
sled, but the happy, flushed face would have satisfied him even if she
had said nothing. She heard Otto calling his sister as she started
homeward through the panting crowd.
"Here I am!" and a plump, rosy-cheeked little girl came to him with
her sled. Otto took his sister's warm little hand in his and they
hastened home. They had spent much more than the allotted time
to-night, but they had enjoyed themselves too much to entertain any
regrets whatever.
CHAPTER II
THE HOME ON THE HILL
As Otto and his sister rushed into the long hall with its stone floor,
they were met by Trina, an old and faithful servant, who held the lamp
she was carrying high above her head to avoid getting the light in her
eyes.
"You are here at last," she said half impatiently and half
indulgently. "Your mother has been wanting you, and we have all waited
for you until long after supper time."
Trina had been in the family before the children were born, and she
exercised the same authority over them as did the parents, while she
was even more indulgent. In fact, she idolized them both; but for
their good, according to her views, she did not wish them to be too
sure of it. Consequently she was always trying to be somewhat gruff
for their especial benefit.
"Out of your shoes and into your slippers!" she commanded. She put the
light down, and kneeling before Otto she unfastened his shoes and put
the dry slippers on his feet. In the meantime she was urging the
little sister to begin removing her wet shoes, but Miezi stood
listening intently to something she thought she heard from the living
room.
"Well," said Trina, "are you going to wait until next summer? Your
shoes will be dry before then."
"Hush!" warned Miezi with upraised hand; "I heard something. Who is in
the other room, Trina?"
"Only people with dry shoes are going in there," said Trina, still
kneeling before Otto.
Just then Miezi gave a startled exclamation. "There, I heard it again!
It is Uncle Max's laugh, I am sure."
"What!" exclaimed Otto, and both children rushed for the living room
door. "Let me go in first, Otto; I heard him first!" cried Miezi,
endeavoring to push herself ahead of him; but Trina picked her up in
her arms and carried her to the hall seat, where the old servant had a
hard time trying to get the wet shoes from the impatient feet. The
moment the girl was released she bounded into the living room and into
Uncle Max's arms, for it was really he, sitting in the large armchair,
looking as happy and prosperous as ever.
The children quite worshiped Uncle Max. He was their especial friend,
from whom they had no secrets. His travels kept him away much of the
time, and they seldom saw him more than once a year, but this seemed
to make his visits the more appreciated, especially as he always
brought them remembrances from the remotest parts of the world. Each
time he came seemed a holiday to the children.
To-night they were hurried to the table, where a steaming supper
awaited them. The children's excitement over the uncle's coming abated
somewhat before this enjoyment, for coasting always brought sharpened
appetites. Miezi was industriously engaged with her soup when her
father said: "I think my little girl has forgotten her papa to-night.
I missed my usual kiss and handshake."
Miezi instantly let her spoon drop and pushed her chair back to run to
the neglected parent, but he stopped her with, "No, no, you need not
trouble now."
"I didn't mean to forget you, papa," she said.
"We will make up for it after supper, Miezchen," said the father.
"What did we christen the child, anyway?" he continued. "Wasn't it
Maria?"
"I was there when she was baptized," said Max, "but I cannot remember.
It surely was not Miezchen."
"Of course you were there," asserted his sister. "You were the child's
godfather, and we called her Marie. It was papa himself who first
called her Miezchen, and Otto made it still worse."
"No, mamma, surely not worse," interposed Otto. "You see, Uncle Max,
it is like this: if she is a good little girl I call her Miezchen;
this she is so seldom, however, that I usually call her Miezi. When
she is angry and looks like a little ruffled hen, I call her Miez."
"And when Otto is angry, what does he look like?" inquired Uncle Max,
addressing Miezi.
Before she could think of a comparison, Otto answered, "Like a man!"
They all laughed so heartily that Miezi stirred her soup violently in
her confusion.
Uncle Max tactfully changed the subject: "It has been over a year
since I have seen you children, and I wish you would tell me what you
have been doing while I have been away."
Naturally the latest news was related first, and, in their eagerness
to have Uncle Max know everything, both children wished to speak at
once. Among other things they told of the fun they had in school, and
that led Otto to tell about his experience with Chappi and Wiseli; how
she had been driven into the snowdrift and rudely treated, and how,
though she had no sled, she finally had had two rides on his.
"That was right, Otto," said his father; "always take the part of the
weak and the oppressed, and honor the meaning of your name. Who is
this little girl you speak of?"
"I doubt if you know her," answered Mrs. Ritter, "but Max knew the
mother very well. You remember the frail linen weaver that lived near
us? She was his daughter and only child, and she used to come often to
the parsonage. She was a pretty girl with large brown eyes, and she
could sing beautifully. Do you remember whom I mean?"
Just at this moment Trina brought in a message: "Joiner Andreas begs
permission to speak with Mrs. Ritter, if it will not disturb her."
Quite a commotion followed this announcement. Mrs. Ritter dropped the
spoon with which she was serving, and saying hastily, "Excuse me,
please," left the room.
Otto and Miezi immediately pushed back their chairs to go also, but
Uncle Max held Miezi fast. Otto stumbled over something in his haste,
and Miezi struggled hard to free herself. "Do let me go, Uncle Max!
Let me go!" she cried.
"Why do you want to go, Miezchen?"
"To see Joiner Andreas. Let me go. Help me, papa."
"Tell me why you want to see Joiner Andreas, and I will let you go."
"My sheep has but two legs left and no tail, and only Joiner Andreas
knows how to fix it. Now let me go."
Miezi's papa and Uncle Max laughed as she ran from the room.
"Who is this man that has the whole household at his command?"
inquired Uncle Max.
"You ought to know better than I," answered Colonel Ritter. "Very
likely he is an old playmate of yours. I am sure you would enjoy
knowing him. Your sister makes us all love him. He is really the
corner stone of this household, without whom things generally would go
to rack and ruin. It doesn't matter what happens, for 'Joiner Andreas
will fix it.' In fact he is helper, adviser, comforter, and friend,
all in one."
"You may laugh," said Mrs. Ritter, who returned just then, "but I know
that Joiner Andreas is a comfort."
"So do I," said the husband, playfully.
"So do I," echoed Miezi, as she seated herself at the table.
"So do I," added Otto, who was rubbing the knuckles he had bruised in
his hasty exit.
"Then we are all agreed," said the mother. "Now I want you children to
go to bed."
"To which we are not all agreed," said Otto, teasingly.
However, Trina came and they were obliged to go. The mother followed
after a time, as was her custom, to hear the children's evening
prayer and receive their last embrace for the night. This often
required some time, for they were eager to tell her many things, and
detained her for their own pleasure. To-night she remained until they
were quiet and then returned to the gentlemen in the sitting room.
"At last," said Colonel Ritter, apparently as relieved as if he had
just conquered an enemy. "You see, Max, my wife's time belongs first
of all to Joiner Andreas, and then to the children; if there is any
left, it belongs to me."
"Oh, it's not quite so bad as that!" corrected Mrs. Ritter. "You like
Andreas just as well as the rest of us do, even though you won't admit
it. That reminds me, he told me that he had received the money from
his yearly profit and wanted your advice about investing it."
"Yes, it is a fact," said the colonel, "that I never saw a more
trustworthy or energetic man than he. I would trust him with all I
have. He is by far the most reliable and wide-awake man in our
parish."
"Now you know what he thinks of him, Max," said Mrs. Ritter, laughing.
"Yes, to be sure," said the brother, "but you have said so much about
this man that I am curious to see him. Did I ever know him?"
"Why, Max! to think of your asking!" his sister admonished him. "You
used to go to school together and you knew him well. Don't you
remember the two brothers who were in your class, the older one such a
good-for-nothing boy? Not that he was stupid, but he didn't care to
study, so the younger one was in the same class. The older one's name
was George, and he was rather striking in appearance because of his
heavy black hair. Whenever he saw us he would pelt us with stones or
apples, and he invariably called us 'aristocrat-breed.'"
Uncle Max laughed. "Yes, I should say I do remember him distinctly,"
he said. "That word I shall never forget--'aristocrat-breed.' I should
like to know how he got hold of it. I remember very well what a tyrant
he was. I interfered once when I saw him unmercifully pommeling a much
smaller boy, and he took his vengeance on me by calling me
'aristocrat-breed' at least a dozen times. Now, of a sudden, I
remember the other one too. Can it be that little Andreas with the
violets has become your hero? Now I comprehend the intimacy, Marie."
"The violets!" broke in Colonel Ritter. "I have heard nothing about
the violets."
"Why, I see that scene before me as if it were but yesterday,"
continued Max, "and I am going to tell you about it, Otto. You have no
doubt heard Marie tell about the teacher we had in those days, who
believed that the bad should be whipped out of children and the good
whipped into them. Consequently he was much of the time engaged in
punishing us for one or both purposes. At one time he was
administering this treatment to the little Andreas, and he struck the
boy such a heavy blow across the back that he screamed outright. Well,
my little sister, who had just begun to go to school, and who didn't
understand the teacher's well-meant methods, immediately rose from her
seat and marched down the aisle to the door.
"The teacher stopped to see what had happened, holding his rod poised
in the air long enough to ask, 'Where are you going?'
"Marie turned around and, with tears streaming down her face, answered
loud enough for the whole school to hear, 'I am going home to tell my
papa.'
"I shall never forget how the teacher left the astonished Andreas and
rushed upon Marie. 'Just wait and I'll teach _you_,' he threatened. He
roughly took her by the arm and forced her back to her seat,
muttering, 'I'll teach _you_!' That ended the scene, however, for he
sent Andreas to his seat without further punishment, and nothing more
was said to Marie.
"Andreas never forgot this kind act in his behalf, and he always
brought Marie a bunch of violets when he came to school; I used to
notice how they perfumed the schoolroom. Occasionally there would be
a cluster of strawberries or something else equally appropriate. How
the friendship has extended to the present state of affairs I shall
have to let my sister explain."
"My dear wife, I am eager to have this brought up to date," remarked
the colonel.
Mrs. Ritter laughed with the others and began: "The strawberries and
violets were given as Max said, but you have forgotten how soon
Andreas left school after I entered. He went to the city to learn the
joiner's trade. I didn't lose track of him, however, for he often came
home. When Otto and I were married and bought this place, he came to
consult us about his own purchase of some property. The owner of the
place wanted cash, and Andreas, who had lost his parents, hadn't the
money. Otto lent him the sum he needed and has never regretted it."
"I should say not," broke in the colonel. "He paid for that long ago,
and since that time has laid by a good sum of his own. He brings his
money to me, and I invest it for him. His interest is adding to his
capital, and he could now afford to build a much better house and live
with more comforts. It is a shame that he is all alone in the world."
"Hasn't he a wife? And where is George?" asked Max.
"Andreas lives all alone," answered the sister. "I think his history
is too sad for him ever to take a wife. George led a wild life around
here until Andreas refused to help him out of any more scrapes, and
now he has disappeared, for he couldn't pay his debts. People were
relieved to have him out of the neighborhood, but everybody respects
Andreas."
"What do you mean by his sad experience, Marie?" inquired Max.
"I should like to hear about that, too," said the husband.
"Why, Otto!" said Mrs. Ritter, "I have told you about it at least a
dozen times."
"Is that so? It must please me," answered the husband, laughing.
"Can you recall, Max, the girl whom we were speaking of at the table
to-night when Andreas came? We could hear her father's loom from our
garden, they lived so near us. I told you the girl was very pretty.
She had a charming manner and her name was Aloise."
"Never in my life have I known anybody by that name," asserted Max.
