ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HEDGE.
Mr. Birkenfeld's large house was situated on the summit of a green hill
with a lovely view across a lake to a richly-wooded valley beyond. From
early spring to the end of autumn, flowers of every hue glistened and
glowed in the bright sunshine that seemed always to lie on those lovely
meadows. Near the house was the stable, in which stamped four spirited
horses, and there, also, many shining cows stood at their cribs,
peacefully chewing the fragrant grass with which they were well-supplied
by the careful Battiste, an old servant who had served the family for many
years. When Hans, the stable-boy, and all the other servants were away,
busy on the estate, it was Battiste's habit to walk round from time to
time through the stalls, to make sure that all was as it should be. For he
knew all about the right management of horses and cattle, having been in
the service of Mr. Birkenfeld's father when he was a mere lad. Now that he
was well on in years, he had been advanced to the position of
house-servant, but he still had an eye upon the stable and over the whole
farm. The mows were neatly filled with sweet-smelling hay, and the bins
were piled full of wheat and oats and barley, all the product of the farm,
which extended over the hill-side far away into the valley below. On the
side of the house opposite the barnyards stood the wash-house with its
spacious drying-ground, and not far away, but quite concealed by a high
hedge from the house and garden, was the tiny cottage which the owner had
kindly allowed the school-master's widow to occupy for several years past.
On the evening of which we write, the warm sunlight lay softly on the
hillside, revealing the red and white daisies which nestled everywhere in
the rich green grass. A shaggy dog was basking in the open space before
the house door, lazily glancing about now and then to see what was
stirring. All was quiet, however, and he peacefully dozed again after each
survey. Occasionally a young, gray cat peeped slily forth from beneath the
door-step, stared at the motionless sleeper and cautiously withdrew again.
Everything denoted peace and quiet except certain sounds of voices and of
great activity which proceeded from the back of the house, where the door
leading into the garden, stood open.
Presently wheels were heard, and a wagon drove up and stopped before the
door of the widow's cottage. The dog opened his eyes and pointed his ears,
but it was evidently not worth while to growl at something in the next
place, so he dozed off again at once. The newly-arrived guests descended
from the carriage, and entered the cottage in silence. There they were
cordially welcomed by Mrs. Kurd, and shown to the rooms reserved for them,
and soon Aunt Ninette was busy in the large chamber unpacking her big
trunk, while Dora in her little bedroom soon emptied her little box and
put her clothes in the other room, which was to be his study, Uncle Titus
also sat at a square table, busy placing his writing materials in
readiness for work. Dora ran again and again to the window, whence she saw
very different sights from any she had ever looked upon before. Green
fields sprinkled with many-colored flowers, the blue lake, the snow-capped
mountains in the distance, and over all, the enchantment of the
golden-green light from the setting sun. The child could scarcely tear
herself away from the window. She did not know that the world could be so
beautiful. But her aunt soon recalled her from her wonderment, for there
were still things to be put away which belonged to her, but had been
brought in her aunt's trunk.
"Oh, Aunt Ninette," cried the child, "Isn't it perfectly beautiful?"
She spoke louder than she had ever thought of speaking in Uncle Titus'
house, for the new scenes had aroused her natural sprightliness, and she
was herself once more.
"Hush, hush Dora! Why, I don't know what to make of you, child! Don't you
know that your uncle is in the next room, and is already at work?"
Dora took her things from her aunt's hands, but while passing the window,
she asked softly,
"May I just look out of these windows a minute now, Aunt? I want to see
what there is on every side of the house."
"Yes, yes, you may look out for a moment. There is nobody about. A quiet
garden lies beyond the hedge. From the other window you see the big open
space in front of the great house. Nothing else but the sleeping
watch-dog before the door. I hope he is always as quiet. You may look out
there too, if you like."
