CHAPTER IX.

A LAST JOURNEY AND A FIRST.

A large travelling-carriage passed by the door of the doctor’s house, in

which sat alone, a lady clothed in black. It was Clarissa, who had come

to carry little Nora to her home by the Rhine. The doctor’s four

children were standing in the garden, and they watched it as it passed,

thinking what a sad journey its occupant must have had. Their aunt stood

at an upper window watching it also, and as it disappeared round the

corner she beckoned Fred to come up to her in his room. He came running

up the stairs.

“See, Fred! I am clearing your room up a little. There are a great many

useless things here; why should you keep them? See; in this box is a

dead creature; let’s begin with this, and throw it away”; and as she

spoke she carried the box towards a window.

“What are you doing, aunty?” cried the boy. “That is my very best

chrysalis; it will turn into a beautiful moth by and by; one of the

finest of our butterflies, with wonderful marks on its wings.”

“What nonsense!” said his aunt. “This little creature is utterly dead;

don’t you see it is stiff and motionless.”

“Don’t you know about caterpillars, aunty dear?” exclaimed the boy,

holding fast to his box. “I’ll tell you about it. This is a chrysalis;

and it seems entirely dead, but it’s only the outside that is dead.

Inside, where we cannot see it, lies something that is alive; and by and

by, when the time comes, this shell will be cast off, for there will be

no farther use for it, and out will fly a new lovely creature with

exquisite wings.”

“But, Fred, I don’t understand how that can be possible! How can a poor

worm, that only crawls about all its life, die, and then suddenly turn

into a beautiful new creature with wings, and fly away leaving its old

body behind? Do you understand it, Fred?”

“No, I don’t understand it, but I know it’s so.”

“Well, my dear boy,” said his aunt, seriously, “what if there was

something hidden within little Nora, which was alive too, and which,

leaving the poor dead shell behind, has flown on shining wings away to

distant heights, where it is entering on a new and happy life!”

Fred stood thoughtful a few moments, and then said, “I never thought of

it in that way, aunty. Now I shall have a very different idea about

Nora. How glad she must be to fly away on her new wings from the sick

body in which she was imprisoned! Are not you glad, aunty, that you know

about the chrysalis, and isn’t it wonderful?”

“It certainly is; and it teaches us that there are many things about us

that we cannot understand, and yet which are true, though no one can

explain them. So by and by, Fred, when you are a learned man, as I hope

you will be, when you come to something you cannot understand in nature,

you must say modestly, ‘This is beyond my powers of explanation; this is

the work of God’; and so stand reverently before his greatness, that is

about and above us all.”

Fred handled his chrysalis with respect as he laid it away with his

other treasures. A new thought had come to him about that and about

other things.

Clarissa had arrived; but her coming did not bring comfort to the

sorrowing mother; on the contrary, it seemed only to renew her grief.

Clarissa would have been glad to hear all about her darling’s last days,

and how the end came, but the mother could not bear any allusion to the

subject, and Clarissa kept silence. She consoled herself by looking at

Nora’s peaceful face, that seemed to have a message of comfort for her.

When she heard that Elsli had been alone with Nora when she died, she

was very anxious to see the girl, and sent for her to come and speak

with her. When Elsli came into the pleasant room where she had passed so

many happy days, and glanced towards the empty window-seat, she was

overcome with fresh grief. Clarissa took her by the hand, and, drawing

her to a seat by her side, immediately began to ask about Nora; and soon

Elsli was pouring out her whole heart; and she told Clarissa all that

she and Nora had said to each other about the heavenly land, and she

repeated the hymn that Nora had taught her. Then she told how quietly

Nora had left her at last, and said that she hoped to follow her soon

into her beautiful home.

Clarissa hung upon every word that fell from Elsli’s lips with gratitude

and satisfaction. It was she who had taught Nora that hymn as she sat

upon her knees when she was a very little child, and as she heard it

repeated now it was with the same tones, the same motions of hand and

head that the child had used who learned it from her own lips; it seemed

to Clarissa as if Nora lived again in Elsli. Weeping with mingled joy

and sorrow, she went in search of Mrs. Stanhope.

“Surely,” she exclaimed, “this child is the image of our darling; it is

her sister, with her voice, her words, her very thought. This, too, is

our child.”

Mrs. Stanhope roused herself for a moment to listen to Clarissa’s words,

but she was not moved by them; she threw herself again on her bed and

would not be comforted. Clarissa was not disheartened by this

indifference; she was so completely impressed herself by the wonderful

resemblance between the children that she led Elsli into the room where

the hopeless mother lay in full indulgence of her grief, and said:--

“I bring you this little girl, Mrs. Stanhope; for I look upon her as a

legacy that our Nora has left us.”

Mrs. Stanhope looked for a moment into the girl’s face; then she

suddenly kissed her and said:--

“Elsli, Nora loved you, and you loved her. You shall stay with me

always”; and they all three wept together, but there was healing in the

tears.

Like one in a dream Elsli went home that day. She understood, but not

wholly, what had happened. She had believed that Nora would ask her

heavenly Father to call her to heaven, and would come herself to meet

her; and now it seemed as if she had already come to meet her to lead

her elsewhere than to heaven.

Clarissa went to make the arrangements with Marget, about which there

was no difficulty whatever. For as soon as Marget understood that not

only was Elsli to be provided with a home for life, but that the help

which she might have afforded her parents as she grew older was to be

made good to them, she was overjoyed. She said that Elsli was not fit

for hard work, and that the care of the little boys was quite beyond

her, especially since Hans was growing more and more troublesome. So she

gladly agreed to let her go, with the understanding that she should

return home at least once a year for a visit.

In an incredibly short time the whole village was in possession of the

news that the wealthy Mrs. Stanhope had offered to take Elsli home with

her, and to keep her as her own child always; and that they were to

start for the villa on the Rhine the very next day. The excitement

produced by this news was intense. Wherever two neighbors met on the

road, they stopped to talk over the good-luck that had happened to

Elsli. In the school, the children could not keep quiet, so great was

their interest in the event. Even Mr. Bickel was moved to make an

unheard-of effort. He took his big stick in his hand, saying:--

“Wife, we ought to go and call on Mrs. Stanhope, and apprise her of our

relationship with that girl Elsli. If she needs any advice about the

child, I am the proper person to give it. Perhaps we shall be asked to

make our cousin a visit, when she is settled there by the Rhine; there

are great factories of all kinds there, and perhaps Mrs. Stanhope may

have some connection with them, and that may help us in our business.”

But Mr. Bickel had to lay aside his stick again, for his wife was not

ready to go to make so important a visit at so short notice.

If there was excitement elsewhere, at the doctor’s house there was a

real jubilee. The mother and the aunt were filled with thankfulness that

the delicate girl had fallen into such good hands, where she would be

loved and cared for, and where her natural refinement would have every

chance of development. All the family were full of pleasure and

anticipations of great things in the future.

Oscar went about all day, lost in thought. He was trying to turn this

new state of things to account; for it was a great trial to him that the

beautiful embroidered banner had had to be laid aside; and he was

determined, if possible, to find some use to put it to. Emma, too, was

evidently preoccupied, and Fred said to himself, as he saw her knitted

brows, “She’s got some scheme working in her brain.” As for Fred

himself, he sat deeply engaged in making long lists of all the

caterpillars, beetles, snails, and other similar creatures that he knew

were to be found in the neighborhood of the Rhine. To make assurance

doubly sure, he put the Latin name under the common name of each.

That evening Elsli was sitting on the long bench at home, quite hidden

by the three little brothers, who had taken complete possession of her.

She bore the infliction patiently, for she knew it was the last time,

at least for many months. She had begun to realize her good fortune, and

to rejoice in the prospect before her. Clarissa had completely won her

heart; and the child could talk to her freely and without reserve, as

she had never spoken to any one before, except Nora. She did not feel so

much at ease with Mrs. Stanhope, but she loved her as Nora’s mother, and

Mrs. Stanhope was kind to her, but not like Clarissa. Elsli puzzled her

mind a good deal about the sort of life she was to lead in her new home;

and as to whether she should be able to do all that was required of her,

and to do it properly. But more than all, she was worried about Fani,

from whom she was now so completely separated, and whom she might not

see again for long years. As she sat pondering on these problems, she

was totally unconscious that Hanseli was pulling and kicking her in the

old style, when Emma suddenly came into the room.

“Elsli,” she cried, breathlessly, before she had fairly passed the

threshold, “you are going away to-morrow, and I have something very

important to say to you. Put the boys down, and come with me; do.”

“Hanseli will scream if I do,” said Elsli, and he did scream; but Emma

took him without ceremony from his sister’s arms, setting him on the

ground with no gentle hand; and before the frightened child had

recovered from his surprise, she had dragged Elsli away round the corner

of the house to a secluded place behind the big apple-tree.

“Here, I want you to take this with you,” she began, holding out a thick

roll of paper, “and I want to tell you that you are going to pass

through Basel on your way.”

“Are you sure?” asked Elsli, with sparkling eyes.

“Yes, yes, I am sure; and now listen. Tell Mrs. Clarissa that Fani is in

Basel, and that you want to see him. I know she will take you, she is so

kind. Then you give him this roll, and tell him that I sent it, and that

I hope he is well. Here is his address.”

“Oh, how glad I am!” cried Elsli. “Do you really think I ought to ask

Mrs. Clarissa to take me to Fani?”

“Of course you ought; only think how pleased he will be to see you.

Promise, Elsli,--” but before Elsli could answer, Oscar came round the

corner; and, spying Elsli, he seized her by the hand, exclaiming:--

“I’ve been hunting for you everywhere; and I’ve found you at last! Come

with me; I want to tell you something!”

He drew her away to the other side of the house, and stopped by the

hazelnut hedge; Emma did not follow them, for fear of vexing her

brother. She had sent to Fani, by Elsli, all the white paper and all the

pencils that she could collect in the children’s room at home, and she

thought it but prudent to keep out of Oscar’s way.

“Now, attend to what I am going to say, Elsli,” began Oscar, seriously;

“it is something very important for you to know. You are going to

foreign parts, where you will have no friends; I mean no acquaintances

among people in general. But no doubt there will be some Swiss there,

and you can form a society of our countrymen, that can meet every week,

and talk over all the news from their own country.”