"I know why you say so," corrected his sister. "We never called her
that, and I am sure that you never did. We called her Wisi, much to
our dear mother's disgust. You often went over to get her when we
wanted to have some music, because she could sing so well."
"Oh, yes, I remember Wisi," said Max, "and I used to like the girl,
too; but I don't believe that I ever knew of her being named anything
else."
"I know that you used to know, Max," persisted Mrs. Ritter. "Mother so
often deplored the fact that we would not use the pretty name Aloise,
and she never liked what we did call her."
"What became of Wisi?" inquired Max.
"Well," continued Mrs. Ritter, "Wisi and I were much together, for we
were in the same class and went from grade to grade at the same time.
Andreas, through all those years, was her stanchest friend, and she
willingly accepted his attentions, often finding his friendship of
great advantage to herself.
"For one thing we were supposed to bring certain examples worked out
on our slates when we came to school in the morning, but Wisi's slate
was usually blank. She was always light-hearted and merry, and she
would put her slate on her desk in a very unconcerned way and go out
to play; when she returned, the slate was filled with neatly copied
examples.
"Once it was brought before the school that some one had broken a
windowpane, and again, that some one had shaken the teacher's fruit
trees, and I remember that we all knew it was Wisi's fault; but
Andreas took the blame upon himself and the punishment also. The rest
of us accepted it as a matter of course, for we all liked Wisi and
were used to having her escape.
"How it happened that the quietest, most earnest boy in school should
care especially about the most mischievous girl used to puzzle us, and
I often wondered if Wisi were not indifferent to Andreas's interest in
her. I asked mamma about it one day, and she said, 'I am afraid that
Aloise is somewhat vain, and that she may live to see the bad results
of her carelessness.' After that I worried about her myself.
"Some time later we had Bible studies together, preparatory to our
confirmation, and she took such an interest in them that we began to
think she had given up her mischievous ways. She regularly came to
sing with us Sunday evenings, and we liked to have her with us, for
her cheerfulness infected us all. By this time she was a very pretty
young woman, not rugged, but perfectly well; and she far surpassed the
other girls of the neighborhood in grace, beauty, and accomplishments.
Andreas was still at his trade, but he managed to come home nearly
every Sunday. We could all see how much he cared for Wisi. He was the
only one that ever called her Wiseli, and he always accented the name
so softly that we thought it was very pretty.
"One Sunday night, when Wisi and I were not quite eighteen years of
age, she came in radiantly happy and told us that she was soon to be
married. The man to whom she was betrothed had but recently come to
the village and was employed at the factory. I was so astonished and
grieved over the news that I could say nothing. Mother, however, asked
her to take some time to consider the matter thoroughly, because it
was too important a step to take hurriedly. Mother told her that she
was very young and that she must not forget that there was some one
else who had loved her for years, of whose intentions she could have
no doubt; then, too, her father needed her, and she ought to help him
a few years more.
"Wisi cried because mother talked so earnestly, but she said that her
father had given his consent and it was all arranged that they were to
be married in two weeks. 'Then,' said mother, 'we must make the best
of it and try to be happy. I will play our favorite melody and we will
sing the words.
"Commit thou all thy ways
And all that grieves thy heart
To Him whose endless days
Can strength and grace impart.
"He gives to wind and wave
The power to be still;
For thee He'll surely save
A place to work His will."'
"When Wisi left us that night she was as cheerful as ever, but I could
not help feeling that her happiest days were over. Then, too, I feared
for Andreas, but he said nothing, although he has never been the same
since. For several years he seemed to be far from well, but he did not
give up work."
"Poor fellow!" exclaimed Max; "and he never married?"
"Why, no, Max!" said Mrs. Ritter, impatiently, "how could he when he
is faithfulness itself?"
"How was I to know that he possessed that virtue also, dear sister? He
seems to have them all. How did Wisi get along? I should be sorry to
hear that her marriage proved a failure."
"I can plainly see that your sympathy is with her," replied Mrs.
Ritter. "To you, Andreas's fate does not matter so much."
"Not so, sister, but those pretty eyes of hers ought never to have
been spoiled with tears. Isn't she happy?"
"I fear not, Max. I have seen but little of her since her marriage.
There was a coarseness in her husband's nature that repelled me, and
he was always cross to her. Six children were born to them, and all
but one, a frail little girl, have died. She is called Wiseli, and is
about the size of our Miezchen, although she is three years older. She
is the little girl whom Otto defended this evening. Her mother has
suffered so much during all these years, that there is little hope of
her ever being well again."
"That is too bad," said Max; "we must try to do something for her.
Don't you think that we might help her?"
"I am afraid that it is too late. Wisi was much too delicate for all
the work and worry that fell to her lot."
"What is the husband doing?"
"I forgot to tell you, Max. About six months ago he had an arm and a
leg badly crushed in the factory, and he died a few weeks after being
injured. Since then Wisi has been living alone with her little girl."
"So that is her story," mused Max. "And one child is all that she has
left. What would become of her in case Wisi died? It is more likely,
though, that the mother will get well, and that Andreas will yet be
happy."
"No, I am sure it is too late for that," asserted Mrs. Ritter.
"Although Wisi repented long ago, the wrong could not be undone, and
she has suffered in silence. But we are forgetting that we must have
some sleep to-night."
Colonel Ritter had fallen asleep in his chair. It was past midnight.
Max roguishly went behind his sleeping brother and shook his shoulders
so roughly that the colonel sprang from his chair in alarm. Max
laughed and patted his shoulder by way of atonement, saying
apologetically, "I only intended to give you a gentle warning that my
sister says we must take to our beds."
A few moments later the house stood dark and quiet in the moonlight.
At the foot of the hill was another house where it would soon be quiet
also; from a tiny window a small lamp still sent a faint glimmer into
the night.
CHAPTER III
ANOTHER HOME
While Otto and Miezi Ritter were going home after the coasting, Wiseli
was running down the hill as fast as her little feet could take her;
she realized that she was later than usual and was sorry to have kept
her mother waiting. The pleasure of her coast gave an added impetus,
for she could scarcely wait to tell her mother about it. In her haste
she would have run against a man coming from the house, had he not
quickly stepped to one side. She found her mother reclining in a chair
by the window, and she wondered at it because it was so unusual. She
threw her arms about her neck, saying eagerly, "Are you vexed with me,
mother, for not coming sooner?"
"Why, no, child; but I am glad that you are here now."
She hastily told her mother about Otto's kindness, and how she had
enjoyed two long rides on the prettiest sled in school. "But, mother,"
she added, "what is the matter? Why haven't you a light?"
"You may get the lamp now and bring me a glass of water. I am so
thirsty."
Wiseli went to the kitchen and returned carrying the lamp in one hand
and a bottle of fruit juice in the other.
"What are you bringing me?" asked the mother.
"I don't know myself. I found it on the kitchen table. See how it
sparkles." The mother drew the cork. "It is raspberry juice, as
fragrant as the berries fresh from the garden," she said.
Wiseli poured some of the rich juice into a tumbler and diluted it
with water; this the mother drank in long draughts until the tumbler
was emptied. "Leave it near me, Wiseli," she said. "It seems as if I
could drink it all, I am so thirsty and it is so refreshing. I wonder
who was so thoughtful as to bring it to me! It must have come from
Mrs. Ritter's and very likely Trina brought it over."
"Trina always comes in when she brings anything. Was she here to-day?"
"No. No one came in."
"Joiner Andreas may have left it when he was here," said Wiseli.
"Wiseli!" exclaimed the mother. "Joiner Andreas has not been here
either."
"But I saw him, mother. He came out of the house just as I came in. I
nearly ran into him in my hurry. Didn't you hear any one? It seems
strange that he should have been so quiet."
"I do remember that I thought the kitchen door opened, and I listened
for your footsteps, but you came in a few moments later, so I thought
I must have been mistaken. Are you sure that it was Andreas whom you
saw?"
Wiseli was certain, but to convince the mother she described him as he
invariably looked. "I shouldn't wonder," she added, "if it were he who
brought that large jar of honey you liked so much, and also the cakes
you found that day. Don't you remember thanking Trina for them when
she brought you the hot dinner, and she told you that she knew nothing
about them? It must have been Joiner Andreas who did it."
Tears filled the mother's eyes as she said, "I think that probably you
are right, Wiseli."
"Surely you are not going to be sorry about it, mother," said Wiseli,
as she fondly stroked her mother's hair.
"No, but I want you to thank him for me sometime, Wiseli. I am afraid
that I cannot do it myself. Tell him that it did me good; that I was
glad he was so kind. Give me a little more, please."
Wiseli prepared the fruit juice and brought a pillow from the bed so
that her mother could rest her head on the window seat. She drew a
footstool to the window and made her mother comfortable. Then she sat
down beside her and said, "It is time for me to say the verses you
taught me.
Commit thou all thy ways
And all that grieves thy heart
To Him whose endless days
Can strength and grace impart.
"He gives to wind and wave
The power to be still;
For thee He'll surely save
A place to work His will."
"Remember that, Wiseli," said the mother, drowsily. "If the time ever
comes when it seems as if you were not cared for, take comfort and
courage from the verses you have just repeated."
The mother's regular breathing soon told Wiseli that she was asleep;
but the child remained quietly by her side for fear of waking her.
Thus it happened that she too fell asleep, and the lamp burned on,
growing fainter and fainter until it burned itself out and left the
house dark in the quiet night.
Early the following morning a neighbor passed the window on her way to
the well, and, glancing in as usual, she saw Wiseli crying beside the
mother, who had her head pillowed on the window seat. She ran to the
child, saying, "What is it, Wiseli? I hope your mother is not worse."
Wiseli only sobbed. The neighbor bent over the mother in surprise
and alarm. "Go to your uncle quickly, Wiseli," she said; "tell him to
come immediately. I will wait here until you get back."
The uncle's house was about fifteen minutes' walk from the church, and
Wiseli ran on obediently, although the tears would not be kept back.
Her aunt answered the knock at the door; seeing the child in tears she
said gruffly, "What is the matter with you?"
"I have been sent over to get my uncle; my mother is dead," answered
Wiseli, for she had reasoned it out to herself that it must be so or
else the mother would speak to her.
The aunt softened perceptibly. "He is not here just now," she said
almost kindly. "I will have him come as soon as possible, so you
needn't wait."
It was not long after Wiseli's return that the uncle came. He directed
the neighbor to look after everything so that he might take the child
away at once.
"But where shall we go?" inquired Wiseli.
"You shall go home with me, for I am all that you have left now. I
will take care of you."
In spite of this assurance a great dread seized Wiseli. To go home
with her uncle meant to live with the aunt of whom she was so afraid
that she had always dreaded even meeting her. Then there were the
three rude cousins, of whom Chappi was the oldest. The thought of how
Hans and Rudi were always throwing stones at children made her
shudder. How could she go there to live, and yet how dared she refuse?
All these thoughts flashed through Wiseli's mind as she stood
hesitating. "You needn't be afraid," said her uncle kindly; "there are
a good many of us, to be sure, but you will find that all the more
interesting."
Wiseli tied a few of her things in a bundle, put a shawl over her
head, and joined her uncle who was waiting near the door.
"That is a good girl," said the uncle; "now let us be off. Don't cry
any more; that never helps anything."
Wiseli choked back the sobs as best she could and followed the uncle,
whose stern nature had never been so touched before. Thus the little
home where Wiseli had lived, loving and beloved, passed out of her
life forever.
They had a glimpse of Trina, who was crossing a vacant lot with a
basket on her arm, and Wiseli knew that she was going to see her
mother.