Dora first opened the window towards the garden; a delicious odor of
jasmine and mignonette was wafted into the room from the flower-beds
below. The high green hedge stretched away for a long distance, and beyond
it she could see green sward and flower-beds and shady bowers. How lovely
it must be over there! There was no one in sight, but some one certainly
must have been there, for by the door of the house rose a wonderful
triumphal arch, made of two tall bean-poles tied together at the top, and
thickly covered with fir-branches. A large piece of card-board hung down
from the arch, and swung back and forth in the wind, and something was
written on it in big letters.
Suddenly a noise resounded from the open space in front of the great
house. Dora ran to the other window and peeped out. A carriage stood there
and two brown horses there stamping impatiently in their traces. A crowd
of children came bursting out of the door of the house, all together; one,
two, three, four, five, six, both boys and girls. "I, I, I must get upon
the box," cried each one, and all together, louder and louder at every
word; while in the midst of the crowd, the great dog began to jump upon
first one child and then another, barking joyfully in his excitement. Such
a noise had probably not greeted Aunt Ninette's ears within the memory of
man.
"What is the matter, in heaven's name," cried she, almost beside herself.
"What sort of a place have we come to?"
"Oh Aunty, look! see; they are all getting into the carriage," cried Dora,
who was enchanted at the sight. Such a merry party she had never seen
before.
One lad jumped upon the wheel, and clambered nimbly to a seat on the box
beside the driver, from which he reached down his hand towards the dog,
who was jumping and barking with delight.
"Come Schnurri, you can come too," cried the boy at the top of his lungs,
at the same time catching at the dog, now by his tail, now by his paw, and
again by his thick hair, until the driver leaned down and pulled the
creature up beside them, with a strong swing. Meantime the eldest boy
lifted a little girl from the ground, and jumped her into the carriage,
and two younger boys, one slender, the other round as a ball, began to
clamor, "Me too, Jule, me too, a big high one! me higher still!" and they
shouted with glee, as they too were lifted up and deposited on the seat.
Then Jule helped the older girl into the carriage, jumped in himself, and
gave the door a good smart bang, for "big Jule" had strong muscles. The
horses started; but now another cry arose.
"If Schnurri is going, I can take Philomele with me. Trine! Trine! bring
me Philomele, I want to take Philomele!" shouted the little girl as loud
as she could call.
The young, strong-fisted servant-maid who now appeared in the door-way,
grasped the situation at once. She seized the gray cat that stood on the
stone step casting angry looks at Schnurri, and flung her into the
carriage. The whip cracked, and off they rolled.
Aunt Ninette hastened into her husband's room in great alarm, not knowing
what effect all this disturbance would have upon him. He was sitting
calmly at his table, with all the windows in the room closed and fastened.
"My dear Titus! who could have foreseen this? What shall we do?" she
called out in tones of despair.
"It strikes me that the next house has a great wealth of children. We
cannot help that, but we can keep the windows shut," replied her husband
resignedly.
"But, my dearest Titus, only remember that you have come here expressly
to breathe the healthy mountain air! As you never go out, you must let the
air come in to you. But what will be the end if this is the beginning?
What will become of us if this goes on?"
"We must go home again," said Uncle Titus, continuing to write.
Somewhat calmed by this proposition, Aunt Ninette returned to her room.
Dora had been very busy, putting her little room in perfect order, for she
had formed a plan, which she meant to carry out as soon as this was done.
The happy noise of the six children had so excited the lonely little girl
that she was filled with the strongest desire to see them come back again,
to see them get out of the carriage, and to see what would happen next;
whether they wouldn't perhaps come into the garden where the triumphal
arch stood, and then she could have a nearer view. She had made a little
plan for watching them if they came into the garden. She thought that she
might perhaps find a hole in the hedge that divided Mrs. Kurd's little
garden from the large grounds next door, through which she could get a
good view of what the children were doing, and how they looked. The child
did not know what Aunt Ninette would say to this, but she determined to
ask directly. At the door of her aunt's room she met Mrs. Kurd, who had
come to call them to supper. Dora made her request then and there, to be
allowed to go into the little garden, but her aunt said that it was now
supper time, and after supper it would be quite too late. Mrs. Kurd put
in a word in Dora's favor, saying that no one would be out there, and it
would be safe for Dora to run about there as much as she chose, and at
last Aunt Ninette consented to allow her to go out for a while after
supper. The child could scarcely eat, so great was her excitement. She
listened all the while for the sound of the returning wheels and the
children's voices, but nothing was to be heard. When supper was over, her
aunt said,
"You may go out now for a little while, but don't go far from the house."