“Yes, but I shouldn’t know what to say,” said Elsli, very much

perplexed.

“Never mind, the others can do the talking,” said the boy, eagerly;

“but now comes the really important part of it. Next summer, when you

are coming home again, you must agree upon some convenient place where

all the members of the society shall meet. Then crowds of people will

collect from all sides, and I will be there with my beautiful banner,

and we will have a procession and a great celebration of the first

anniversary. Be sure to write me the date of the foundation, Elsli!”

“Yes, I will certainly,” assented Elsli, but her tone was less decided

than her words, for she was anything but clear as to how the society

could be formed, or why it should be formed at all. Further questions

were, however, impossible, for at this moment Fred appeared with Rikli

in his wake, and a long strip of paper in his hand. Oscar vanished.

“Now, Elsli, read this,” said Fred.

“Here are the names of all the beautiful caterpillars, and rare beetles

and snails, that you are likely to find where you are going. I want you

to hunt in all the hedges, and stir up the earth now and then in your

walks. Then the fellows will turn up, and you can collect them, and send

me the finest specimens. You will, won’t you? I’ll send you something

pretty in return. You can put them right into your pocket, you know,

until you get home from your walk, and hold the pocket together _so_,--;

so that they won’t crawl out”; and Fred pinched up his pocket-hole so

that no kind of a crawling thing could have escaped from it. Rikli

shuddered all over.

Elsli was very willing to do Fred this service, but she did not really

see how, any more than in Oscar’s case; but she said, modestly:--

“I will do my best, Fred; but how am I to know the creatures whose

names are on your list?”

This was a sensible question, and Fred could not help seeing the

importance of it; but he was not to be deterred by a slight obstacle. He

looked again at his lists.

“Suppose I should draw a figure of each creature against its name!” he

said to himself. “I will come to see you to-morrow morning, before you

go away,” he said to Elsli, and was off.

Little Rikli, whose lesson had been learned at such a severe cost, was

quite cured of her foolish screaming whenever Fred came near her with

his dear little insects; but she watched his every motion, lest his fist

or his pockets should disgorge some green-eyed frog or other equally

unpleasant treasure. Her big brother had, however, a great fascination

for the child, who followed him everywhere like his shadow. She now

came nearer to Elsli, and said, entreatingly:--

“Don’t send the nasty things alive, will you, Elsli, dear? You’ll stuff

them first, won’t you?”

Just then, who should make his appearance but Feklitus, in his very best

Sunday suit, and at the same moment Marget’s voice was heard from the

cottage, calling in a tone loud enough to sound above Hans’ screams:--

“Elsli, where are you? It’s strange that you can’t stay in the house two

minutes at a time to-day.”

Rikli ran away; but Feklitus seized Elsli by the arm and held her fast.

“I want to go to see the lady at Oak-ridge,” he said, roughly. “I am

your cousin, and I want to tell her so, and that some time or other we

mean to come and visit you down there by the Rhine; but I’m not going

alone, and you’ve just got to come with me.”

“Let me alone; don’t you hear that I am wanted in the house!” And Elsli

tried to free herself from his hold.

“You shall come,” said the boy; and he grasped Elsli still more firmly,

and dragged her away with him.

Oscar, Emma, Fred, and Rikli all met with the same reception from Kathri

on their return home; she stood on the front porch, and said to one

after another as they came up, in a warning whisper:--

“Hush, hush! don’t make a noise! Mrs. Stickhop is in the parlor, come to

say good-bye.”

Poor Elsli did not sleep much that last night at home. She was excited

by all the last words and commissions and leave-takings of her friends,

and oppressed by the thought of what was before her on the morrow, and

it was in a half-dreamy state that early on the following morning she

began her journey, with Mrs. Stanhope and Clarissa, in the large

carriage, along the high road, through the country that lay still in the

dawning light. Suddenly a folded paper, weighted with a small stone,

flew through the air into the carriage window.

“Good-bye, Elsli. I wish I could go with you,” cried a voice from the

road-side. It was Fred, who had not been able to finish his work before,

and who had only painted his last snail just in season to throw his now

illustrated list after Elsli.

This last greeting brought the tears to Elsli’s eyes. She seemed now

fully to realize that she was leaving home, leaving all who had ever

known and loved her. Clarissa saw it all, and, taking Elsli’s hand in

hers, she expressed, by the warm grasp that she gave her, a mother’s

sympathy and love.

For the next week the doctor’s family were busy talking over and over

all the events of the past few weeks, from the arrival of little Nora to

Elsli’s final departure. On the tenth day came a long letter from Elsli,

which gave food for farther conversation. The mother and the aunt and

the four brothers and sisters were all equally impatient to know the

contents. The letter was addressed to Emma, who knew it from its

envelope, opened it out, and exclaimed with delight:--

“It is eight pages long! I will read it aloud to you.”

ROSEMOUNT ON THE RHINE, Sept. 28, 18--.

DEAR FRIEND,--Thank you a thousand times for your good advice, for

without it I should never have dared to say a word about Fani.

But I will begin at the beginning and tell you everything as it has

happened. When Fred said good-bye and I drove away from you all, I

had to cry a little! But Aunt Clarissa--this is what I am to call

her always--was very kind, and talked to me, and bade me tell her

everything that troubled me. Mrs. Stanhope shut her eyes and lay

back in the carriage, so still that I thought she was asleep, so I

thought it was a good time to tell Aunt Clarissa all about Fani, as

you advised. She didn’t even know that there was such a person, so

I had to tell her everything that had happened, and how long it was

since I had seen him. She said of course I must see him in Basel,

and that we should have plenty of time, as we were not going

farther than that, that day. She said she would go with me to find

him, and that Mrs. Stanhope would be perfectly willing. When we

reached Basel we went to a big hotel. I never saw anything like it

before. I could scarcely eat my dinner for joy that I was going to

see Fani again. Directly after dinner Aunt Clarissa told Mrs.

Stanhope that we wanted to go to see my brother, and Mrs. Stanhope

said she would go with us, as she did not want to stay alone.

We went across a long bridge, over a river, and quite a distance

further. At last we came to some small houses, and we began to

inquire for the painter Schulz. There we were right before his

house. Mrs. Stanhope opened the door and went right into the

work-shop, and we followed her. Fani sprang up with a great cry of

joy, and threw his arms round Mrs. Stanhope, and his eyes were full

of tears, for he was terribly homesick, and had never seen any one

from home since he went away. Then he caught sight of me, and he

was gladder still; and he wasn’t the least shy with Mrs.

Stanhope--you know he never is--but he put his arms round her

again, and exclaimed:--

“Oh, you don’t know how glad I am to see some one from home!”

You can’t imagine how kind she was to him. At last she told Fani to

call his master, and when the man came she went out into another

room to talk with him. After a while she came back, and then, what

do you think? She asked Fani if he would not like to go and live

with me at her house! I can’t begin to tell you how I felt. At

first I could scarcely breathe for joy, and then I began to think I

must have made a mistake; it couldn’t be true. But Fani cried out

with delight, and he seized Mrs. Stanhope’s hand and looked at her

so beseechingly, and he promised to work as hard as he could, and

do everything to please her if he might only go. “You shall,” she

said; and then she told him when to meet us at the railroad next

day. What a promise for Fani and me!

As we were going back to the hotel, Mrs. Stanhope said to Aunt

Clarissa, “Did you notice the resemblance? Doesn’t he look at you

out of his big brown eyes just as my Philo did?” Aunt Clarissa saw

the likeness too, and said that was the reason that she took a

fancy to Fani the moment she saw him. You see, Philo was Nora’s

little brother. In the evening, Mrs. Stanhope spoke several times

about the likeness, and it was the first time that she had talked

with us at all. All that night I kept thinking it was too good to

be true; it must be a dream; but the next morning, when we got to

the railroad station, there was Fani, and he had been waiting three

hours, ever since six o’clock. Mrs. Stanhope laughed a little at

his impatience--it was the first time she had laughed at all.

All day long we travelled in the railway carriage, and Fani was as

happy as he could be. When we stopped at a station, and Aunt

Clarissa was going to get out and fetch us something to eat, Mrs.

Stanhope stopped her and said: “No, no; we have an escort now, he

must wait upon us.” Then she explained to Fani what he was to do,

and you ought to have seen how he ran about and did it all so

handily, and he kept looking at Mrs. Stanhope to see if she was

pleased; and she was pleased, that was plain enough. In the evening

we stopped at Mainz on the Rhine, and Mrs. Stanhope said we should

see the river in the morning. And the next day, what do you think?

we went on a splendid steamboat; no one can possibly understand it

without seeing it. Fani was like a crazy creature all day, he was

so wild with delight; and Mrs. Stanhope let him run about all over

the boat and look at everything. Sometimes I didn’t see him for an

hour at a time! By and by he came and took your present, and said

he was going to draw everything that he had seen, and just how the

whole boat was arranged, so that he should never forget it. And he

wants me to thank you a great deal for the beautiful present. I

forgot to say that before.

In the evening, when we left the boat, we found a carriage and a

wagon waiting for us. We drove for half an hour or more, and then

we came to Mrs. Stanhope’s house. It is a large house, standing in

the middle of a garden, and with large trees about it. When we got

out of the carriage, Fani whispered to me, “Do you suppose I shall

work in the stables or in the garden?” Of course I couldn’t tell

him; I did not even know what I was to do myself. But nothing has

turned out as we thought it would. At first Mrs. Stanhope was so

sad that we did not see her at all for three days. Aunt Clarissa

was just as kind as she could be. She took us all about the garden

and showed us the place where Philo was buried; a white cross

stands there with his name on it. And Nora was buried by his side,

under a big linden.

On the fourth day Mrs. Stanhope came to table with us, and after

dinner she talked very kindly with us, and said that now it was

time for us to begin to work. Oh, how surprised Fani and I were

when we found out what we were to do! What kind of hard work do you

guess it is? No work at all! You won’t believe it, but it is true.