Trina said to the neighbor who met her at the door; "I have something
good for the sick one's dinner; I hope I am not too late. We have a
visitor, and everything is late when he is there."
"It doesn't matter now, for you would have been too late even if you
had come early this morning; she died in the night," said the
neighbor.
"Oh, what will Mrs. Ritter say!" exclaimed Trina in alarm. "She tried
so hard to have me come yesterday, but we were all so taken up with
the uncle's arrival that it was put off. I am so sorry to have to tell
her of this because I know how she will blame herself for neglecting
her friend so long."
"Yes," said the neighbor, "we are all apt to do that. Yesterday I did
not suspect that she was any worse than usual."
Trina sorrowfully returned to the Ritter home.
CHAPTER IV
THE GOTTI HOME
When Wiseli and her uncle arrived at Beechgreen, the three boys rushed
in from the barn and stood staring at her. Soon the mother came in
from the kitchen and did the same thing. Wiseli did not know what to
do except to stand and hold her bundle.
Presently the father seated himself at the table and said, "I think we
had better have something to eat. I am afraid the little one has not
had much to-day. Put your things down, Wiseli, and sit here with me."
Wiseli obeyed without a word. The aunt brought a large loaf of black
bread and some cheese, after which she went on staring at Wiseli as if
she had never seen a child before.
The uncle cut a slice of the bread, put a piece of cheese on it, and
pushed it over in front of Wiseli. "There, little one," he said
kindly, "eat that. You must be hungry."
The suppressed tears welled up in Wiseli's eyes, and her throat was so
choked that she could scarcely breathe. She knew that she could not
swallow a single crumb. "No, thank you," she managed to say; "I am
not hungry."
"But you had better try," urged the uncle. "You mustn't be afraid."
Still Wiseli left the bread untouched, and the boys and their mother
continued to stare at her. Presently the aunt dropped her hands from
her hips and said, "If it isn't good enough for you, then let it
alone." Wiseli was glad that she went out after this rebuke.
"You had better put your slice of bread in your pocket, Wiseli, for
you may want it a little later," said the uncle, and then he too went
out to the kitchen, closing the door after him.
Wiseli knew that her uncle meant to be good to her, and she wanted to
obey him, so she tried to put the bread in her pocket. Unfortunately
this was much too small, so she laid the bread back on the table.
At this point Chappi snatched the slice saying, "I will help you." He
was just in the act of taking a bite when one of the brothers struck
his arm so that the bread dropped to the floor. Then the other brother
tried to get it, and a general scuffle ensued.
The father opened the kitchen door to ask what the trouble was. The
boys answered together, "Wiseli didn't want it."
"Unless you want me to come in with a strap you had better stop that
racket," threatened the father.
He had just closed the door again when one of the younger boys seized
the other by the hair, with the idea of holding him at bay while he
got the bread, but this only made matters worse, and the bread
disappeared bite by bite as each found an opportunity to snatch it.
The aunt was washing potatoes in the kitchen. When her husband came in
she said, "What do you mean by bringing the girl home with you? I
should like to ask what you intend to do with her."
"The child had to go somewhere," he answered. "I am her uncle and the
only relative she has. She ought to be of some help to you. I am sure
she could do the kind of work you are doing now, and you could take
your time for something you like better. You have always said that the
boys make work, and you can surely find something for her to do."
"Oh, bosh! So far as that is concerned, she will be no better than the
boys. You can hear what is going on in there now, and she has scarcely
been here fifteen minutes."
"Yes," said the uncle; "but I have heard the same thing many times
before she came, and I imagine she has little enough to do with it."
"Didn't you hear them all lay it upon her when you opened the door?"
she asked angrily.
"They have to blame some one," the husband calmly answered; "they
always do, I notice. I am of the opinion that you will have little
trouble from the girl; she acts and obeys better than the boys."
"You needn't set her up as a model for the boys already," retorted his
wife. "There isn't a place for her to sleep, anyway."
"Well," said the husband, "one can't plan everything at once. She has,
no doubt, had a bed to sleep on, and it can easily be brought over
here. I will talk with the pastor about her to-morrow. She can sleep
on the bench behind the stove to-night; it will at least be warm.
Later we can partition off a part of our chamber large enough for her
little bed."
"I never in my life heard of any one bringing a child and a week later
her bed!" sneered the aunt. "I should like to know who is going to pay
the bills if we have to go to building on her account."
"If the church agrees to let us have her, they will also pay something
for her keeping," explained the husband. "I will take her for less
money than any one else would ask, because I am her uncle, and she
will be happier with us than with strangers. I wish you would tell
Chappi that I want him at the barn."
The aunt called to Chappi, but the boys were still struggling on the
floor and he did not hear. She went into the room and gruffly ordered
quiet. Wiseli stood crouching against the wall, scarcely daring to
move.
"I wonder that you stand by and watch such a scene without trying to
stop it," scolded the aunt. "Can you knit?"
Wiseli trembled as she answered, "Yes, I can knit stockings."
The aunt handed Wiseli a large brown stocking, at the same time
sending Chappi to the barn. The two brothers followed him out.
"Remember that it is the foot you are knitting on, and don't make it
too short," cautioned the aunt, and then she returned to the kitchen.
Wiseli was glad to be alone. She sat down on the bench behind the
stove so that she might hold her work in her lap, for the stocking was
so heavy that she could not otherwise manage the needles.
She had just begun her knitting when the aunt returned to say, "You
had better come to the kitchen now, so that you can learn how I do the
work, for I want you to do it next time."
Wiseli followed to the kitchen, where she tried to help, but there
seemed to be little that she dared to do. She kept thinking how gladly
she would have done any number of tasks for her mother, because she
would have been kind. The comparison brought the tears, so she
desperately fought against thinking about herself.
"Now pay attention!" cautioned the aunt, as she walked about doing
the work while Wiseli stood by the stove; "I want you to know how to
do it the next time."
They were still there when the father and sons came up the walk from
the barn, stamping the snow from their heavy boots.
"They are coming; run, Wiseli, and open the door," said the aunt.
Then the woman drained a large kettle of potatoes, which she took from
the stove, ran to the living room and dumped them in the middle of the
warped dining table. Next she brought a large pan of sour milk, and
said to Wiseli, "The knives and forks are in the table drawer; you can
put them on."
Wiseli found five knives and five forks in the drawer and put them on
the table; then supper was ready. The father and the boys took their
places on the bench behind the table next the window. There was a
chair at one end of the table, and one at the side next the kitchen,
which the aunt took. The uncle motioned Wiseli to take the other
chair, saying to his wife, "She can sit there, I suppose?"
"Of course," snapped the aunt, and then went out to the kitchen on
pretense of being busy. She kept coming back for only a moment at a
time. The uncle, understanding her, said impatiently, "I wish you
would sit still and eat your supper."
"I don't find the time to sit still," she retorted; "I should like to
know who is going to look after things out there if I don't." Just at
that moment she noticed that Wiseli was not eating her supper.
"Why are you sitting with your hands in your lap?" she demanded.
"She hasn't anything to eat with," replied Rudi, who had already
solved the problem to his own satisfaction, for he could not
understand how anybody could help eating so long as there was anything
on the table.
"So that is it," said the aunt. "How was I to know that all of a
sudden we must have six knives and forks when we have always needed
but five. I suppose we must get an extra spoon, too. Why couldn't you
have said something?" she went on, turning to Wiseli. "You must know
that one has to have a spoon to eat with."
Wiseli timidly answered, "It didn't matter, because I am not hungry."
"But why not?" snapped the aunt. "Are you used to something better? I
haven't any notion of making a change on your account."
"I think you had better let the child alone," interrupted the husband.
"I don't want you to frighten her. She will get along well enough
after a while."
Wiseli sat quietly while the rest finished their meal. Then the father
said that Speck, the goat, was ailing at the barn, so he would go
back. He put on his fur cap, took the lantern, and went out.
Wiseli watched her aunt brush the potato peelings from the table into
the empty milk pan with her hands; then she wiped the table, after
which the other things were soon washed and put away. When all was
finished she said, "Now you have seen how I do up the supper work,
Wiseli; you can do it hereafter."
When they came into the living room, Chappi was seated at the table
with his number book and pencil, as if he intended writing his sums on
the table; he now began to stare at Wiseli. She had picked up the
stocking on the bench by the stove, but had not dared to go near the
light on the table.
"You ought to be working examples yourself," he said to Wiseli; "you
aren't the smartest one in school by any means."
Wiseli did not know what to say. She had not been in school that day,
and did not know what examples had been given out. In fact, she seemed
to be out of harmony with everything.
"If I have to do sums, you have to," continued Chappi.
Wiseli said nothing, and did not stir.
"All right," said Chappi, "I'll not do one single example more," and
he threw down his pencil.
"Goody!" exclaimed Hans; "then I don't need to either," and he put
his multiplication table back in his book sack. Study was the most
unpleasant thing he ever had to do.
"I shall tell the teacher who is to blame for all this laziness," said
Chappi, threateningly; "you will find out what he will do to you."
This might have been carried on indefinitely had not the father
returned from the barn. He brought two large mill sacks and asked
Chappi to take his things from the table; then he spread out the
sacks, folded them neatly, and laid them on the bench behind the
stove.
"There," he said, "that is all right. Where is your bundle, little
one?"
Wiseli brought it from the corner, where she had put it, and was
surprised to see her uncle place it at one end of the sacks and press
it flat with his hands.
"There!" he repeated as he gave the bundle a last pat. Then turning to
Wiseli, he added: "You may go to sleep now; the bundle will be your
pillow and the stove will keep you from getting cold. You three boys
must be off to bed!"
He took the lamp and followed the boys out, but he returned presently
and said: "I hope you will sleep well, Wiseli. Try hard not to think
about what has happened to-day. It will all come right later." Then he
left her to herself.
A moment later the aunt came, carrying a small lamp, and wished to see
the bed. "Can you sleep that way?" she asked, almost kindly. "It will
be nice and warm for you. Some people haven't any bed and are cold
besides. It may happen to be the case with you yet, so you better be
thankful that you have a roof over your head. Good night."
"Good night," answered Wiseli, but the door closed too quickly for the
aunt to hear.
Wiseli was glad to know that she was to be alone for the night. The
moon dimly lighted the room. She had been in such constant dread of
those about her that she had scarcely dared to think of herself. Now
she lifted up her heart in prayer, simply saying, "Help me, Heavenly
Father, for I am afraid, and mother is not with me now."
She felt comforted after a time because she had the assurance, from
her mother's teaching, that her prayer would be answered. She
remembered that it was only the evening before that her mother had
told her to take comfort and courage from the verses she had repeated.
The real meaning came to her now as she said the lines over.
"For thee He'll surely save
A place to work His will."
The load she had been carrying all day seemed lifted. A quiet peace
filled her trusting heart, and she resolved in her new-found strength
never to fear her cousins and the aunt again. She was soon sound
asleep.
Wiseli dreamed that she saw a path before her which was beautiful with
roses and carnations on either side, and that the sun was shining
pleasantly overhead. She was so happy that she danced for joy. Beside
her stood the mother, holding her by the hand. She pointed down the
path and said: "See, Wiseli, God is giving that to you. Didn't I tell
you he would find the place?
For thee He'll surely save
A place to work His will."
Wiseli had forgotten all her sorrow and fear, and slept as well with
her head on the bundle on the hard bench as if she had been dreaming
in the softest bed.