Dora promised not to leave the garden, and ran off to search the hedge for
the opening she wanted. It was a white-thorn hedge, and so high and thick
that the child could see neither through it nor over it, but down near
the ground were here and there thin places, where one could look into the
next garden; but only by lying close on the ground. Little did Dora mind
that; her one idea was to see the children. She had never seen so large a
family, boys and girls, big and little, and all so happy and merry. And to
have seen them all climbing into the carriage and driving off together!
What a jolly party! She lay down on the ground in a little heap, and
peered through the hedge. There was nothing to be heard; the garden beyond
was still; the odor of the flowers was wafted to her on the cool, evening
air, and she felt as if she could not get enough of it into her lungs. How
beautiful it must be in there, she thought; to be able to walk about among
the flower-beds! to sit under the tree where the red apples were hanging!
And there under the thick branches stood a table, covered with all sorts
of things which she could not see plainly, but which shimmered white as
snow in the evening light. She was quite absorbed in wonder and curiosity,
when--there--that was the carriage, and all the merry voices talking
together. The children had returned. Dora could hear very plainly. Now all
was still again; they had gone into the house. Now they were coming out
again; now they were in the garden.
Mr. Birkenfeld had just returned from a long journey. The children had all
gone down to the lake, to meet him at the landing when the steamboat came
in. Their mother had remained at home to complete the preparations for
the grand reception and the feast in the garden under the big apple-tree.
The father's home-coming after so long an absence was a very joyful
occasion for the family, and must be celebrated as such.
As soon as the carriage stopped at the door, the mother came running out
to meet her husband. All the children jumped down, one after another, and
the cat and the dog too, and they all crowded into the large hall, where
the welcomings and greetings grew so loud and so violent that the father
hardly knew where he was, nor which way to turn as they all pressed about
him.
"Now one at a time, my children, and then I can give you each a good
kiss," he said at last, when he succeeded in making himself heard through
the tumult, "first the youngest, and then the others according to age.
Now, my little Hunne, what have you to tell me?"
So saying, Mr. Birkenfeld drew his chubby five-year old boy to his knees.
The child's name was Hulreich, but as he had always called himself Hunne,
the other children and the parents had adopted the nick-name. Moreover,
Julius, the eldest brother, declared that the baby's little stumpy nose
made him look like a Hun, and so the name was very appropriate. But his
mother would not admit the resemblance.
The little one had so much to tell his father, that there was not time to
wait for the end of his story, and it had to be cut short.
"Bye and bye, little Hunne, you shall tell me all about it. Now it is
time for Wili and Lili." And giving the twins each a kiss he asked them,
"Well now, have you been very good and happy? and obedient, too, all this
long time?"
"Almost always," replied Wili rather timidly, while Lili, recalling
certain deviations from perfect obedience during her father's absence,
thought it best not to make any answer. The twins were eight years old,
and perfectly inseparable, never more so than in planning and carrying out
various delightful plans, of whose mischievousness they were really only
half conscious.
"And you, Rolf, how is it with you?" said the father, turning to a
twelve-year old lad with a high forehead, and a strong, firm neck. "Plenty
of Latin learned? More new puzzles ready?"
"I have been doing both, father," said the boy. "But the children will not
guess my riddles, and my mother has not time to try."
"That is too bad," said his father, kindly and turning to the eldest
daughter, a girl of nearly thirteen, he drew her to his side and said
tenderly,
"And you Paula, are you still alone in your garden walks? have you no dear
friend with you yet?"