We just sit all the morning in the school-room and study! The

teacher comes at nine o’clock and stays till one, and Fani and I

are the only scholars! Of course Fani is much cleverer than I am;

but the teacher is very kind, and when I cannot do my lessons he

only says: “Come, be brave, and you’ll soon do as well as your

brother!” I get along very well, and I am not so ashamed as I was

when all the children in school were ahead of me. It is one o’clock

before we know it, and we are glad when school-time comes the next

day. After dinner we all go into the garden; and Mrs. Stanhope

takes Fani with her, and he talks with her about his lessons and

his ideas about all sorts of things; and it is easy to see that she

likes him very much, better of course than she does me; you know

how frank he is. He tells her just how he feels and how glad he is

to be here with her, and he thanks her over and over again for all

her kindness, and he holds her hand tight; and, when he looks up at

her so beaming with happiness, she strokes his hair, and seems more

fond of him than I have ever seen her of any one except Nora. But I

can never do as Fani does; though I have just the same feelings, I

cannot speak them out; and I’m afraid she does not think that I am

so grateful, and I can quite understand that she cannot care as

much for me as for Fani. But Aunt Clarissa is very good to me, and,

when we come in out of the garden, I go into a room with her and

she teaches me to sew and to embroider as you do. Tell Oscar that,

even if I don’t succeed in finding people to form a society, I will

at any rate work him a beautiful banner,--Aunt Clarissa says that I

may,--so he must be sure to write me what he wants for a motto.

While I am working, Fani has a lesson in drawing; a teacher comes

for two hours. Mrs. Stanhope almost always sits with him during

this lesson, for she is delighted that Fani learns so quickly, and

draws such beautiful things already.

After that Fani and I go into the garden by ourselves and play

about as much as we like. We run into every corner of it, for all

about are stone seats to rest on, and white marble statues, and the

garden is large and beautiful and stretches way down to the river;

and there stand the great lindens, and it is all the most splendid

and beautiful place in the world. Please tell Fred that I am

looking all the time after beetles and such things, but I haven’t

been able to catch any; he mustn’t be vexed with me, perhaps I

shall succeed better by and by.

After supper Aunt Clarissa sits down at the piano, and we sing

Nora’s favorite song and several others that she has taught me.

Generally Fani sits in the other room and draws by himself; but

when he sings with us it sounds much better, and it’s only when he

sings, too, that Mrs. Stanhope comes in to listen. After this, we

get our lessons ready for the next day. But time passes much too

quickly here; and Fani and I are always sorry when the day is over

and we have to go to bed. I am almost never tired now; and, oh, it

is so lovely to live here and to be with Fani. When we go in to our

meals, Aunt Clarissa always says, “Thank God that we have children

again with us at table!” And yesterday Mrs. Stanhope answered: “I

think you would like to have the house full of children.” And Aunt

Clarissa replied, “I should never have too many of them.” Then Mrs.

Stanhope said: “Next year we must invite our friends from

Switzerland to visit us; all four of the doctor’s children; and you

can take little Rikli under your special charge.” At these words

Fani shouted for joy; but I couldn’t utter a sound; I could

scarcely swallow, I was so delighted. Aunt Clarissa clapped her

hands and said, “Elsli must write directly and invite them, so that

we may make sure of them”; and, afterwards, she said to me again,

“What a splendid plan that is of Mrs. Stanhope’s!” In the evening

Fani and I went all round the garden to pick out all the places

that we particularly want to show you. Fred will be able to catch

his own insects. Fani is going to write you a long letter, and then

one to Oscar; but first he wants to draw a picture of the linden

trees and the little spot under them, to send you for a present. We

send our love to you all a thousand times, and beg you to give it

to our father and mother and the little boys.

Fani sends his special love to you.

Your true friend,

ELSLI.

When the letter was finished, there came a burst of shouting and

hand-clapping that seemed as if it would never stop. Such good news for

the children! What a prospect of delights! The mother and aunt

sympathized in their pleasure; but they took the greatest satisfaction

in the thought that their anxiety for Fani was forever relieved, and

that God had led the two children whose welfare lay so near their

hearts, by such unlooked-for ways, into a happy and hopeful life.

Which of the four children was most pleased with the prospect of the

visit to the villa on the Rhine, it would be impossible to say. They

could talk of nothing else, and think of nothing else. Oscar saw in

imagination whole armies of Swiss collected there, and united in one

fraternal society by his efforts, with Fani’s help. He began at once to

employ every spare moment in searching for a motto for the promised

banner. Emma was in a condition of almost feverish joy. Fani was really

on the road to become a painter, and her long-cherished wish was being

accomplished. Now that Mrs. Stanhope was evidently so fond of him,

surely everything would be done for his improvement. But she could

hardly wait for the time to come for their visit, for every day she had

some new idea for his future that she longed to tell him. Fred had his

hands full of preparations. He looked forward to making such an increase

of his collections that he was afraid he should not have room to contain

them all. He induced his aunt to promise him all the useless boxes in

the house, and all winter long he stored them away in his room in

readiness for the expected occupants.

Little Rikli enjoyed the anticipation of the summer with pure delight.

She was never so happy as when with Fred, yet her pleasure in being with

him had been always mixed with fright; but she was sure that under the

protection of good Aunt Clarissa there would be no danger that frogs or

beetles should be allowed to annoy her, or that any unpleasant creatures

would crawl out upon her under the shady lindens by the river.

Fani and Elsli grew better and happier every day; they had but one

unsatisfied wish--that the summer would come; so that they might welcome

their dear old friends to their new home, and show them its beauties and

share its blessings with them.

Aunt Clarissa took great pains that the two children committed to her

care should not forget the good Father in heaven who had provided such

a home for them. She led them often to the spot where Philo and Nora lay

buried, and reminded them how quickly and unexpectedly sorrow may be

changed into joy, as they had themselves experienced; then she told them

that just so quickly joy may be changed to sorrow, and that into the

brightest sunshine the shadow of death may fall; so that only those can

live happy and secure who have full trust in God, who holds all life in

his hand, and who makes both joy and sorrow work together for good to

those who love him.

[Illustration: DINO AND CORNELLI HAD UNDERTAKEN A GREAT WORK; THEY WERE

LAYING OUT MARTHA’S GARDEN]

VOLUME TWO

CHAPTER I.

THE NEW HOME.

Winter was over and gone. The early summer roses had opened again, and

raised their heads high about the villa on the Rhine. They glowed and

blossomed in all the garden-beds, and glistened in the sunshine, and

sent their sweet perfume far and near on every breeze. On the pebbly

path that led down from the splashing fountain to the lindens by the

river, Fani and Elsli scampered back and forth, drinking in the fragrant

air.

“Do you know where Mrs. Stanhope’s house gets its name?” asked Fani, as

he stood by a bed of flowers, watching with delight the airy

butterflies flitting from blossom to blossom, and then floating away as

in ecstacy up into the blue air.

“Of course I do,” answered Elsli; “it is called Rosemount because there

are so many rose-bushes stretching from up here way down to the

lindens.”

“Well, that’s true; but there’s nothing melancholy about it,” said Fani,

reproachfully. “What makes you look so sad, Elsli? You almost always

look sad nowadays, and it isn’t right, for I’m sure there’s no reason

for it. And Mrs. Stanhope notices it, too, and she doesn’t like it very

well; she must think that you are horribly ungrateful, and that you

don’t realize how well off we are. And yet you can’t help realizing it

when you think how it used to be at home.”

“Yes; I do think of it, and I realize it all perfectly, Fani; and I am

not a bit ungrateful. But you see I can’t express it to Mrs. Stanhope;

I wish I could. And then, besides, Fani,” she added, after a pause,

“Aunt Clarissa has often told me that when we are well off ourselves,

and have everything we need, and more, too, we ought to think all the

more about the poor, and do what we can to help them. And I am always

thinking about them, and wishing that I could share some of the good

things we enjoy with those who have none.”

“What do you mean, Elsli?” cried Fani; “there is no one about here who

is poor; even the men and women-servants live like gentlefolk. Have you

never noticed that Lina, the chambermaid, wears a hat when she goes out,

and a red and yellow shawl, just like Mrs. Bickel? And what red cheeks

the cook has! She has enough to eat, I’m sure; and the coachman wears

gloves when he drives.”

“Yes, I know; but I mean--well, you see we have a great deal of time to

ourselves, and can run round in the garden and amuse ourselves, and I

can’t help thinking that I might be doing something useful. I might knit

some stockings for the children at home if I had some yarn, but I don’t

like to ask for any; I have so many things.”

“Why, of course you can’t ask for it, Elsli; what are you thinking of?

And you know how many clothes and things Mrs. Stanhope is always sending

to mother? Only last week a big bundle went off; don’t you remember,

Elsli?”

“Yes, I know all that; but what I mean is that I want to do something

myself, and not go on taking my own comfort and enjoyment when so many

other people are suffering.”

“But you know the doctor said you _must_ take comfort; and he told Mrs.

Stanhope not to let you sit at your books and study all the time, but to

keep you a great deal in the open air. Come, let’s run all round the big

rose-bed, and draw in long breaths of that delicious perfume. How strong

it is! I can smell it way off here. Come!” and Fani took hold of his

sister’s hand and began to run. But she held back.

“I can’t run as you do, Fani,” she said, breathing heavily; “I would

rather go down to the stone seat under the lindens by the river and sit

a while.”

“Now you see, Elsli,” said Fani, as he walked slowly by her side down

towards the river, “now you see how soon you get tired. It is a good

thing for you that you have this garden to stay in. And how lovely it is

down here, too! do you notice? there’s quite a different smell here, and

its delicious!”

Fani was already seated on the bench, and he leaned back against the

trunk of the old linden, whose head was crowned with flowers that

diffused a sweet perfume through the air. The fresh foaming waves of the

river ran below, bathing the low hanging branches as they flowed along.

“Oh, how beautiful it is here! It will do you good to shout as loud as

you can, Elsli. I’m sure it would make you feel better.”

“Yes, indeed,” said the girl assentingly, but no joyous look came into

her pale face, such as shone from Fani’s eyes. “When I sit here I always

think of Nora. There’s such a beautiful view of the sunset from here.

And then I think of the evening when she went away, how the whole sky

was golden, as if the heavens were open, and you could look right into

them and see the crystal river flowing there forever. Whenever it is a

clear evening, and the red clouds come in the west, I always think that

Nora is looking down at me and beckoning me to come to her. How dearly I

should love to go!”

Fani sprang to his feet in great distress.

“How can you talk so, Elsli? Here we are living so happily together.