CHAPTER V
HOW LIFE CONTINUES AND SUMMER COMES
When the faithful Trina returned to The Hill with the unopened basket
upon her arm, a look of anxiety came over Mrs. Ritter's countenance.
Trina explained that the mother was dead and that Wiseli had been
taken to the home of her uncle Gotti. The news shocked the entire
household, for none of them had realized that the sickness would
terminate so suddenly.
"Here I have tried for several days to visit the poor, lonely woman,
and now it is too late," said Mrs. Ritter. "If I had only gone I
should feel more reconciled to the loss."
"It is a shame that Wiseli must go there," said Otto as he paced the
floor with his hands clenched. "I tell you if I catch him abusing her,
he will need to count his ribs to see if any are left."
"Of whom are you speaking in that fashion?" asked Mrs. Ritter.
"Of Chappi. Think of the mean things that he can do to her now that
she has to live in the same house with him. It is unjust and ought
not to be allowed. I'll attend to him if I find out that--"
Just then Otto's voice was nearly drowned by a loud stamping behind
the stove, and he paused to say, "What are you making such an
outlandish noise for, you Miez behind the stove?"
Miezi came out in sight of the others, her cheeks flaming red from the
heat of the stove combined with her exertions in trying to get her
feet into a pair of wet shoes which Trina had but a short time before
taken off with the greatest difficulty.
She continued her efforts, but managed to say, "You can see that I
have to do it; no one on earth could put on these things without
stamping."
"Why must they be put on, when I have just taken the pains to get you
out of them?" asked Trina.
"I am going to Beechgreen to get Wiseli; she can have my bed," replied
Miezi, with a finality that seemed to admit of no interference.
Her operations were nevertheless cut short by Trina, who picked her up
in her arms and carried her to a chair.
"That is nice of you, Miezchen," she said, "but I had better do that
errand for you. There is no reason why you should wear out your shoes
getting ready. You can let Wiseli have your bed and you can go to the
attic to sleep. There is plenty of room up there."
This, however, was not in harmony with Miezi's plans; she had solved
the sleeping problem to her own as well as to Wiseli's advantage, for
nothing else would suit her so well as never to have to go to bed. So
long as she could remember, she had always been sent to bed when she
wanted very much to be up.
It soon became evident to Miezi, not only that Trina was keeping her
from going to Wiseli, but that she had no intention of going in her
place. When Trina frankly refused to go, Miezi cried so bitterly that
Otto put his hands over his ears, and the mother came to make terms of
peace. She promised to talk the matter over with papa just as soon as
he and Uncle Max returned from a long-contemplated visit at a friend's
house some distance away.
It was four days later when the colonel and Uncle Max returned. The
children brought the subject of Wiseli's coming to live with them
before the father at once, and he promised to investigate the
conditions the next morning.
At noon the following day the colonel came home with the information
that he was too late to get Wiseli. "You know, children," he said,
"her uncle Gotti really wants to help the girl. He is a highly
respected man and he offered to take the child for very little money.
Wiseli's mother left her scarcely anything, so somebody had to offer
her a home, and it seemed natural that her uncle should do so.
Everybody feels satisfied that she has been well placed. I believe it
is the best arrangement that could be made, for she is much too young
to go out to work. We cannot take all the homeless children unless we
put up an orphanage."
"I had only hoped," said Mrs. Ritter, "that we might help to find a
place more suited to the child. She has a sensitive nature as well as
a frail body, and she ought to be somewhere else. She will hear a
great deal that is coarse and rude where she is, and will have to work
much too hard for her delicate constitution. We shall have to accept
the situation, but I am sorry that we cannot help her in some way."
Miezi cried, and Otto struck the table with his clenched fist to
emphasize how he would deal with Chappi if he were unkind to Wiseli.
It was only a few days, however, before the children grew accustomed
to thinking of the little girl in her new surroundings, and the weeks
sped on as rapidly as ever.
In the meantime Wiseli was becoming reconciled to her new home. Her
bed had been brought over as her uncle had planned, and it was put in
a box-like apartment partitioned off from the aunt's sleeping room.
This was barely large enough for the bed and the small trunk which had
been brought over with the remainder of the little girl's things.
Wiseli had to stand either on the bed or on the trunk when she
dressed, and she had to climb over the trunk to get into bed. She had
to go to the well out of doors to wash her hands and face. When it was
so cold that the water would freeze, the aunt told her to let it go
altogether. "I am sure," she said, "that you can wash yourself enough
when it gets warmer." Since this advice was not in accordance with her
mother's teaching, Wiseli did not accept it.
The life in Wiseli's present surroundings was so different in every
way from that to which she had been accustomed, that the comparison
often produced severe homesickness, although she was never again so
unhappy as on the first evening at her uncle's house. She remembered
her beautiful dream and she did not doubt that a better place would be
found for her, since she had prayed for it. "My mother will not let
God forget me," was the assurance that held up hope before her during
those trying days, and the thought of the verses was constantly with
her.
"For thee He'll surely save
A place to work His will."
The winter had passed and a promising spring was at hand. The trees
put forth their green leaves and the meadow was dotted with primroses
and anemones. In the woods the birds were merry, and the warm
sunshine changed the barren waste of winter to a living beauty that
made all hearts rejoice.
Probably no one enjoyed the balmy days more than Wiseli, and she felt
quite happy as she walked to and from school. At other times there was
scarcely a moment to spare, not even to notice the pretty flowers, for
not only did she have to work every moment, but she had to work hard.
She helped with the garden, and, since the aunt worked in the field on
the farm, she had to get the meals and wash dishes as well. She did
the patching for the whole family, made the gruel for the little pigs,
and carried it to them besides; in short, she did everything about the
house, so that she often had to stay away from school in order to
finish her duties.
Going to school was Wiseli's greatest pleasure. It rested her tired
body and, best of all, she heard there kind and friendly words. During
recess and after school hours Otto was sure to speak to her in a
cordial way, and it did much to relieve the lonely feeling. Sometimes
a message came from Mrs. Ritter inviting Wiseli to spend the following
Sunday with her children. Wiseli was never allowed to accept these
invitations to The Hill, for the aunt would say, "It is the only day
that you don't have to go to school, and I can't spare you every day."
Wiseli worked all day Sunday, but it was pleasant to know that the
Ritter family had invited her, and there was always the hope that some
day she might be allowed to go.
There was another reason why Wiseli liked to go to school. The road
went by the home of Joiner Andreas. She had not forgotten that she had
the message from her mother to deliver to him. She was too timid to go
to the house and ask for him, but she watched for the opportunity to
see him in his garden or near his home. She never passed his place
without looking over the garden fence to see if he was there. She had
not yet seen him, although the garden was in the best of trim and
indicated that he spent many hours there.
May and June had passed, and now the long hot summer days had come,
bringing increased work on the farm. Wiseli had to go to the
haymaking. She was expected either to rake the hay together or to use
the fork in spreading it in the sun, working all day long until her
arms ached so wretchedly that she could not sleep. This, however, was
not what made her unhappy, for it did not occur to her that she ought
not to work as she did. Her great trouble was that she had to miss
school, except on rainy days, or occasionally when the aunt said that
she might go. Chappi often said in the evening, when he was doing his
examples, "Why don't you get your lessons, Wiseli? You never know
anything, and you seem to think that you can live without working."
It was this that hurt Wiseli, for she could rarely go to school two
days in succession, and so she was not able to keep up with the class.
One day, when she failed to give a correct answer, the teacher said,
"I did not expect that of you, Wiseli; you used to be a good scholar."
How it shamed the child, and how she cried all the way home that
night, no one but herself realized! It seemed to her that day that no
one cared for her after all, and when she got into her little bed at
night, she felt too miserable even to pray. But she could not sleep
until she had repeated her usual prayer, although it was said almost
hopelessly.
This happened in July. The following morning Wiseli was standing at
the table when the boys went off to school, and she was wondering
whether or not she should be allowed to go. The aunt said nothing, and
the uncle was not in the room.
The aunt had a large washing on hand for that day. Would she be asked
to carry it to the trough and help?
Yes, she heard her aunt calling, and she was just about to answer when
her uncle came in, saying, "Hurry, Wiseli, the boys have gone already.
The hay is safe in the barn, and you shall go to school now. You may
tell the teacher that you will not be kept out any more for a while,
and explain to him that it was because we had so much work on our
hands that you had to stay away."
Wiseli felt as free as a bird that morning. She knew that she might go
to school every day that week, and it was something worth living for.
How beautiful the morning was! The birds warbled their care-free notes
in the tree tops, the sunlight sparkled on the dewy grass, and the air
was fragrant with the perfume of the wild flowers. Wiseli had no time
to stop, but she noticed all this beauty as she ran along.
That afternoon, just as the school children were about to rush out to
their freedom, the teacher asked, "Whose turn is it to care for the
schoolroom this week?"
"It is Otto's; it is Otto's!" cried the children, and the next moment
they were gone.
"Otto," said the teacher sternly, "you didn't do your duty here last
night. I will overlook it this time, but I want you to see that it
does not happen again, or I shall be obliged to enforce the penalty
upon you."
Otto glanced around the room and saw the nutshells, apple parings, and
bits of paper that he was supposed to clean up; then he looked at the
children playing out of doors, and the first thing he knew he was
among them. The teacher had already left the room.
Later, when the children were all gone, Otto stood for a moment
watching the golden glow of the evening sky and thought, "If I could
only go home now! I would pick my cap full of cherries and take a ride
out to the meadow with the hired man; now I have to go to that stuffy
room and sweep and dust it."
Otto's patience forsook him as he started for the schoolroom. "I
shouldn't care," he said, "if a cyclone came along and shattered the
old house into a thousand pieces." There was no alternative, however;
he must either take his turn at cleaning the schoolroom, or he must
stay in at recess to-morrow. He had no sooner entered the room than he
noticed, to his great surprise, that the work was done. Not a speck of
dust was to be seen, and the windows had been opened wide, letting the
air enter freely, so that the room seemed as fresh as out of doors.
Just at this moment the teacher entered hastily and looked in
astonishment at the staring Otto. Then he noticed the clean room and
said kindly, "You may be satisfied with your work to-night. I did not
expect you to do so well, although you are always good at your
lessons. Good night."
Now that Otto was convinced that what he saw was real, he seized his
cap and, clearing the steps in two jumps, ran all the way up the hill.
It did not occur to him to seek for an explanation of what had
happened, until he told his mother about it when he reached home.
"You may be sure that no one did it for you by mistake," said his
mother. "You must have some good friend who has willingly sacrificed
himself for you. Perhaps you can think of some one who may have done
it."
"I know who it was," said Miezi, who had been listening.
"Who?" asked Otto.
"Henry, because you gave him an apple about a year ago," said Miezi,
emphatically.
"Yes, or William Tell, because I didn't take his away from him about a
year ago; that would be just as sensible, you little Miezi," said
Otto, as he playfully stroked her cheek. Just then he saw an
opportunity to ride out to the hayfields, so the subject was dropped.
In the meantime Wiseli was tripping down the hill happier than she had
been for many a day. She passed Joiner Andreas's house, but retraced
her steps in order to get a good view of the carnation bed.
"It is a little late," she thought, "but I shall get home before the
boys, anyway, for they are probably playing somewhere."
Just as she was admiring the flowers, the joiner came out of the house
and walked directly toward her. "Wouldn't you like to have a few
carnations, Wiseli?" he said.
"Yes, very much," she answered. "My mother wanted me to tell you
something, too."