Nobody was ever so happy as we are, and yet you talk as if it was all

nothing, and all you want is to die! I’m sure I don’t want to die, and

you ought not to. And if you were to talk in this way to Mrs. Stanhope

just once, what do you suppose would happen? I can tell you--she’d just

send us straight home, I know; and how would you like that? And I’m

certain that she means to have us stay here always; for several times

when I’ve said something about being a painter she has begun to talk

about the future, and she takes it for granted that you and I are to

live with her. Just think of that! Then I shall be a gentleman and you a

lady like Mrs. Stanhope, and then--”

“Oh, Fani, you trouble me still more when you talk so,” interrupted

Elsli, sadly. “I see more plainly every day that I can never be what

Mrs. Stanhope wants me to be. I am afraid she will be more and more

vexed about it, and will like me less and less. And you too will be

ashamed of me by and by, because I cannot be what you would like to have

me.”

Fani had seated himself again at Elsli’s side, but at these words he

sprang again to his feet, crying out reproachfully:--

“Oh, Elsli, what strange notions have you taken into your head? It isn’t

pleasant in you to talk so. Why don’t you think of all the nice things

there are, and what good times we have together, and let all these

melancholy ideas go?”

“I don’t think of melancholy things on purpose, Fani, and I wish I did

not at all,” said Elsli, pleadingly. “It is this way. Whenever I begin

to think of something very pleasant, then sad thoughts come into my

mind, and I keep wondering whether there isn’t something that I can do

for those in trouble, and then I am unhappy because I can’t think of

anything. I see so many things that you don’t see, and I can’t get them

out of my head all day long.”

“What sort of things?” asked the boy in surprise.

“Well, for instance, twice when we have been coming home from our

afternoon walk, we have met a man with a heavy shovel on his shoulder,

and you didn’t notice him because you were so busy talking with Mrs.

Stanhope. The man looked down on the ground, just as father does when

he comes home at night all tired out and says, ‘We shall hardly pull

through, if I work ever so hard; I’m afraid we can’t keep out of debt.’

I’m sure that man is worried just as father was, and I keep thinking if

I could only go after him and find out where he lives, I might do him

some good, perhaps.”

“But you mustn’t do that,” cried Fani, much horrified. “Don’t you

remember how Mrs. Stanhope told us in the very beginning that we must

never go into any house where we didn’t know the people? and that we

mustn’t speak first to people we don’t know, as we do at home? You must

not go and talk to that man. Do you hear, Elsli? Mrs. Stanhope would be

very angry with you.”

Elsli thought for a while. Presently she said, “I do not believe that

Mrs. Stanhope meant that I should not speak to a poor man who is in

trouble, as this man is. She only meant that we mustn’t talk with people

who ask us questions about where we came from and how we live at home. I

don’t believe she meant people like this man at all.”

“Oh, Elsli, you can’t make distinctions, that way,” said Fani,

impatiently. “All we have to do is to mind what we are told, and not

speak to strange people or go to their houses. Now let’s talk about

something else; this sort of talk is tiresome. Come here; I’ll show you

something.”

The children sat down again side by side on the stone bench, with their

heads close together, and Fani took something out of his pocket which

they both examined carefully. It was a small, nicely painted landscape,

in fresh bright colors. Elsli studied it silently.

“Do you see what it is?” asked Fani.

“Yes, indeed, I knew it at the first glance. It is Rosemount; there are

the roses and the linden trees. How beautifully you have done it, Fani!

Won’t Emma be delighted when she sees it, and surprised too? I’m sure

she has no idea that you can paint so well!”

“I’m so glad she is coming,” cried the lad, and his face glowed with

pleasure. “There is no one that I can talk with about being a painter as

I can with her. She understands just how I feel, and is as much

interested in it as I am myself.”

“Are you still bent on being an artist?” asked Elsli.

“Yes, indeed, more and more. Every day, and after every drawing lesson,

I care about it more than ever before. I don’t say anything about it,

because I see that Mrs. Stanhope doesn’t like the idea. You see, Elsli,

she means to keep us with her all our lives, just as if we were her own

children. I’m sure of it, from a great many things that she has said. We

can stay here just as long as we don’t do anything to displease her, and

of course we sha’n’t do that. Several times when I’ve said that I should

like to be a painter, Mrs. Stanhope has said that it was a very good

profession for persons who had no home, and were obliged to live alone,

and could travel as much as they pleased in foreign countries. She said

I might paint at Rosemount as much as I chose, but that I must not make

it my business, because then I should have to go away to live. So you

see that she is quite decided that we are to stay here.”

Elsli shook her head.

“I don’t know, Fani. It seems to me that we don’t belong here in this

beautiful house. Don’t you feel so too, Fani? Somehow as if we were only

here on a visit, and that to-morrow we might be going away again.”

“There you are again with the old story,” said Fani, rather vexed, for

this doubt was very distasteful to him.

The time which they had to spend in the garden was now over, and hand in

hand they passed back up the white pebbly path, and by the sweet-scented

rose-beds, and entered the hall, which stood with wide-open doors on the

garden side.

CHAPTER II.

A JOURNEY.

Great was the excitement in the doctor’s house at Buchberg. July had

come at last, and the long-looked-for journey was at hand. Only one more

day! The big trunk was packed and locked and placed in the lower hall,

ready to go. Now there were only the hand-bags and satchels to be filled

with the last needful articles. This task was not so easy as one might

expect, however. On the contrary, mother and aunty found it the most

difficult part of the whole. For the three older children had received

permission to choose each the things which he wanted most to fill up his

own bag, with the express understanding that these must be _useful_

things. But the three had their own definitions of “useful.” So they

worked with all their might, running, breathless, up stairs and down,

loaded with most extraordinary articles, most of which were rejected by

the packers as utterly unsuitable, and consigned to the places whence

they came.

Fred came first with four great boxes under each arm, which were tied up

with so many strings, that no accident could have opened them if they

had gone all the way round the world. These he brought to his aunt,

while Emma was, at the same time, pressing upon her mother a heavy roll,

which she had brought under one arm, and an enormous package which she

could scarcely carry.

“Those can’t go, Fred,” said his aunt, decidedly. “I couldn’t possibly

get those eight boxes into this bag, and what’s the use? You certainly

can’t need whatever there is in them.”

“Yes, I do, aunty; six of them are full of living creatures which I must

carry with me to take care of them, or they would all die. The other two

have in them specimens of beetles and snails and other things of the

same kinds as those I expect to find near the Rhine, but, of course,

they are somewhat different, and I want to carry these to compare with

those, don’t you see, aunty? Perhaps if we squeeze the boxes with all

our might we can get them in, except those that have the live

creatures.”

“No, Fred, it can’t be done,” said his aunt, kindly. “Take them back

into your room; and you needn’t be in the least anxious. I’ll take care

of the live ones while you are gone, and, as to the others, when you

want to compare any of them with what you find, write to me about it,

and I will send you as good a description as I can make.”

Meantime, Mrs. Stein had been gazing in despair at the two huge,

misshapen packages which Emma had placed upon the table to be put into

her hand-bag.

“What have you in that big roll? It is too large to go even into the

trunk! What are you thinking about?” she cried.

“Oh, mamma, can’t they be tied on the outside of the bag? I could carry

them all together myself. I do want to take them with me so much. In the

roll are ever so many drawing-copies, such as we had at school, and some

that were given us on the Christmas-tree. Fani spoke of them in one of

his letters, and I’m sure he’ll be delighted to have them. I put in all

ours, and I borrowed some from the master, who said I could have them if

I would take great care of them and bring them safely back again.”

“What foolishness, Emma! You seem to forget that, for the last year,

Fani has had his own drawing-teacher, who gives his pupils what he

thinks best for them to copy, and, doubtless, has plenty of patterns of

all kinds. So take the roll away; it would be absurd to carry it. And

that hideous bundle, what is in it? It is twice too big to go in here.”

“I was afraid it would be,” said Emma, rather crestfallen. “But I

thought I could carry it in my lap, and, really, I must take it, mamma.

It is that book which I chose for a Christmas present, you know; the

‘Lives of Distinguished Painters.’ I want to carry it for Fani to read;

and, for fear of hurting the handsome binding, I wrapped it up in two

petticoats and a waterproof cloak and a small table-cloth, and then I

put some enamel-cloth outside the whole.”

“You do get hold of most unfortunate ideas, my child! we shall never

get ready at this rate. Come, we’ll take the book out of all these

wrappings, and then perhaps we can get it in. But you haven’t brought

anything that you really need, though you have had such a long time to

think about it all. And here aunty and I are standing waiting and can’t

get through, because you have nothing ready for us.”

At this moment aunty exclaimed, in a tone of alarm:--

“For pity’s sake, Oscar! what is that that you are tugging along?”

With a tremendous racket Oscar came into the room, dragging behind him a

drum, which he could not carry, because in one hand he had a large bunch

of bells and in the other a harmonica and a flute.

“Oscar dear, your own good-sense can tell you that you can’t get a drum

into this bag; to say nothing of the other instruments. What in the

world do you want with them? Mrs. Stanhope wouldn’t thank you for such

music!”

“It isn’t for the house, aunty,” answered the boy. “It is for the

festival out-of-doors. I’ve taken only Fred’s small drum, because mine

is too large. See if it won’t go in here!” and Oscar measured the drum

against his travelling-bag, only to be compelled to acknowledge that it

was too large by half. The bells, too, had to be laid aside, though the

boy complained that they were absolutely needed to call the guests

together at the festival.

“Whose flute is that?” asked the aunt; “it is a beauty.”

“It belongs to Feklitus. He is learning to play on it; and he was glad

enough to lend it to me, because while it’s gone he can’t be made to

practise!”

Mother and aunt agreed that the flute must not be packed without the

consent of Feklitus’ parents.

Fred came now with an armful of articles of various kinds for his bag,

and behind him appeared Kathri, saying:--

“Mrs. Bickel wants to see Mrs. Stein.”

“This isn’t a very good time to choose,” said Mrs. Stein, with a sigh.

“I shall have to leave this all to you,” she added, turning to her

sister; “and, children, you really must make up your minds what is

necessary to take, and not bring all sorts of useless stuff, that only

has to be carried back again.”

With these words Mrs. Stein went into the room where her guest was

sitting. It was easy to see that Mrs. Bickel had something very

important on her mind. She had on her fine red and yellow shawl, and on

her hat a bunch of large white feathers, higher and bushier than Mrs.

Stein had ever seen in her life. The doctor’s wife greeted her guest

with the fervent though unspoken hope that that lady would immediately

unfold the object of her coming, so that the visit might speedily come

to a close, and she herself go back to her children’s packing. Not so;

Mrs. Bickel opened the conversation with a remark upon the weather,

which she thought was growing worse and worse. Mrs. Stein agreed with

her. Then followed “the cherries”; they had not ripened well this

summer. From “cherries” she came to “apples,” a natural association of

ideas. Mrs. Stein burned with impatience. Her mind would run on the

travelling-bags. Could aunty pack them alone? Would not the most

important things be left out, after all, and a great many useless ones

put in? That reminded her of the flute, and she hastened to ask whether

Feklitus had his parents’ permission to lend it. This gave Mrs. Bickel

the opening she had been wanting. She said that it was a good thing that

Oscar wanted to take the flute; for her husband had decided to let

Feklitus take the trip to the Rhine; and he could play on the flute to

Mrs. Stanhope; all the more, because none of the doctor’s children were

musical.

She and Mr. Bickel thought, too, that it would be pleasant for their son

to be there with the others, and that it would show people that the

doctor’s children had other and better acquaintances at home than the

two poor children whom Mrs. Stanhope had taken with her.

But here Mrs. Stein interrupted the stream of words to say that there

was no occasion for that, as Mrs. Stanhope had seen for herself that

Fani and Elsli were her children’s most intimate friends. She then

inquired whether Mrs. Bickel wished Feklitus to go with her children.

Mrs. Bickel declared that she should not think of such a thing as that.

In that case Mrs. Stanhope would naturally ask him to stay at her house,

which of course they would not allow; as if he could not afford to pay

for his lodging! But she would be glad if Oscar would write as soon as

convenient and tell Feklitus the best way to go, and also find out the

chief hotel in the neighborhood. Then, if Oscar would meet him on his

arrival, and show him the way to it, Feklitus would take a room there,

and spend the time between meals with the children at Mrs. Stanhope’s.

His father meant to go himself very soon to visit his young relatives,

as it was only proper that he should do; and he would bring the boy

home.

Mrs. Stein listened patiently to this long discourse, but her thoughts

often wandered away into the next room, to aunty and the bags. How were

they getting on all this time?

She promised Mrs. Bickel that Oscar would do what she asked, and now

she hoped the visit was coming to a close. But there was more to ask.

How many suits of clothes did she think needed for such a journey? Would

six new ones be enough? Wouldn’t it be well to fill one trunk entirely

with new shirts, so that they needn’t be washed away from home; hotel

laundry work was so bad. Mrs. Stein only replied that she had not so

many suits to give her children, and that Mrs. Bickel must decide such

questions for herself.

It was growing dark before the visit came to an end, and Mrs. Stein

hastened back into the other room. The packing was done, and aunty had

gone away with Oscar. The other children were complaining that they

wanted her, and they didn’t see why Oscar should keep her all to

himself.

Little Rikli had been watching all the preparations with the keenest

interest, and, as it turned out, with an unfortunate effect. For mother

and aunty, having decided that the child was too young to go so far from

home, had persuaded her, by the prospect of many delightful treats and

excursions with them, to make up her mind that she would far rather stay

at home, than go on this long, uncertain journey without them. But alas!

all this delightful stir of preparation had fascinated the child, and

completely changed her views on the subject. She was seized with a

desire to go too, and she suddenly burst into a loud scream, which

increased every instant under Emma’s scolding, and was only intensified

by Fred’s taunting song:--

“Hanseli is a cry-baby,

Rikli is another;

She’s so exactly like him,

He must be her brother.”

In the midst of this hubbub, the mother entered, and at once interposed

her tranquillizing influence. She lifted Rikli from the floor, where she

sat in the midst of the luggage, and called the other two to sit quietly

down at her side. On this last evening, she said, she wanted to have a

little peaceful time with them; and Emma and Fred were very glad to

consult her about the various questions which lay on their minds, which

they had meant to ask aunty about, when Oscar so unceremoniously usurped

her.

As Rikli listened to the conversation which followed, and learned how

many things her brother and sister were in doubt about,--as to their

behavior in Mrs. Stanhope’s house, and what they should say and do

there, and what they could not,--she made up her mind that it was far

better for her to stay quietly at home with her mother and aunty; and

the prospect of walks and drives with them, and of the biggest share of

all the cherry and apple cakes, seemed more attractive than the very

doubtful circumstances in which the others would be placed. So Rikli

became quite reconciled to her lot, and was in good-humor again.

Oscar had meantime led his aunt into an unused bedroom on the ground

floor, and, having locked the door for farther security from

interruption, he announced that he had something very important to

consult her about. He had been all winter hunting for suitable mottoes

for his new banner, and had pressed so many friends into the service,

that he had collected no fewer than thirty-five beautiful mottoes, any

one of which would have been perfectly satisfactory. From such wealth it

seemed impossible to choose, yet some choice must be made. One banner

would hold only one motto, and even Oscar, with all his enthusiasm,

could scarcely hope to have thirty-five banners for the sake of using

them all. Aunty must help him decide, and already before this last

afternoon they had had at least a dozen consultations on the subject, in

which they had gradually succeeded in reducing the number of candidates

to three. And now the final selection must be made, and Oscar and his

aunt could not agree upon it. His aunt wanted him to make his own

choice, but he was not willing to decide against her opinion; yet he

could not give up his own; he hoped by farther argument to bring her

over to his side.

“Now, aunty,” he said, when the door was safely locked, “we must settle

this about the motto. I will repeat them all three over again, and you

really must choose. First I’ll say the one you like best:--

“‘Drums beat and banners fly

Our Festival to grace;

Long live all men, we cry;

But guests we forward place.’

“Now that’s a good motto, aunty, but you see I can’t pack the drum, and

so it won’t suit very well to say ‘drums beat,’--will it?”

“There must be plenty of drums there, and perhaps Fani has one,” said

his aunt. “And I’m sure the motto is a very good one. However, let me

hear the second. I’ve forgotten just how it goes.”

“‘Come to our Festival! come all!

Come from Switzerland!

Conductor, let your tickets fall!

And, fireman, stay your hand!

You who make boots, or who brew beer,

You one and all are welcome here.’

“Don’t you think that is, after all, better than the other, aunty?”

“Yes, it is certainly very good, but it is too long. It would take

Elsli such a time to embroider it.”

“That settles it, then,” said Oscar, well pleased that his aunt found a

decisive reason for rejecting another. “Now, then, for the last, short

and energetic:--

“‘Freedom we shout! Freedom for all!

Freedom for ever and aye!

We will not yield till all chains fall,

And tyrants are banished or die!’

“Do you hear that, aunty?”

“Yes, my dear, I can’t help hearing it, and it’s very spirited, but it

doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know of any ‘tyrants’ that need to be

banished or die, do you? It isn’t to be thought of. Take the first, or,

if you don’t like that, choose another from the list.”

But Oscar was obstinate. The first he wouldn’t have, and he must somehow

or other bring his aunt over to accept this one.

“But, aunty,” he began in a tone of remonstrance, “there were tyrants

once; don’t you remember the poem about Dionysius, the tyrant? And if

there have been once, there may be again, and then this verse would be

splendid; don’t you think so?”

Before aunty could respond to this appeal, came a fearful pounding at

the door, which put a stop to the discussion. Fred and Emma, having

hunted over the rest of the house in vain, had at last bethought

themselves of this apartment; and, finding the door locked, they felt

sure that the objects of their search were within.

Emma called through the keyhole:--

“Come, aunty, please, quick! Supper is ready, and papa has come, and

mamma sent us to call you.”

And Fred shouted in a still louder tone:--

“Come along, Oscar; papa is asking for you.”

All was over. His aunt opened the door at once, and Oscar had to follow

her.

The next morning, when the carriage had been rolled out of the

coach-house and stood waiting for the horses, to which the groom was

giving the last polish in the stable, Dr. Stein came into the room where

the mother and aunt were putting the final touches to the preparation of

the children for the journey.

“I must say good-bye now. My patients cannot be kept waiting, and I must

go. One word to you, Oscar. Be careful not to carry your schemes too far

while you are visiting. Here, at home, every one knows you; and, if you

do a foolish thing, they say: ‘It’s the doctor’s boy; he’ll soon be set

right.’ But now you will have only yourself to depend upon; so don’t go

into anything heedlessly. Don’t undertake anything which you are not

quite sure about, so that no unpleasant consequences may result either

for yourself or for the lady whose guest you are to be. You must

remember that you will displease Mrs. Stanhope if you do a wrong or

foolish thing. You are old enough to understand me without farther

explanation. Do not forget. Now good-bye, my boy, and you too, Emma;

good-bye, Fred. Be happy and be good.”

With these words the father shook all three pairs of outstretched hands

and was off.

The mother drew Emma to the other side of the room for a word of

admonition. The big roll of paper and the book that the little girl had

been so anxious to have at Christmas, and was now so determined to take

with her, roused anxious thoughts in the mother’s mind, and she felt

that she must speak seriously to the child, warning her not to instigate

Fani to any undertaking which Mrs. Stanhope might not approve. She

reminded Emma that Fani was now very well off, and that the prospect

before him was very bright, if Mrs. Stanhope should decide to take him

under her protection. But it was of the greatest importance that he

should do nothing to displease Mrs. Stanhope, and Emma would certainly

never forgive herself if she should be the means of leading him to act

contrary to his benefactress’ wishes.

Emma understood the value of her mother’s suggestion and promised to

heed her advice, adding earnestly that she would try to think of

different ways in which Fani could make himself agreeable to Mrs.

Stanhope.

“You’d far better not think about it at all, my child,” replied her

mother. “Enjoy with Fani the pleasures and advantages of his life, and

don’t try to bring about any special event, as you are so fond of doing.

And one thing more: don’t forget to pray every day to God to protect you

and to help you to carry out all your good resolutions. Now that you are

leaving home, my only comfort is that our Father’s hand is still about

you, there as well as here. Promise me that you will pray for the

heavenly blessing every night, as we do together at home.”