"Your mother!" he gasped, and the carnations he had just picked fell
unheeded to the ground. Wiseli darted through the gate and picked them
up. "When my mother was sick and didn't eat anything any more, she
drank that nice fruit juice you put in the kitchen, and it made her
feel better. She told me to thank you for bringing it, and for all
that you did for her. She said you were very kind."
Wiseli was surprised to see the tears in the good man's eyes. He tried
to say something, but he could not. He took Wiseli's hand in both of
his, patted it gently, and returned to the house without another word.
Wiseli was amazed. Nobody else had shed any tears for her mother, and
she had not allowed herself to do so when anybody could see her; yet
here was a man so moved that he could not speak of her. How she loved
him for it! She started homeward for fear of being later than the
boys, and it was well she did so, for they had just turned in at the
gate when she got there.
Wiseli felt so much better when she went to bed that night that she
wondered how she could have been so discouraged the evening before.
She resolved to keep herself cheerful in the future, if it were
possible. The good, kind face of Joiner Andreas was the last thing she
thought of before going to sleep.
The following day (it was Wednesday) Otto had a repetition of his
strange experience. It had not occurred to him that the good fairy
would again appear, and, as usual, he was not able to keep from
rushing out with the others and frolicking until the children left the
playground. When he returned to do his work, the room was again in the
best of order.
He began to be really curious as to whom he had to thank for this
favor. He decided to play the spy the next night and solve the
mystery. Accordingly, after the school had been dismissed the
following afternoon, Otto waited a moment at his seat, wondering how
he could get to a hiding place unseen, when the boys began to shout,
"Come on, Otto, come on; we want to play robber and you must lead."
"I have to clean up this week, so I won't play to-night," he said.
"What difference will fifteen minutes make? Come on."
He gave up his scheme of playing spy and went with the boys. Instead
of the game's lasting fifteen minutes, it was half an hour before it
was over, and Otto felt anxious as to whether he must still do his
work. He ran panting to the schoolroom and gave the door such a
vigorous kick that the teacher came in to see what had happened.
"What do you want, Otto?" he asked.
"Just to see if I did everything," stammered Otto.
"Very well done," commented the teacher, as he looked about. "Your
zeal is praiseworthy, Otto, but you needn't be so boisterous when you
come to the door again."
Otto went out more curious than ever. He determined to find out the
next night without fail, for, with the exception of Saturday morning,
it would be his last opportunity.
"Otto," called the teacher as soon as he had dismissed school the next
day, "I wish you would take this note to the pastor's for me and wait
for an answer; you can be back in five or ten minutes to do your
cleaning."
Otto was not in the least pleased to do the teacher's errand, but he
dared not refuse, so he started off at a run, hoping to be back in
time to capture the good fairy, if she appeared to do his work. When
he got to the parsonage, he was admitted at once, and told that the
pastor would see him directly. Then the minister's wife called him to
the garden to chat a moment, and it seemed an age to him before he
could free himself courteously, for she asked not only about himself
and his health, but that of his mother, father, Uncle Max, Miezi, and
apparently all the relatives in Germany.
Finally the opportunity came to present the note to the pastor, and it
was but a moment later when he was speeding back to the schoolhouse
with the written answer in his hand. He fairly stumbled into the
schoolroom in his eagerness to see if any one was there, but, as
before, the room was in the best of order and not a soul to be seen.
"Not once this week have I had to do that disagreeable task," he
thought. "Since there is some one who is doing such work without
needing to, I am at least going to find out who it is."
The school closed at eleven o'clock on Saturday. Otto let all the
children pass out; when they had gone, he went outside, locked the
door, and stood with his back against it waiting to see who would come
back to do the work. He stood there waiting until half past eleven,
and still no one came.
Otto remembered that the family at home were to have lunch promptly at
twelve, for an afternoon's outing had been planned and he had promised
to get home as early as possible. It became evident that he was going
to have to do the work himself, and he dared wait no longer. Greatly
disappointed, he unlocked the door and entered the room, but--Otto
could scarcely believe his eyes--the work was finished as usual.
How very strange it seemed! For a moment a superstitious fear
possessed him, and he tiptoed to the door and went out, taking pains
to lock it securely behind him.
Just at that moment Wiseli came quietly out of the teacher's kitchen
door; she listened intently for a moment, but hearing no one, started
on her way home, which led her by the schoolhouse door. The next
moment she and Otto were face to face. Each was startled at the
other's presence, and Wiseli blushed deeply, as if she had been caught
doing something very wrong. This partly betrayed her to Otto, who
said: "Surely, Wiseli, _you_ have not been doing all that work for me
this week? How _could_ any one who didn't have to?"
"It has given me a great deal of pleasure," said Wiseli.
"Oh, no, don't say that!" exclaimed Otto. "To do such work _couldn't_
give anybody any pleasure."
"But it did, really, Otto. I was always glad when night came and I
could do it again. I was all the time thinking how glad and surprised
you would be to find the task finished."
"What made you do it for me, Wiseli?"
"I knew that you didn't like to do it, and I have many a time wished
for an opportunity to do something for you."
"I am sure you have done a great deal more for me than I did for you,
and I shall not forget it, Wiseli." Otto had taken Wiseli's hand in
his and she was very happy.
"I waited to-day until everybody had gone, and even now I cannot see
how you got into that room," said Otto.
"I never went out," she replied. "I hid behind my seat, for I expected
you to go out as usual."
"How have you always before managed to get away without my seeing
you?" asked Otto.
"You don't notice much when you are playing," said Wiseli. "Yesterday
and to-day, when I was not sure where you were, I went through the
teacher's room and asked his wife if she had an errand she would like
to have me do on the way home. I have several times done things for
her. I was behind the kitchen door yesterday when you stormed into the
schoolroom."
Both children laughed heartily at the remembrance. Otto impulsively
pressed Wiseli's hand and said, "I am truly grateful to you. Good-by."
After they had gone their separate ways, they both rejoiced that they
had discovered each other.
CHAPTER VI
A NEW FEATURE
The summer had passed, and now the late autumn was at hand. The nights
were getting cold and damp. The cows were eating the last bits of
grass in the chilly pastures, while the boys herding them built fires
to warm themselves and to roast potatoes.
One such unpleasant evening Otto came home from school to tell his
mother that he was going over to see what Wiseli was doing, for she
had not been at school for a whole week. He took an apple and hurried
away. As he went up the path to Beechgreen he noticed Rudi sitting on
the ground in front of the door with a pile of pears beside him; he
was busily engaged biting into first one and then another.
"Where is Wiseli?" asked Otto.
"Outdoors," answered Rudi.
"Where outdoors?"
"In the pasture."
"In what pasture?"
"I don't know."
"You will not suffer from overpoliteness at least," remarked Otto. He
started for the large pasture near the woods. Just then he noticed
some people under a pear tree near at hand, and soon he saw Wiseli
gathering pears into a basket. Hans had thrown himself face upward
across a filled basket and was rocking himself in a way which
threatened the overturn of the pears. Chappi was perched up in the
tree laughing at his brother's antics. When Wiseli saw Otto coming,
her face broke into happy smiles.
"I have come to see how you are, Wiseli," said Otto, as he took her
hand. "Why have you been out of school so long?"
"There was so much to be done that I couldn't go, Otto. See what a lot
of pears there are! I have to pick pears from morning until night."
"Your shoes and stockings are soaked," remarked Otto. "Ugh, it is cold
here. Doesn't it make you sick to get so wet?"
"Yes, sometimes; but the work usually keeps me warm."
Just then Hans gave such a violent lurch that the basket went over and
the pears scattered in every direction.
"Oh," cried Wiseli, "that is too bad! Now we must gather them all over
again."
"And that one too," cried Chappi, and he laughed as the pear that he
threw hit Wiseli on the forehead hard enough to bring tears to her
eyes.
It had scarcely happened, however, before Otto had pulled Chappi from
the tree and had taken a firm grip on his throat.
"Stop, you're choking me," gurgled Chappi. He was not laughing any
more.
"I will teach you that you are responsible to me when you treat Wiseli
in that way," said Otto, his voice strained in his anger. He tightened
his grip as he added, "Is this enough to make you remember what I told
you?"
"Yes," gasped Chappi, whose face was turning purple.
"I will let you go," said Otto, "but I want you to keep in mind that I
will give you such a choking as you will remember to your dying day if
you ever hurt Wiseli again. Good-by, Wiseli." Then Otto was gone.
He went straight to his mother and indignantly protested against the
necessity of Wiseli's having to live with those boys at her uncle's
home. He declared his intention of going over to ask the pastor if
complaint might be entered against the whole family, so that Wiseli
might be taken from them.
"My dear son," said Mrs. Ritter; "there is no lawful way of taking
Wiseli from them, and a complaint of that character would only lead
the whole family to treat her more unkindly than they do now. So long
as the uncle means well by her there is nothing we can do. I realize
fully what a hard time Wiseli is having, and I don't want you to think
that I have not taken the matter to heart, Otto. I am looking
earnestly for an opening to do something for her, and I hope that in
the meantime you will protect her as much as possible, without being
rude and rough yourself."
Otto tried to help his mother think of a way to free Wiseli, but each
plan proposed proved impracticable, if not impossible. The children
had a custom of writing their Christmas wishes upon a slate, and Otto
wrote, "I wish Santa Claus would set Wiseli free."
January had come and again brought to the children the great pleasure
of the year by providing them with snow for the coasting. One
beautiful moonlight night the idea came to Otto that it would be great
sport to coast by moonlight, and the next day he accordingly suggested
to the children that they assemble at seven o'clock for a moonlight
ride. The suggestion was enthusiastically received. When they broke up
that evening, there were cries of "All hands back at seven!" "Hurrah
for moonlight!" "Good-by till seven!"
The Ritter children did not tell their mother of this plan until they
came home from school toward evening. Much to their surprise she was
not at all enthusiastic over what they considered such a capital
idea. She spoke of the intense cold of the evening, the danger,
especially to Miezi, in the uncertain light, and the likelihood of the
younger ones being frightened in the shadows. In spite of these
objections they wished to carry out their plan, and Otto promised not
to let Miezi out of his sight if she might go with him. Their request
was finally granted, and they started off as happy as birds on the
wing.
It was great sport. The track had been worn as smooth as ice, and the
fear of the timid ones in the dark places gave zest to the
undertaking. Nearly all the children from the neighborhood were there,
and the best of humor prevailed. Otto let them all precede him with
their sleds, permitting only Miezi to follow him, so that there would
be no danger of any one's running into her from behind, and he looked
back every moment to see that she was coming safely.
After several rides in this fashion some one proposed that they ride
"tandem fashion," that is, with all the sleds tied together. The idea
was immediately accepted, and they began tying their sleds together in
joyful anticipation. Otto, however, considered the sport too dangerous
for Miezi, as the sleds sometimes became tangled and the whole company
was piled up in a mass. He tied his sled last, letting his sister
follow with hers untied. In this way it was expected that they would
go as usual, except that Otto would not be free to stop in case Miezi
did not keep up with them. Soon the children were off and went down
the slippery hill with the speed of the wind.
They had gone but halfway down, when Otto heard a scream behind him in
which he recognized his sister's voice, but he was powerless to stop,
and he was going too fast to dare to roll himself from his sled until
their speed diminished near the foot of the hill. He found Miezi
halfway down the hill crying with all her might. Almost breathless,
Otto gathered her in his arms, saying, "What happened, Miezchen? Tell
me, what is the matter?"
"He wanted to--he wanted to--he was going to--" sobbed Miezi.
"What did he want to do? Who? Where?" asked Otto.
"The big man over there, he wanted to--he was going to kill me--and he
said things."