Emma promised not to neglect her morning and evening prayers, and begged

her mother to have no anxiety about her.

Meanwhile, aunty had been standing by the window, talking with Fred.

“Pray be careful,” she said, “never by any chance to let one of your

small creatures, even the prettiest one, escape out of your pockets upon

the table or the floor. In fact, you would do better not to put them

into your pockets at all, for fear of some such mishap, as often occurs

at home. It would spoil all the pleasure of your visit; for Mrs.

Stanhope would neither understand nor forgive such carelessness.”

“Don’t worry, aunty,” replied the boy; “I’ll fix them so they can’t

stir. I’ll bring them all safe home to you, and I’m sure you will be

delighted with them.”

Rikli had been meanwhile listening to one person and another, catching

the words of warning and advice as they were given to the three

travellers, and dwelling with pride and pleasure at the thought that she

was the only one who did not need any caution.

To her aunt’s closing words to Fred, she added quickly:--

“Yes, yes! how Mrs. Stanhope would stare to see a horrid frog or a red

snail or a blind worm come hopping over her white table-cloth!”

“Well, I think any one would stare, to see a snail or a worm hop

anywhere!” said the boy laughing.

“You’d see what she would say, and how she would put you out of the

house in no time, and take all your food away.”

“I don’t believe I should _see_ her say anything at all,” retorted Fred,

with another laugh.

“You’d find out how it would be, when you were sent home in disgrace;

and you’d be ashamed to be seen in the railway carriage, and by the

children in school.”

“I don’t mean to find out anything of the kind,” said Fred, and the

contest dropped.

The coachman cracked his whip as a signal that it was high time to

start. Hurried good-byes were said; the children seized their bags, and

seated themselves in the carriage; the horses started, and the journey

was begun. Mother and aunt stood by the road-side, and waved their

handkerchiefs till the carriage turned a corner and was lost to view.

“Oh! I wish I knew that they would meet with no accident, and would all

come home safe!” said the mother, with a sigh, as she turned back to the

house.

“That will be as God wills,” said her sister; “we must trust them to

him, and pray him to send his angels to watch over them; that will be a

better protection than any that we two could afford them.”

CHAPTER III.

ON THE BEAUTIFUL RHINE.

In the garden at Rosemount was such an excitement and running to and fro

as had never been seen there before. It was the day after the arrival of

the three guests. Great had been the surprise of the doctor’s children,

yesterday evening, when they were shown up stairs, to find three large

rooms assigned for their use, one to each. For the house was so arranged

that there was but one bed in each room. The windows of all three rooms

overlooked the garden, and beyond could be seen the river. The children

had never before been so royally lodged. Emma planned directly to spend

long hours at her window, looking into the moonlight and listening to

the river, as late as she chose, for no one would come to send her off

to bed. Oscar looked about the large apartment, and thought what a fine

place it would be to spread out his banners. They would not be in any

one’s way, as they were at home; and no one would come and clear them

out. Fred examined all the presses, tables, and drawers, and destined

them to his special uses.

The meeting of the five children was a most joyous one to them all. From

the first moment they found themselves on as intimate a footing as if

they had never been separated. Elsli and Fani were not changed as the

doctor’s children had feared they might be; on the contrary, it seemed

as if they were even nearer to their old friends. Fani was merrier and

more lively than ever, and Elsli, although still somewhat shy, was more

confiding than before, and just as amiable and obliging; and they both

were so attractive in their nice clothes, that Emma took great delight

in merely looking at them.

The first morning was spent in emptying the big trunk, with Aunt

Clarissa’s help, and in arranging the contents in the three rooms. In

the afternoon the children were allowed to explore the house and garden,

and to have a run in the meadows, that they might become acquainted with

Rosemount and its surroundings. What a pleasure for them all!

Emma’s first wish was to get down to the river-side, under the lindens,

and to see the branches dip and rise and dip again into the swiftly

flowing stream. Fani had drawn her a picture of it, and she must see it.

It was Fani’s favorite spot, and he was ready enough to show it to her;

so the two ran off together.

Fred did not know which way to turn. He was fairly bewildered by all

the living wonders that surrounded him; the glancing, gleaming, humming

world of the rose-garden. Here a golden beetle crept across the lawn;

there the air seemed full of gayly colored butterflies. On the edge of

the fountain sat a golden-green lizard in the sun. Over on the hedge a

great variety of wonderful insects swarmed on every leaf and twig! What

a harvest he could gather! He ran about in every direction; he was

beside himself with delight; discovering every moment something new and

unexpected. Nor was this in the garden only. Down by the river, under

the old trees, in the thick hedges, in the damp earth by the water-side,

between the cracks of the stones by the river, he felt sure of countless

treasures. He paid little attention to his friends or his brother and

sister; he seemed to swim in an ocean of wealth, undreamed of before,

and all within his grasp!

Oscar, meantime, under Elsli’s guidance, had been examining every part

of the garden; carefully observing everything as he walked along down to

the Rhine, along the meadow-land and back to the court-yard, which was

all walled in, and where two big oak-trees cast a far-reaching shadow.

Around these oaks ran a wooden seat where one could sit in comfort under

the thick protection of the leafy cover. Here the two children seated

themselves; and Oscar looked thoughtfully across the broad meadow,

around which ran a high hedge; a broad paved path led from the

court-yard down to a gate-way of iron-work, which united the hedges that

enclosed the whole estate.

“And you say, Elsli,” said Oscar presently, “that beyond the hedges the

land does not belong to Mrs. Stanhope at all?”

“No, Oscar; a very large vineyard belongs to her besides. It is so large

that you would not believe the quantity of grapes that she gets from it.

It lies on the other side of the house, towards the Rhine.”

“I don’t mean that,” said Oscar; “Fani showed me that this morning. I

mean from the end of the meadow-land across the high-road there.”

Elsli was quite sure that Mrs. Stanhope owned nothing beyond the

high-road.

“Do you see that little hill over there?” said Oscar, pointing in that

direction. “There’s a wind-mill up there; see how finely the big wings

go turning round in the wind, like huge banners waving for a festival,

and inviting people from all sides to come and rejoice together. All

the people who are to come to our celebration might camp out around the

foot of that hill, and the speaker could stand up above there on that

platform, and those huge flags would wave to and fro behind him and show

where the festival was taking place, to all the neighboring country!”

Oscar uttered these words in such a tone of enthusiasm that his

companion caught the infection; but she hesitated.

“Yes, it would be fine,” she said; “but don’t you think we should have

to ask the miller’s leave?”

Oscar thought this would not be at all necessary, as the meeting would

do no harm to the mill or to the grass, which was evidently very short.

He would go over and inspect the place himself.

“How is the banner getting on, Elsli?” he asked presently.

“Oh, I forgot it entirely!” said the girl, somewhat startled. “It is

all ready, and I meant to put it in your bedroom to welcome you. You

see, Oscar, I finished it; because Aunt Clarissa said that it would be

prettier without a motto, if I put a wreath of Alpine roses on the Swiss

flag, and so I embroidered one upon it.”

But this did not suit Oscar at all; he wished to have his motto, his

verses, over which he had spent so much trouble and had had so many

discussions. He had no mind to drop it now; and he looked as if he had

suffered a severe loss. Elsli saw his disappointment, and she hastened

to propose a remedy. Why not put the motto on the other side of the

banner? Oscar could print the verse in large letters on a piece of

paper, and she would fasten it upon the banner, on the side opposite the

Alpine roses. That was a clever thought. Oscar’s spirits rose again,

and the banner would be really in the end far handsomer than he had

expected.

“You are the smartest girl I know, Elsli,” cried the lad; and this

unexpected praise brought the color into Elsli’s cheeks, for she was

little accustomed to notice, much less to commendation.

“How many Swiss have you found and invited to join our society?”

continued Oscar.

Elsli confessed that she had discovered but one; the baker’s boy who

brought fresh bread to the house every day; and she could not induce him

to join the society. “I am very sorry,” she said, “that I could not do

as you asked me; but we are not allowed to go into the kitchen and talk

to the people that come there.”

But Oscar was well satisfied. He only wanted to know at what time and

from which direction the baker’s boy came every morning; and this Elsli

told him. “All right!” he said; “I can help myself, now.”

Meanwhile, Fani and Emma were walking up and down by the river-side,

talking with constantly increasing eagerness. Emma had never been so

excited; she had had a tremendous surprise. Since Fani had left home,

she had never lost sight of her hope that he would become a great

artist. He had never mentioned the subject in his letters, and it had

been more and more evident that Mrs. Stanhope meant to educate the two

children, as she would have done her own, in various branches, without

any view to a special training for a life-work. Emma feared that Fani

would lose his ambition to be an artist, and she set herself to work to

counteract this danger. She had heard of a book called the “Lives of

Celebrated Painters,” and she did not rest till her aunt promised to

procure it for her at Christmas; for she thought it would inspire Fani

with fresh enthusiasm to learn how artists had become great and

celebrated. She now brought the book with her, and told Fani about it,

in the hope that it would serve as a spur to arouse his dormant

energies. What was her astonishment when Fani pushed the book away, and

broke out passionately:--

“No, no; I will not read it! I will try not to think of it at all! You

see, Emma, I have a drawing lesson every day; only now of course I do

not, while you are here on a visit. And the more I draw, the more I want

to; I can do much better than I used to, and the teacher has told me

several times that I can certainly learn to be an artist.”

Emma could not contain her joy at these words, and she cried out:--

“Now it’s all right, Fani! You can be a painter, and I am sure you will

be a celebrated one, the most famous one in all the land. But why do not

you tell Mrs. Stanhope directly that you want to do that and nothing

else?”

Fani shook his head and looked very much depressed.

“It would be of no use. Mrs. Stanhope will not allow me to be an artist;

I am sure of that. Once when we were walking, I said to her that I

thought painting pictures was the greatest happiness a man could have;

she said it was only a childish notion; and that when I grew up I should

have very different ideas as to greatness and happiness. And since then

she has taken me about the estate several times; for you know, Emma,

that it is a very large property; great vineyards stretching for miles

along the Rhine. She says there is nothing so desirable for a man as to

own a large place, and to live on it; and I think she has the thought in

her mind that she will keep me with her here on the estate; and of

course it would be a great thing for me if she did. Just think of it.