"Never mind, Miezchen; be quiet now; he didn't kill you. Did he even
hit you?" asked Otto, somewhat puzzled by the occurrence, for he knew
Miezi to be a rather fearless child.
"No," sobbed Miezi, "but he had a big stick and he raised it like this
and was going to strike and he said, 'You look out!' and he called me
dreadful names."
"So he really didn't hurt you at all," said Otto, much relieved to
find it true, although Miezi was of a different opinion.
"Yes, he did--he was going to--and you were all gone ahead and I was
all alone," and from sheer self-pity came a fresh burst of tears.
"Hush now, Miezchen," coaxed Otto. "I shall never leave you like that
again, so the man shall never get you. If you will be a happy little
girl now, just as soon as we get home I will give you the red candy
rooster I had on the Christmas tree."
This promise restored Miezi to her normal self in a moment. She wiped
the tears away, but did not let go of Otto's hand for the rest of the
evening. The other children had joined them and as they climbed the
hill they discussed what had happened. Several of the children had
noticed a large man turn out of the road to let them pass, and it was
Otto's opinion that it must have made the man angry to have to step
into the snow, and he had threatened Miezi because she was the only
one within reach. This seemed a likely explanation to the children,
and the subject was dropped. The party broke up after the next ride,
as most of them had promised to be at home by eight o'clock.
"Now, Miezchen," said Otto on the way home, "if you tell mamma about
your being so frightened, you may be sure that she will never let you
go with me again. No harm was done, and I think we had better not say
anything about it."
Miezi promised to say nothing. All traces of tears had been removed by
the expectation of receiving the candy rooster, which Otto did not
fail to give to her as soon as they reached home, and the children
went happily to bed.
They had been in bed and asleep for some time when a loud rapping at
the door startled the parents, who were sitting at the table in the
living room, talking about their children. Trina had gone upstairs,
but she leaned out of her window and called, "What is it you want?"
"Something dreadful has happened," came the answer from the man below.
"Joiner Andreas has been killed, and we want the colonel to come over
at once."
The messenger departed without waiting. Through the open window
Colonel and Mrs. Ritter had heard what he said. The colonel threw his
cloak over his shoulder and hurried to Andreas's home. A number of
people had assembled there when he arrived. The police and the pastor
had been summoned, and others, hearing of the misfortune, had come to
see what could be done. Colonel Ritter worked his way into the crowd
to where the joiner lay.
"Where is the doctor?" was his first question.
"What is the use of getting a doctor when the man is dead?" some one
answered.
"He may not be dead," said the colonel, impatiently. "Some one must go
for a doctor immediately; tell him I said that he must hurry. This
call should be answered before all others."
Some one reluctantly started, then, with the help of others, the
colonel lifted the apparently lifeless body and carried it to the bed.
The miller's son explained to the colonel that he had passed the house
about half an hour earlier, that he had noticed a light and the open
door and had decided to stop a moment to see the joiner, when, to his
horror, he saw that he was dead; that Meadow Joggi was standing in the
room, holding a gold piece in his hand; and that Joggi had laughed as
he looked at the gold.
Meadow Joggi, so called because he lived in the meadow, was a man who
had lost his reason, but whom people had always regarded as perfectly
harmless. The neighborhood supported him, and he often helped them
with simple work, which he managed to do fairly well. The miller's son
had told him to stay where he was until some one came, and he had
obeyed, still clutching his gold piece and smiling, not in the least
concerned about himself.
The physician came at last and hastened to examine the body.
"He was struck on the back of his head; it is a bad wound," said the
doctor.
"Do you think that he is dead, doctor?" asked Colonel Ritter.
"No; he is not dead, but he is very near it. Bring me sponges,
bandages, and some water." The men searched the house in vain for the
things that were needed.
"I wish there were a woman here to find things!" exclaimed the
exasperated physician. "A woman knows intuitively what a sick person
needs and where to find it."
"Trina can come," said the colonel. "Will some one please run over to
my house and tell Mrs. Ritter to send her at once."
"I am afraid your wife will not thank you, Colonel," said the doctor,
"for whoever comes must stay at least three days, and perhaps longer."
"You need not worry about that," replied the colonel. "Mrs. Ritter
will gladly do more than give Trina's time if it will save the
joiner."
Trina appeared sooner than they had thought it possible for her to get
there, and she brought with her a basket of necessary supplies which
she and Mrs. Ritter had in readiness for an emergency.
The doctor was much pleased. "Now, Colonel," he said, "please dismiss
every one, and lock up the house for the night."
The policemen decided to put Joggi in jail until they could
investigate matters. He walked along with them willingly, opening his
hand occasionally and laughing at his gold piece.
Early the following morning Mrs. Ritter went to the home of the joiner
to inquire after him. Trina met her at the door and said that toward
morning the patient had recovered partial consciousness. The doctor
had just left, she said, and had expressed his opinion that the man
was doing better than he had dared to hope. "I have had to promise
him," she added, "that I would let no one come into the room, not even
my dear mistress."
"I am sure he is right about it," said Mrs. Ritter smiling. "I am glad
to know that Andreas is in safe hands, and I will hurry home, so that
my husband may know that he is doing well."
So eight days passed. Mrs. Ritter never failed to come every morning
to inquire. She supplied Trina with whatever she needed. No one had
yet been allowed in the sick room, and Trina was kept at her post.
Several days later the doctor gave his permission to have the colonel
question Andreas in regard to the accident, as the police were
anxious to know if he could give them any information.
The joiner received the colonel warmly; he realized how much he was
indebted to him. The sick man could tell nothing about his injury
except that some one had entered his room as he sat counting his
money. "I was evidently struck senseless before I had time to look
around to see who it was," he added.
This proved to the officers that Andreas had been injured for the sake
of his gold. They wondered what had become of the rest of the money,
if Joggi had committed the deed. This was the first that Andreas had
heard about Joggi's being suspected.
"I want you to release Joggi immediately," he said. "I am positive
that he did not do it. Why, Joggi wouldn't kill a fly if he could help
it."
"A stranger might have done it," suggested the doctor; "the windows
are low, and seeing them open and the pile of money at hand, he might
have felt a sudden desire to possess it."
"That is very likely," replied the joiner. "I have never thought about
being careful, and my house has always been unlocked."
"Well," said the colonel, "it is a good thing that you have enough
saved for a rainy day, so you will not suffer from the loss of the
money. The best of it all is that you yourself were saved."
"Yes, colonel," said the joiner, as he gave his hand in farewell, "I
have enough to be thankful for. I shall never use all I have, anyway."
"I am sure you are more at peace with yourself than the man that robbed
you," remarked the doctor.
A sad story was being told about the neighborhood concerning Joggi. He
had been so reluctant to give up his gold piece, that the police had
taken it from him by force after conducting him to the prison. The
policeman's son was supposed to have said to him: "You just wait,
Joggi; you will get your pay for this night's work. You'll see what
you will get after a while."
This had so thoroughly frightened Joggi that he had moaned constantly
ever since; he would not eat or sleep, but sat crouched in a corner,
fearing that they would come to kill him.
The police came to see him a few days after his imprisonment, and
promised him their protection if he would confess the truth to them.
He said that he had looked in at the window and had seen the joiner
lying on the floor. He went in, he said, and touched him with his foot
and saw that he was dead. Then he saw the gold piece on the floor and
picked it up a moment before the miller's son came in; other people
soon came after that. This was his simple story, and every one was
inclined to believe it, but Joggi did not get over his fright.
CHAPTER VII
BRIGHTER DAYS FOR THE PATIENT AND FOR SOME ONE ELSE
Since the day that Colonel Ritter had called with the physician to see
the joiner after his recovery, Mrs. Ritter had daily visited the
patient, and she rejoiced to see how rapidly he was gaining strength.
Otto and Miezi had been over twice and taken their friend everything
they could think of that might please him. They were glad to have the
joiner tell them that a king could not have had better care.
One day the doctor was just leaving his patient, when the colonel
came. "The joiner is doing well," said the doctor. "Your wife has
spared Trina so long that she ought to go back now, but the poor
fellow needs to have somebody with him a while longer. What a pity
that he has no relatives! I have been wondering if Mrs. Ritter might
not know of some one that we could get to take Trina's place for a
couple of weeks."
"I will ask her as soon as I go back, although I am sure that she will
be in no haste about taking Trina away."
The next morning, as Mrs. Ritter made her accustomed call, she said to
her friend, "Do you feel like talking over a little business matter
this morning?"
"Certainly; I am feeling quite like myself," replied the joiner, as he
propped his head on his elbow.
"I am thinking of taking Trina away, since you are doing so well," she
began.
"Believe me, Mrs. Ritter, for several days I have been urging her to
go; I have realized what it meant to you to do without her."
"I shouldn't have let her in if she had taken your advice, but the
doctor assures us now that it will be safe for her to leave you, in
case some one can be found to take her place. It need not be any one
so proficient as Trina, because we could send you your meals from our
house. I have been giving the matter a great deal of thought, Andreas,
and I think that you ought to have Wiseli come over to stay with you."
"No, no, Mrs. Ritter, of course not!" exclaimed Andreas in
astonishment. "Do you suppose I could expect that delicate child to do
my work? Oh, Mrs. Ritter, do you imagine I have forgotten for a moment
about the girl's mother? Please say nothing more about it, for I would
rather never get well."
"But, Andreas, you do not understand me, and I want to tell you
something more about it. The child is given very hard work to do where
she is, and the worst of it is that they are not kind to her. I
should feel so greatly relieved to have her here, because she would at
least be treated kindly. I know that Wiseli's mother would want you to
take her, so that she might have a real home, and you will be
surprised to see how gladly she will come to you and do the little
necessary tasks."
"But how could I get the child if I wanted her?"
"I shall be more than glad to arrange that for you if you will trust
me with it," replied Mrs. Ritter.
"I must make you promise that she shall be brought only on the
condition that she wants to come," said the joiner.
"Yes," said Mrs. Ritter; "Wiseli shall not come unless it is her own
wish. I will see you again to-morrow. Good-by."
Instead of going home, Mrs. Ritter went to find Wiseli, for she was
eager to free the child from her present surroundings. When she
arrived at Beechgreen, she met Mr. Gotti, who was himself just going
into the house. "I am surprised to see you over here, and so early in
the morning, Mrs. Ritter," he said, as he cordially shook her hand.
"Yes, I am sure you are, Mr. Gotti," she replied. "I have come to see
if you could possibly spare Wiseli for about two weeks to care for
Joiner Andreas. The doctor thinks that he doesn't need Trina any
more, but that he must have some one. I hope that you will not refuse,
and that the cure so well begun may be carried to a successful
finish."
Mrs. Gotti joined them just then, and her husband explained the matter
to her before answering Mrs. Ritter.
"Wiseli couldn't do anything if she went," said Mrs. Gotti.
"The child knows how to do a number of things," corrected the husband.
"She is bright and learns readily. I am willing to let her go for two
weeks. The spring work will soon begin, and we must have her back
then. The joiner will no doubt be well by that time, so this
arrangement will be satisfactory to everybody."
"It is very well for you to talk," broke in Mrs. Gotti. "I have just
gone through all the trouble of teaching her everything, and when she
comes back I shall have it to do over again. The joiner can afford to
train a girl for himself if he needs one."
"But, wife, two weeks is not a long time. Mrs. Ritter has spared Trina
much longer, and we all have to ask favors sometimes."
"I thank you for the kindness," said Mrs. Ritter, as she rose to take
her leave. "I am sure, too, that the joiner will fully appreciate your
sacrifice. If you will allow me, I will take the child now."