Always to live here as we do now; how terribly ungrateful I should be if

I did not rejoice in such a prospect! Only--I must give up all idea of

ever being an artist!” And Fani hung his head.

“Oh, what a shame! It’s of no use thinking about it any more, then!”

cried Emma, in tones of intense disappointment. “And I was just

beginning to think that everything would turn out for you as I had

hoped. It is too bad! I had such good fun reading the book, and putting

your name in the place of the celebrated artist; like this--‘In delicacy

of drawing Fani von Buchberg stands far above all his compeers.’ For you

know when you were celebrated, you would be spoken of so; for they

always take the name of their birth-place, instead of their family name;

and that would be particularly nice, because Hopli isn’t a very good

name, but Fani von Buchberg sounds finely, doesn’t it? Listen!” And Emma

read from the book.

“Where Fani von Buchberg learned to mix his paints, is a mystery. Even

to this day, he is the only one who can place such enchanting tones of

color upon his canvas. Of course, that is a mistake; it ought to be

_shades_ of color, shouldn’t it, Fani? Oh! think, if such things could

be said of you! and now it is all over; no chance of that any more!” And

the girl threw herself on the bench as if it wasn’t worth while to take

the trouble to stir again.

Fani sat down at her side. He had followed every word she had said, with

increasing excitement; and he had caught the fire of her enthusiasm,

for his eyes flamed.

“I know something that may make a difference,” he said presently; and at

his words Emma, who had looked as if life had lost all charm for her,

sprang up with renewed interest, exclaiming eagerly:--

“What is it, Fani? Speak; do speak!”

“Come with me,” and he ran along the river-side, drawing her with him.

“There, sit down here and look up over Rosemount, towards the wood. Do

you see that ruined castle, all covered with ivy?”

“I don’t see anything. Oh, yes, I do now! I can see an old, old tower”;

and as she spoke the excited girl leaned backwards towards the river,

and she would certainly have fallen in, if Fani had not caught her and

held her fast.

“There, we will go back to the seat again,” he said; “though the ruin

is scarcely visible from here,” he added, as they reached the spot; “but

it is safer. It is the most beautiful ruined castle that you can

imagine. It is all covered with ivy, and the stones are moss-grown, and

the gray walls show through in places, and in the setting sun they flame

with crimson; you’ve no idea how beautiful it is! I saw it once from the

steamboat. It was splendid! Now listen! The last lesson I took, the

teacher asked me whether I was in earnest when I said that I wanted to

be a painter; and I said yes, but that I could never be allowed to; and

I told him just what I have told you. He understood at once; and he said

that I mustn’t, of course, do anything to displease Mrs. Stanhope; but

that possibly she might in some way be led to have the same wish. He

advised me to make a drawing of something very beautiful; and he said

he would send it to Düsseldorf, where they do something or other with a

whole lot of drawings, and the best one gets a prize. If mine got a

prize, Mrs. Stanhope might change her mind; and if it didn’t, I could

try again. I thought directly of the ruined castle, and how beautiful it

would be to draw! But there’s no good view of it except from the middle

of the river, and it’s quite impossible for me to get there.”

To Emma there was no such word as impossible.

“Of course we can get there, Fani. What a delightful ideal” she cried.

“We can make a trip on the steamboat, and we can see the river, and you

must make a sketch of it as fast as you can.”

“Oh, yes! I shall just get a few strokes on the paper, and

then--whizz!--we shall be past it like a flash of lightning. What good

would that do?”

Emma was not to be discouraged. If the only thing needful was a way to

take a sketch from the river, she would set herself to find such a way.

At this moment Fani interrupted her meditations by the exclamation: “Oh,

the bell! the bell!” and she heard the ringing of the supper-bell; and

the two children scampered back to the house, and joined the scattered

guests, who came from every direction to meet in the great dining-room.

At the upper end of the table, spread with many delicious luxuries, sat

Mrs. Stanhope, and she welcomed the children in the kindest manner. Aunt

Clarissa seated them in their places, then sat down herself at the foot

of the table, and the meal began. The guests brought wonderful appetites

to the feast. The conversation was subdued, for in Mrs. Stanhope’s

presence the children’s liveliness was somewhat checked. Elsli spoke

least, and also partook least of the tempting viands. Her abstinence

attracted the attention of Fred, who sat next her, and, in spite of a

warning shove which she gave him under the table, to show him that she

wished to avoid observation, he exclaimed in a loud whisper:--

“What’s the matter with you, Elsli? Why don’t you eat?”

After supper Mrs. Stanhope led them all out upon the terrace, and they

sat down in a semicircle on the garden benches. Then she told them that

she had a plan of taking them very soon on a steamboat excursion down

the Rhine, as far as Cologne; where there was a remarkably fine

zoölogical garden which they would all visit together. Emma’s eyes

blazed with delight, but she did not speak; her thoughts were busy, but

not wholly with the animals of the garden. Fred was delighted at the

prospect; but the zoölogical garden had a powerful rival in an enormous

night-moth which was humming about his head, and which he could hardly

resist his desire to jump up and catch. Such a prize it would be! But he

recollected his aunt’s advice, on the good manners of sitting still,

especially in Mrs. Stanhope’s presence. Oscar was overjoyed at the

prospect of a voyage, and he bethought himself immediately of the

possibility of meeting with persons much more desirable for his Society

than Elsli’s baker’s boy.

The next day the children sat down to keep their promise of writing home

an account of their experiences. The three letters were very different

in style, but they were all filled with the delight of their writers at

the beauty and magnificence of the villa, and with the pleasures they

enjoyed and the kindness they received. They hoped they should stay

twelve weeks instead of six. These were the letters. But into each

letter was secretly slipped a private note, addressed to Aunty, begging

her to persuade papa to allow the visit to be prolonged as much as

possible. Fred added that if the time fixed should be a year, and then a

cipher added to the number of days, three thousand six hundred and fifty

would not be one too many for him.

CHAPTER IV.

IN THE FISHERMAN’S HUT.

The next morning, Oscar was early on hand at the iron gate; waiting to

see the baker’s boy, when he brought the bread. The boy came along with

a huge basket on his arm, from which issued an agreeable smell of

freshly baked loaves. Oscar went to meet him, and asked abruptly:--

“Which canton are you from?”

“That is none of your business,” answered the boy.

Oscar was not a whit surprised or daunted by this reply.

“You needn’t be so rough,” he said; “I’ve a very good reason for

asking.” And he went on to explain to the boy what he had in mind, and

to enlarge on the pleasure of collecting as many Swiss as possible; and

of holding a festival in honor of their country. Then it appeared that

the fellow was not a bad fellow at all, and had only answered in that

rude way to show his independence. He received Oscar’s proposal with

great interest, though he owned that he knew but very few Swiss in the

neighborhood. He had come from Lucerne only about six months before, to

work for the baker, whose wife was his cousin. A shoemaker’s boy from

Uri lived near by, and a porter at the “Bunch of Grapes” came from

Schwyz. Then there was the great factory down by the canal, which

belonged to some Swiss gentlemen. He carried bread there every day, and

had often seen two boys playing ball in the garden, but they had never

spoken to him. Oscar was well pleased with this information. He asked

the boy to invite the shoemaker’s boy and the porter to join the

society, and he would see the others himself. He would appoint the day,

and decide on other particulars later; as the baker’s boy came every day

to the house, there would be no difficulty in keeping him informed.

Highly delighted with his success, Oscar told the other children of his

plans, and asked Fani to go with him to the factory to see the two boys.

Fani refused decidedly. Mrs. Stanhope, he said, did not allow him and

Elsli to visit people with whom she was not acquainted, especially in

the neighborhood. But when Elsli saw how badly Oscar felt at this

refusal, she said:--

“Perhaps you can go, Oscar. If you don’t think of any better way, I’ll

tell you what I think you could do. When I came away from home, Mr.

Bickel asked me to look about here and find out what sort of factories

there were in this neighborhood, and send him word so that he might know

whether he could form any business relations with them. I have not been

able to do anything about it. Perhaps you could go and visit the

factory, and then write to Mr. Bickel about it.”

“I always said you were the cleverest girl in the world,” cried Oscar,

with delight; for he saw the way now clear before him. That afternoon,

when they all went out to the court-yard and garden for their out-door

games, he ran off to the factory. The dwelling-house stood not far from

the canal, surrounded by a pretty flower-garden. Under the trees two

lads were playing ball. They played with such zeal that Oscar, looking

over the hedge, became absorbed in watching them, and entirely forgot

his object He was a good player himself; but such throws!

“Bravo!” he cried; and the boys looked round. “Come and play too,”

called one of them.

Oscar asked nothing better. Hardly had he entered the yard than piff!

paff! the play began again. Such a game he had never had before, nor

with such players. The boys were as well pleased as he; and they played

on till the big factory bell rang for close of work, and Oscar

remembered that he must go home. He wanted to make acquaintance with

these boys. The three playmates had, to be sure, already struck up a

friendship, but they did not even know each other’s names. Oscar now

told his, and asked theirs; and learned that they were named Fink; the

sons of the family who lived in the large house. They were from St.

Gall, and were warm-hearted, wide awake young fellows. They made

friends with this new acquaintance from Switzerland with all their

hearts, and Oscar was as ardent as they. What enterprises they would

plan and carry out together! But there was no time to stop and talk

about it now. He could only hint to them that he had a project of

founding a great society of Swiss, a kind of Swiss Confederation, in

which he wished them to take part. They received the idea with

enthusiasm, and, having fixed a time for meeting his new friends again,

Oscar returned to Rosemount with a happy heart. But what kind of a

factory that was of Mr. Fink’s, he knew as little as before; he had

forgotten to ask.

From this time Oscar was always missing during the time that the

children were left to themselves to play as they pleased out-of-doors.

No one minded his absence; Fred was so busy with his collections that

he thought of nothing else; Fani and Emma were absorbed in their own

plans and only wanted to be let alone; and Elsli, feeling that her

society was not important to any one, sat by herself on the bench under

the lindens, occupied with her own thoughts by the hour together.

Sometimes she grew unhappy at the thought that she was living here so

well-off and at ease, while her father and mother still had such a hard

life at home. Often she thought about Nora, and wondered if she had

forgotten to ask the heavenly Father to call her to himself. She could

well be spared from the earth, where no one needed her, and she longed

to go. To tell the truth, Elsli dreaded to look forward. She did not

feel at home in Mrs. Stanhope’s house; she had a constant sense of

unfitness for the position; yet when she thought of going back to her

parents, she knew that there she should be equally out of place. So the

poor child was living a lonely life at beautiful Rosemount, and thinking

herself a useless and superfluous being on the face of the earth.

Down along the bank of the river, a narrow foot-path ran for some

distance towards a thick clump of willows, in which it disappeared.

Elsli had often followed this path by herself; it was so quiet that she

liked it particularly; she never met any one there, for it led only from

Mrs. Stanhope’s grounds to the willows. To-day, after Elsli had sat

alone for a time, she rose and walked along this path, and gazed at the

ever-moving waves as they rushed headlong toward the sea. Sunk in

thought, she came at last nearer to the willows than she had ever been

before. The bushes grew larger and higher and became real trees; from a

distance they looked like a thick wood that reached far into the water.

Here was complete solitude; not a creature was to be seen, and the plash

of the water below was the only sound that broke the stillness. Suddenly

a loud scream startled the air. Elsli drew back in alarm. Louder and

louder grew the sounds of distress, now pausing, then beginning afresh.

The child, recovering her courage, hurried forward to the spot from

which they came. Behind the first low-growing clump of willows the

ground was wet and swampy; and fast caught in the bog stood two

children;--a little girl, who was screaming with all her might, and a

boy, who was tugging at his sister’s arm as hard as he could. When he

found that he could not pull her out he too began to cry aloud. Elsli

came to their aid, and lifted the little girl from her uncomfortable

position. The boy then slowly worked his way out, but his wooden shoes

were a great encumbrance, and he moved with difficulty. When the two

children stood at last on dry land with their wet shoes and clothes

soaked with muddy water, they presented a pitiable sight, and Elsli

asked them sympathetically whether they were far from home, and where

they lived.

The boy, who was scarcely more than six years old, evidently felt

immediate confidence in Elsli. He took her by the hand and said

entreatingly:--

“Come with us and tell mother about it!” And as he spoke he looked

ruefully at his shoes and at his sister’s gown, on which the mud was

rapidly drying, and which looked as if it were made of pasteboard. The

little girl, not more than four years old, taking Elsli’s other hand,

said softly, “Do come with us.”

It was plain that they wanted some friendly intercession with their

mother, and Elsli felt sure that such small children could not have

wandered far from home; so she held tight the clasping hands and let

them lead her.

The boy became at once very confidential, and entered on the family

history. His mother was ill, and his grandfather could not go out into

the sun unless she helped him. The little girl’s name was Lenchen, and

his own was Lucas, and the other boys were Tolf and Heini, and were not

much bigger than he. As he talked, they passed the willow-bushes, and

came to the taller trees that stood near together; and quite close to

the water, wedged tightly in between two of these trees, stood a small

hut, so low and gray with moss, that it could scarcely be distinguished

from the trees.

“Here,” said the boy, and drew Elsli with him into the house. It was

pleasant and clean within, though low and small. The sun was streaming

in through the little window in the corner. Against the wall was a

bedstead, where the sick mother lay, staring with big, wide-open eyes at

the new-comer. In the sunny corner sat an old man with snow-white hair.

He looked up wonderingly at Elsli and the children. Two boys, not much

larger than Lucas, came towards them as they entered.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere, and we couldn’t find you

anywhere!” they cried. Elsli went to the bedside and told the mother

about the children’s misfortune, and where she had found them.

The poor woman thanked her, and said it was very difficult for her to

look after the little ones, now that she was confined to her bed. The

two older boys had all they could do to keep the house in order, so she

let the younger children go out by themselves; and sometimes they got

into trouble, for they were foolish little things. As she spoke, the

mother looked with anxious eyes at Lenchen, as she stood in her

mud-stiffened clothes.

“Can I help you in any way?” asked Elsli. She spoke timidly, for the

woman’s tone and manner compelled respect.

“We have never been obliged to beg,” was the reply. “We help ourselves

as well as we can. But since I have been ill, it has been very hard.

What help could a young lady like you give us?”

“I am not a young lady. I can take off Lenchen’s frock and wash it, and

hang it out to dry,” replied Elsli, eagerly.

“Your dress shows that you are a young lady,” answered the sick woman,

evidently much surprised; and she glanced searchingly at Elsli from

head to foot.

The dress, which was one of Nora’s, was of soft woollen material,

trimmed with silk bands.

“It is not mine; it was only given me to wear,” she said.

Suddenly the woman felt strongly drawn towards the friendly girl. She

thought she must be a foreigner. Her way of speaking, her whole

appearance had something unusual about it. Perhaps some one had taken

pity on her, and had lent her clothes because she was so good. So she

thanked Elsli and accepted her offer. Without hesitation Elsli set to

work, and it was easy to see that it was not for the first time. In a

trice she had freed Lenchen from her shell, and dressed her in a little

jacket that hung on the wall. Then she took the stiff frock upon her arm

and went with the children into the kitchen. She drew water in a wooden

bucket, and put the two pairs of little feet to soak, after removing the

dirty shoes and socks. When they were clean and dried, she sent the

children back into the other room, while she washed out the dress. They

went very obediently, but Lucas called back to her to hurry and come to

them as soon as the washing was done. The other boys now came into the

kitchen, desirous to scrape acquaintance with this novel visitor.

When Tolf saw how much at home the stranger seemed to be in her work, he

said:--

“Get our supper ready too, won’t you? If you don’t, we shall have to

wait till father comes home; and he doesn’t know how to cook very well,

either.”

“Yes,” chimed in Heini; “and once he fell asleep when he was cooking, he

was so tired; and the potatoes were all burned up.”

“Yes, and then father has to go fishing after supper,” continued Tolf;

“every day, no matter how tired he is, he takes the boat and goes to

catch fish to sell.”

“And we’ve got to learn to fish too,” interrupted Heini; “father says

the oars are too heavy for us now, but by and by we shall be strong

enough, and we must all work as hard as we can, or else we shall have

nothing to eat, and our house will be taken away from us.”

These words roused many old memories in Elsli; how well she knew how it

all was. It seemed to her as if she were at home with her father again,

and saw his tired face, and heard him say:--

“If we can only manage so that we shall not have to give up our house!”

When Elsli had finished the washing, she went to the mother’s bedside,

and asked if she were willing that she should get the supper ready, and

if she would tell her what to do. The eyes of the sick woman glowed with

pleasure.

“Oh!” she cried, “how kind you are! will you really do that for us?” and

she seized Elsli’s hand, and grasped it heartily. Then she told her what

she wished to have done. It was simple enough; Elsli had done the same

at home a hundred times. The boys ran into the kitchen with her.

“I know of something new for you to do,” she said, presently. “How old

are you?”

“I am seven,” “I am eight,” they answered both at once; and Elsli

said:--

“Well, you are old enough. When I was eight I had to cook the potatoes

all by myself. Now I will show you how to do it, if you like, and then

when your father comes home tired, you can say, ‘Sit down, dear father,

and eat your supper; it is all ready.’”

The boys were very much pleased with this proposition, and all eagerness

to begin. Elsli showed them how to make the fire with small bits of dry

wood at first, and to put the larger sticks on afterwards. Then the

potatoes must be washed very clean, and put into the pot, and a very

little water poured upon them. The boys worked away merrily, and

meanwhile Elsli fetched the sour milk. The boys watched the pot

unceasingly, but when the potatoes began to burst apart, first one and

then another, they were frightened and called aloud for Elsli. She

speedily reassured them, explaining that the bursting only meant that

they were good potatoes and that they were done. Then she threw away the

water that remained in the pot, and poured the potatoes out into a big

round dish. She carried the plates into the other room, and made the

table ready against the father’s arrival.

The old grandfather, who had watched the proceedings from his corner,

called Elsli to him.

“You are good, and very handy too,” he said; “can you come again

to-morrow?”

Elsli promised to come.

“Look, I am lame,” he went on, “and ever since my daughter has been

sick, I have not been able to get out into the sun, because there is no

one for me to lean on; the children are too little. Will you help me

to-morrow to get out-of-doors?”

She promised that too. But now it was time for her to go; she must not

be away when the supper-bell rang. The mother thanked her again and

again, and the children begged her to stay longer. As she went out of

the house she saw a man just taking from his shoulder a shovel, which he

placed against the house. Elsli recognized him at once as the weary

laborer whom she had seen before, and who had reminded her of her

father. And as he stood there now, with his two boys affectionately

clinging to his sides, and looked sadly yet kindly at her, he seemed

still more to resemble her father, and she could not keep the tears from

her eyes. She could scarcely refrain from sobbing, so clearly did she

see the anxiety and trouble that were in his heart, the same that

weighed down her own father at home. She held her hand to him, he

pressed it kindly, and she was gone.

When the father entered the cottage, the children all began talking at

once, so that he could not understand a word they said. He went to the

bedside, and asked his wife for an explanation. She told him just what

had happened, and of her wonder that a child so well dressed and with

such an air of refinement should have been able to do that kind of work

for poor people like themselves, and she didn’t know where she could

have come from; but the father said simply, “Our Heavenly Father has

taken pity on our misery, and has sent a kind angel to help us.” And he

thought of the tears of pity that he had seen in Elsli’s eyes.

Elsli ran as fast as she could along the path to the linden tree and up

into the garden. The supper-bell rang just as she reached the house, and

the different members of the household gathered together from their

different occupations. No one asked any questions of Elsli. She meant,

as soon as she could find a good opportunity, to ask Aunt Clarissa’s

leave to continue her visits to the fisherman’s family. She did not

doubt that she should be allowed to help them; they were so much in

need of help.

When she left the cottage, she had asked the woman if she should not

send a doctor to her; but the answer was that the best medicine would be

her own return. The poor mother had been constantly prevented from

getting well by trying to work before she was strong enough, and yet

there was so much to be done that it was hard for her to keep her bed.

If she could lie still for one week only, she would be well again.

So Elsli had decided that she could not help going again, and she was

glad to go. It was a real pleasure to her to feel that she could be of

use, that some one really needed her.