The aunt objected seriously, but the husband said firmly: "That will
be the best way. The sooner she goes, the sooner she will get back,
and I want it distinctly understood that it is to be for only two
weeks."
Wiseli was called, and told without further explanation to tie a few
belongings together; she silently obeyed, not daring to ask any
questions. It was just a year since she had come to the house with her
bundle. She had been given nothing new during that time except the
black jacket she had on; it was thinly lined, and her skirt hung
limply to her knees. It was only a moment before she appeared with her
bundle under her arm. She looked timidly from her dress to Mrs. Ritter
as she entered.
"You are all right, Wiseli; we are not going far," said Mrs. Ritter.
Wiseli followed her down the path, after a hasty farewell to the aunt
and uncle, and she could not help wondering what was going to be done
with her. Mrs. Ritter cut across the fields to make the distance
shorter, for she felt as if she could not get the child away fast
enough.
As soon as they were out of sight of Beechgreen, Mrs. Ritter turned to
Wiseli, saying, "You know who Joiner Andreas is, don't you, Wiseli?"
"Oh, yes," she answered, her face lighting up on hearing the name.
Mrs. Ritter was pleasantly surprised, and continued, "He is sick,
Wiseli; do you think that you would like to stay with him a couple of
weeks and wait on him so that he will get well again?"
"Of course, Mrs. Ritter, I shall be very glad to go," Wiseli said, and
Mrs. Ritter wished that Andreas could have seen her as she said it.
"You must remember to tell him that you are glad to be with him, if
you are," said Mrs. Ritter; "otherwise he might think we made you
come."
"I shall not forget to tell him," said the little girl.
When they reached the joiner's gate, Mrs. Ritter bade Wiseli enter
without her. "Since I know that you like to go to him, I shall not
need to go in, but you can tell the joiner that I will be over in the
morning, and you must come to me for anything you may want at any
time. Good-by."
It was with a light heart that Wiseli ran up the path to the house,
for she rejoiced that she was to see the man who had been so kind to
her, and that this was to be her home for a few weeks. She understood
what was expected of her, and she knew that the joiner was in bed,
with no one else in the house, so she entered without ringing. How
homelike everything seemed as she looked about! At the farther end of
the room she noticed, through the parted curtains, a large bed freshly
dressed with a white spread and pillows; she wondered who slept in
that room. Then she tapped lightly on the joiner's door, which she
opened as soon as she heard a response. The joiner raised himself on
his elbow to see who was there.
"Wiseli!" he exclaimed, as if in doubt whether to be glad or sorry.
"Come over here and give me your hand." Wiseli silently did as she was
told.
"I am sorry that you had to come to me."
"Why?"
"I only mean that perhaps you would a little rather not have come.
Mrs. Ritter is always so kind that you did it to please her, didn't
you?"
"No, not at all. She never asked me to do it for her. She wanted to
know if I cared to come, and I said, 'Yes.' There is no place in the
whole world where I should have been so glad to go as to your house."
This must have satisfied the joiner, for his head dropped back to the
pillows, and he tried to look at Wiseli, but the tears persisted in
filling his eyes.
"What must I do?" asked Wiseli, when he said nothing further.
"I am sure I don't know, Wiseli," said the joiner, gently. "I shall be
glad to have you do exactly as you please, if you will stay with me a
while first and keep me company."
Wiseli could scarcely believe she had heard aright. Nobody but her
mother had ever spoken to her like that. Her first thought was that
her mother would be glad if she knew how kind he was. There was the
same tenderness in his tones that she used to feel in the mother's,
and she unconsciously loved him in the same way. She took his hand in
both of hers and chatted with him as freely as if she had always known
him.
"I am afraid I ought to be getting dinner," she said at length; "what
should you like to have me cook for you?"
"I want you to have just what you like," replied the joiner.
This, however, did not satisfy Wiseli, for she desired above all else
to please him, so she asked question after question until she found
out what she wanted to know. She knew how to make the soup he said he
liked, and she realized now that she had learned many useful things
from her aunt, even if they had been taught without kindness. Wiseli
prepared the joiner's dinner on a tray and carried it to him.
"I wish you would draw the little table over here and eat your dinner
with me," said the joiner. "Mine will taste so much better if you
will."
Wiseli was again surprised, but she said, "That is just what mamma
would have said."
What a pleasant dinner that was! The joiner was so considerate of
Wiseli's comfort that it made the humblest task a pleasure to her.
"Now what are you going to do?" he asked, when they had finished
dinner and Wiseli rose from the table.
"I am going to wash the dishes," she replied.
"I suppose such things have to be done," said the joiner, "but I
think, since this is your first day with me, that you might stack them
up and do them to-morrow; you know there are only a few."
"Why, I should be so ashamed if Mrs. Ritter should happen to come in
that I shouldn't know what to do," said Wiseli, and she turned such a
serious face to him that he laughed.
"All right," he said; "only remember that you are to do just as you
like while you are with me."
Wiseli had not thought that it could be so much fun to do up the
dinner work. When it was finished, she said to herself, "Now this
kitchen is nice enough for any one to inspect."
She had been told that the alcove opening off from the living room was
to be hers, so she hung her few garments in the closet opening from
one corner of the room. When she returned to the joiner's room he
said, "Good, I have been waiting for you a long time."
"Haven't you a stocking that I could knit while I sit here?" she
asked, as she took the chair beside the bed.
"Of course not," answered the sick man; "you have already done too
much, and I want you to rest now."
"But I am not allowed to sit idle except on Sunday. Besides, I can
knit and talk at the same time."
"If you will be any more contented with a stocking, get one, by all
means, but please remember that I don't want you to work unless you
prefer to do so," said the joiner.
In this quiet way they passed one day after another. Everything Wiseli
did pleased the joiner, and she was thanked for every little service
as if it were of the utmost importance. The patient gained so much in
strength that he was soon clamoring for permission to get up. The
doctor told him that he might sit up whenever he wished, and much of
his time was now spent sitting in the bay window in the living room,
where the warm sunshine helped to make the days cheerful. He liked to
watch his little housekeeper moving about at her household duties, and
she succeeded in making his house more attractive than he had ever
hoped to see it.
Wiseli so enjoyed herself in this comfortable home, where she had the
assurance of being cared for and protected, that she sometimes forgot
she must soon give it up and return to her uncle at Beechgreen.
CHAPTER VIII
THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS
In the home on the hill they talked often of the good joiner and
Wiseli. Mrs. Ritter went to see them every morning, and she always
brought encouraging news home with her. Otto and Miezi were planning a
surprise for Andreas and Wiseli in which they meant to celebrate their
friend's recovery. To-day, however, they had a celebration in their
own home, for it was their father's birthday. It had seemed like a
real holiday to the children ever since they got up in the morning,
and now they were about to enjoy the birthday feast. They were all in
the best of humor. After the first course had been served, there was
placed before Mrs. Ritter a covered dish which, when the cover had
been removed, displayed a cabbage head looking as fresh and natural as
if it had just come from the garden.
"That dish is certainly pretty enough to be praised," said the father;
"but really I was expecting to see something else, Marie. You know at
every feast I am on the lookout for my favorite vegetable, the
artichoke. Isn't it on the menu to-day?"
"There," broke in Miezi, "that is just what he called me! Twice he
called me that, and he had his big stick raised like this, and he was
going--"
Miezi had her arm raised to illustrate the man's attempt to strike
her, when she suddenly caught the warning look from her brother across
the table, and remembered her promise not to tell her parents about
what had happened that night. In her great confusion her face grew
scarlet, and she pushed her arms as far as possible under the table.
"I am surprised to have my birthday celebration take this turn," said
the father. "On one side of the table my daughter speaks of something
about which we have heard nothing, while, on the opposite side, my son
kicks my leg until it feels as if it might be black and blue. I should
like to know, Otto, where you learned such gymnastics."
It was now Otto's turn to blush, which he did to the roots of his
hair. He had intended to hush his sister with the kicks, but evidently
he had not struck where he intended. For a time he was too embarrassed
to look his father in the face.
"Well, Miezchen, what was the rest of the story which Otto did not
allow you to finish? You say he called you a dreadful name, raised his
stick at you, and--?"
"Then, then," began Miezi,--she realized, now, that she had told, and
must sacrifice the candy rooster in consequence,--"then he didn't kill
me, anyway."
The father laughed heartily. "It was good of him not to kill my little
girl, but what then?"
"That was all."
"The story has a happy ending," said the father. "The stick remains
poised in the air and little Miezchen comes home as the artichoke. Now
let us forget everything except that this is my birthday and that we
are to do justice to the feast provided."
Otto, however, still felt somewhat disturbed, and after dinner went
off to a corner by himself. He seemed to be reading, but instead, he
was thinking about what had happened, for he was very sure that his
mother would never again let him go with the others to coast by
moonlight.
Miezi went to her room to take a last look at the candy rooster with
which she must part, now that she had failed to keep her promise. Mrs.
Ritter was seated at the window trying to explain to herself the
strange actions of her children. She became more and more restless as
she thought about it, and finally went in search of Miezi, whom she
found at the foot of the bed in a very unhappy state of mind.
"Miezchen, mamma has come to have a talk with you. I want you to tell
me when it was that you were frightened by that man."
"The night that we went coasting by moonlight. I know he called me
that word papa used at the table to-night."
Mrs. Ritter now went to find her husband. "I should like to tell you
something, Otto," she said.
The colonel laid his newspaper aside and looked inquiringly at his
wife.
"I have been thinking about the scene at the table to-night, and I have
come to the conclusion that the children were frightened by the same
man that tried to kill the joiner. I have just found out from Miezi
that it happened the evening I gave the children permission to coast
by moonlight, and that was the very night the joiner was hurt. It is
much more likely that the man called her 'aristocrat' than
'artichoke.' If so, I should say that the man was Andreas's brother.
He is the only one in the world who would think of using that word,
and I am sure the only one who would hurt Andreas. Don't you think it
likely that it was Andreas's brother George?"
"It does seem probable," answered the colonel, thoughtfully; "I will
see what can be done about it." He rang for the coachman to bring the
carriage, and a few moments later he was on his way to the city.
For several days Colonel Ritter went frequently to confer with the
police, but it was not until two weeks later that they succeeded in
getting results. One evening, when the Colonel returned to his home,
he told the members of his family that the thief had been captured,
and that it was, as Mrs. Ritter had surmised, the joiner's own brother
George. He had been living in the near-by hotels, confident that no
one had seen him in his home town, because he had passed through in
the night.
He denied knowing anything about the affair when he was first
arrested, but when told that Colonel Ritter had weighty evidence
against him, he inferred that he must have been recognized after all.
He lost his temper, and said that of course those "aristocrats" would
like to make trouble for him. In answer to questions he said that he
had just returned from service in the Neapolitan War; and that he had
intended to go to his brother to borrow some money, but finding him
with the large sum before him, he saw the opportunity to get it all.
It had been his intention merely to knock his brother senseless, so
that he could make his escape, and he protested that he had never
wished to kill him.
Fortunately, most of the money was still in George's possession. It
was recovered, and he was put in prison.
This story caused quite a commotion in the little town, especially
among the school children.
Several nights after George had been arrested, Otto came home very
much excited. Although Joggi had been set free as soon as George had
confessed, he was still too frightened to take advantage of his
liberty. He thought that he should be killed if he went out. Finally
the police authorities turned him out by force, but he ran quickly to
a near-by barn where he hid himself in the farthest corner. Here he
had remained for three days, and the farmer had threatened to take the
pitchfork to him if he did not go away soon.
"That is very sad indeed," said Mrs. Ritter, when Otto had finished
telling her about it. "The poor fellow suffers because his mind is too
feeble to understand what is said to him. It is hard that an innocent
man should be made so miserable. If you had told me that night about
what had happened to Miezi, we should not have caused Joggi so much
suffering. You had better try to do something for him, since you might
have spared him all this."
"I will give him my red candy rooster," said Miezi, sympathetically.
"A red candy rooster to a grown-up man!" laughed Otto. "You had better
keep it, since you are so fond of it."
"They say he has had no food, mother," Otto continued. "I shall be
glad to take him some dinner."
Mrs. Ritter gave her consent, so the children packed a basket with
good things to eat, and started for the barn to find Joggi. He was
there, crouched in the corner as they had supposed.
Otto opened the basket for him to see and said, "Come out here, Joggi,
and you shall have all there is in this basket."
Joggi did not move.
"Come, Joggi," continued Otto, "you know the farmer may take the
pitchfork to you if you stay here."
At this Joggi screamed and tried to get farther back in his corner.
Miezi was very sorry for the poor man. Going up to him, she whispered
in his ear: "My papa will not let them hurt you, so you had better
come along with me. I brought you something from Santa Claus. See!"
She held out the candy rooster to him as she spoke.
These whispered words restored Joggi's confidence. He looked
fearlessly about, took the candy rooster from her hand, and began to
laugh in his old way. He allowed Miezi to lead him out, but he would
not touch the basket, so they let him follow them home.
Mrs. Ritter was relieved to see Joggi with them. She opened the door
for them, and had a good supper placed before the hungry man, saying,
"Eat all you want, Joggi, and be happy."
Joggi ate heartily and seemed as pleased as a child over the rooster,
which he held constantly. As soon as he had finished eating, he rose
to go home, and they noticed that he looked at the rooster and laughed
as he went, his great fright apparently forgotten.
For several days Mrs. Ritter did not see the joiner. It seemed a
longer time to her, for so much had happened in the meantime; she had
not worried about him, however, because she knew that he was well
cared for.
The colonel had told Andreas about his brother's confession. "It is
like him to do things in that fashion," said the joiner. "I would
gladly have given it all to him, but he always takes the wrong way to
get what he wants."
One bright sunny morning Mrs. Ritter went tripping down the hill like
a schoolgirl. She was going to see Andreas, and she had some plans in
mind, the carrying out of which would give her a great deal of
pleasure.
When she reached his house and entered as usual, she was surprised to
see Wiseli run out of the room in tears, and the joiner sitting in the
deepest gloom, as if a great sorrow had befallen him.
"What has happened?" she exclaimed, as she stood still in
astonishment.
"Mrs. Ritter," he faltered, "I wish that the child had never come to
my house."
"What!" she exclaimed, more amazed than ever. "Wiseli? What can she
have done?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, don't misunderstand me, Mrs. Ritter!" he
cried. "It is only because she has been here and has made a little
paradise out of my humble home that I am so unhappy. They have sent
for her the second time, and she has to go back to Beechgreen. I shall
be miserable without her. You don't know how hard it is for me to let
her go. She would rather stay with me, too, so we are both unhappy
over it. I would give the uncle all I have saved in the last thirty
years, if he would only let me keep her."
Mrs. Ritter sighed in relief and said, "I should do nothing of the
sort; I know of a much better way."
He looked at her questioningly.
"I should adopt Wiseli, if I were you and wanted her. Then you will be
her father and she will be your child and heir. Wouldn't that be a
better way, Andreas?"
Andreas grasped Mrs. Ritter's hand as he asked eagerly, "Is such a
thing possible?"
"Yes"; said Mrs. Ritter, "I thought that you might want to keep her,
so I have been looking the matter up, and Mr. Ritter is at home now,
so that, in case you want to settle the legal part of it, he can take
you to the city immediately, for you are not yet able to go by
yourself. Then you will have nothing to worry about, and you can tell
Wiseli after you come back."
It was the first time that she had ever seen the joiner excited. He
began to get into his overcoat as she rose to go.
"Are you sure," he asked, "that we can get the matter settled to-day?"
"Yes, I am sure," she replied, "and I will send the carriage over at
once."
A few moments later Wiseli noticed the Ritter carriage drive up to the
gate and the coachman come to assist the joiner down the walk. She was
surprised to see him get into the carriage, for he had not told her
that he was going for a drive. "Perhaps," she thought, "he did not
feel like telling me, because this is the last day that I can be with
him."
Wiseli had the dinner ready at the usual hour, but the joiner was not
there. She did not wish to eat without him, so she waited and waited,
but still he did not come. Finally, she fell asleep. She dreamed that
she was again at her uncle's home and that she was very unhappy. She
was not aware of the beautiful evening glow in the sunset which
promised a pleasant to-morrow.
Wiseli started from her slumber when the door opened. It was the
joiner, who had just returned, and his face was as radiant as the
sunset. He had been in such a different mood in the morning that
Wiseli stared in astonishment.
"I have good news, Wiseli," he said, as he hung up his hat and stepped
about as lightly as a boy. "It is all settled. You are legally my
child, and I am your father. Call me father this very minute, my
little girl."
All the color had left Wiseli's cheeks, and she stood uncomprehending
and speechless.
"Of course you don't know what I am talking about," he said. "I begin
at the wrong end because I am so glad. This is what has happened,
Wiseli: the proper authorities have to-day given me the legal right to
take care of you. I have been to the city and the matter is arranged,
so that we really belong to each other. You shall never go back to
your uncle's again, for now you have a home of your own."
His meaning dawned at length upon Wiseli, although it seemed too good
to be true. Impulsively she sprang into his arms. "Then I can always
call you father," she said. "I know who knew that this was going to
happen," she added.
"Who knew it would happen, Wiseli?"
"My mother knew it would."
"Your mother! How, Wiseli?"
"In my dream I saw the path that leads to your house, and she was
pointing to it and saying, 'See, Wiseli, that is your path.' So mother
must have known it," she added. "Don't you think that she helped to
bring it about, father?"
The good man could not answer, for his heart was full and his eyes
were dimmed with tears, but he looked at Wiseli so lovingly that she
understood.
Suddenly the door was thrown open, and Otto fairly sprang into the
room. He threw up his cap and shouted, "Hurrah! We've won, and Wiseli
is free."
Miezi came in next, almost breathless, and as she held the door open
she cried, "See what is coming for the celebration!"
There was the baker's boy carrying so large a board on his head that
he stuck fast in the doorway, and they had to help him to get it into
the house.
It was explained that Otto and Miezi, having permission to order as
large a cake as they wished for the occasion, had told the baker to
make them the largest he could, so he had baked one just the size of
his oven.
Trina came with loaded baskets which contained a well-browned roast
and tempting vegetables, for Mrs. Ritter knew that the joiner had not
been able to eat his dinner, and surmised rightly that Wiseli would
not have eaten much by herself. Trina prepared things on the table so
that they could all sit down. It was a joyous occasion for every one
present. The feast was followed with merriment and song until a late
hour.
At last Trina stood ready to return, and the guests rose to go.
"To-night you have brought the feast to us," said the joiner, "but one
week from to-night I invite you all to come back to a feast that I
wish to provide in honor of my little daughter."
Then they shook hands in the pleasant anticipation of coming together
again soon, and in general satisfaction that their little friend had
at last a home of her own. Wiseli followed Otto to the door and said:
"I thank you a thousand times, Otto, for all that you have done for
me. Chappi never hurt me again after you choked him, because he was
afraid that I might tell you, so you see how much reason I have to be
grateful."
"I am much more indebted to you," said Otto. "I haven't had to do that
work in the schoolroom again, and that I disliked much more than
punishing Chappi, so we shall have to call it even."
Miezi, who had been the gayest of the party all the evening, waved her
hand in answer to the last farewell, and then the guests were lost to
view. Joiner Andreas sat down by the window in his accustomed place,
but Wiseli first restored order to dishes and furniture. When she had
finished that task, she went to her father and said: "Shouldn't you
like to hear the verses that mother taught me? They have been running
in my mind all the evening, and I don't intend ever to forget them."
"I shall be very glad to hear them," said the joiner, as he took her
on his knee. Then Wiseli, leaning on his shoulder and looking out to
the stars, repeated with joyful heart:
"Commit thou all thy ways
And all that grieves thy heart
To Him whose endless days
Shall grace and strength impart.
"He gives to wind and wave
The power to be still;
For thee He'll surely save
A place to work His will."
From this time on the little home of the joiner, nestling among the
flowers, remained one of the happiest in the world. Wherever Wiseli
went, people were so polite to her that she was quite astonished, for
they had scarcely noticed her before. Her aunt and uncle Gotti never
passed the house without coming in to see her, and they always invited
her to make them a visit.
Wiseli was very much relieved to see their friendly manner, for she
had had secret fears as to how they would accept the situation. She
was glad to live in peace with all the people about her, but she said
to herself, "Otto and the rest of the Ritter family were kind to me
when I was unhappy and poor, but the others paid no attention to me
until my father took me, so I know where to look for my real
friends."
PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY OF PROPER NAMES
The vowels are marked as in Webster's dictionary.
In unaccented syllables, long vowels and ae should not be pronounced
too strongly; but they should not become indistinct, especially in the
names around Lake Garda (both persons and places). In unaccented
syllables the vowel [~e] should be very light and rather indistinct; a
very common pronunciation, though not the most exact, is to sound this
vowel in German names like the _a_ in _sofa_.
Aar (aer)
Aloise (ae l[=o][=e]'z[~e])
Andreas (aen dr[=a]'aes)
Bergamo (b[ve]r'gae m[=o])
Bern (b[ve]rn)
Chappi (kaep'p[=e])
Como (c[=o]'m[=o])
Desenzano (d[=a] s[ve]n dzae'n[=o])
Engadine ([ve]n gae d[=e]n')
Enrico ([ve]n r[=e]'c[=o])
Garda (gaer'dae)
Gotti (g[vo]t't[=e])
Hans (haens)
Heimatlos (h[=i]'maet l[=o]s): homeless
Joggi (y[vo]g'g[=e])
Kunzli (kunts'l[=e])
Maloja (mae l[=o]'yae)
Maria (mae r[=e]'ae)
Marie (mae r[=e]')
Menotti (m[=a] n[vo]t't[=e])
Miez (m[=e]ts)
Miezchen (m[=e]ts'ch[ve]n)
Miezi (m[=e]t's[=e])
Peschiera (p[ve] skya'rae)
Rico (r[=e]'c[=o])
Ritter (r[vi]t'ter)
Riva (r[=e]'vae)
Rudi (r[u:]'d[=e])
St. Gall (saint gael)
St. Moritz (saint m[=o]'r[vi]ts)
Sils (z[vi]ls)
Sils-Maria (z[vi]ls-mae r[=e]'ae)
Silvio (s[=e]l'vy[=o])
Stineli (st[=e]'n[~e] l[=e])
Trevillo (tr[=a] v[=e]l'l[=o])
Trina (tr[=e]'nae)
Trudt (tr[u:]t)
Una sera ([u:]'nae s[=a]'rae): one evening
Urschli (ur'shl[=e])
Wiseli (v[=e]'z[~e] l[=e])
Wisi (v[=e]'z[=e])
Transcriber's Note:
Not all letters can be shown as in the original text. The following
convention has been used to indicate letters which can not be
represented (where x denotes the letter).
[vx] letter with caron above
[=x] letter with macron above
[~x] letter with tilde above
[x:] letter with dieresis below