"No, of course not, father, but it is beautiful to have you at home
again," she answered as she embraced him.
"And I hope my 'big Jule,' is using his vacation in some sensible way?"
"I combine the agreeable with the useful," said Julius gaily, returning
his father's embrace. "You must know, father, that the hazel-nuts are
almost ripe and I am watching them carefully, and meantime I am riding
Castor a good deal, so that he may not grow too lazy."
Julius was at home now only for the summer holidays, his school being in a
distant town. He was seventeen, and tall, even too tall for his years so
that in the family he was generally called "Big Jule."
Mr. Birkenfeld now turned to shake hands with the children's governess and
the dear friend of the family, Miss Hanenwinkel, when Jule interrupted
him.
"Come papa, I beg that you will do the rest of your greetings in the
garden, where a most astonishing reception awaits you."
But his words cost him dear, for Wili and Lili sprang upon him as he
spoke, pinching, pounding and thumping him to give him to understand that
the "surprise" was not a thing to be talked about beforehand. He defended
himself to the best of his ability.
"Lili, you little gad-fly, you, stop, stop, I tell you. I will make it all
right," and he shouted to his father,
"I mean you are to go into the garden where my mother has prepared all
sorts of delicious things for your supper, to celebrate your return."
"That is delightful. We shall find a big table spread under my favorite
apple-tree. That is a surprise worth having. Come then let us all go into
the garden."
He drew his wife's arm in his, and they walked out to the garden, the
whole swarm following, Wili and Lili capering about in most noisy delight
that their father should suppose that he knew what the "surprise" was
already.
As they passed out into the garden they passed under the great triumphal
arch, with red lanterns hung on each side, lighting up the large tablet,
on which was an inscription in big letters.
"Oh, oh, how splendid!" cried the father, now really surprised, "a
beautiful arch and a poem of welcome. I must read them aloud:"
"Here we stand in welcome
Beside the garden door,
How glad we are that you're at home!
We feared you'd come no more,
So long you've stayed--but now to-day
Forgot is all our pain.
The whole world now is glad and gay,
Papa is here again!"
"That is fine--Rolf must have been the author of that, was he not?" and
Wili and Lili jumped about more than ever, crying out,
"Yes, yes, Rolf wrote it, but we planned it all out and he made the
verses, and Jule put up the poles and then we fetched the fir twigs."
"That was a delightful surprise, my children," said their father, much
gratified. "How pretty the garden looks, all lighted up with red and blue
and yellow lanterns. It looks like an enchanted spot, and now for my
favorite apple-tree."
The garden did look very pretty. The little paper lanterns had been made
up a long time before, and this very morning Jule had fastened them about
on all the trees and high bushes, and while the hand-shaking and kissing
had been going on in the house, Battiste and Trine had lighted the
candles. The big apple-tree was dotted all over with them, so that it
looked like a huge out-of-doors Christmas tree, and the red apples shone
so prettily in the flickering light, that altogether it would have been
difficult to imagine a more charming scene.
The table, spread with a white cloth and loaded with all sorts of nice
dishes, looked irresistibly attractive.
"What a beautiful banquet-hall," cried the delighted father, "and how good
the feast will taste! But what is this? Another poem?" and to be sure, a
large white placard hung by two cords from the high bushes behind the
apple-tree, and on it were the following lines:
"My first is good for man to be--
Better than wealth.
My second we have longed to see
Our father do in health.
My whole with merry hearts we cry
Today, and shout it to the sky."
"A riddle! Rolf made this too, I am sure," said he, clapping the boy
kindly on the shoulder. "I will begin to guess it as soon as I can. Now we
must sit down and enjoy these good things before us, and the pleasure of
being all together again."
So they all took their places at the table, and each had his or her own
story to tell of what had happened, and what had been done during the
separation. There was so much to say that there seemed no chance for a
pause.
At last however, came a silence, when lo! Mr. Birkenfeld drew a huge
bundle from beneath his chair, and began to open the wrapper, while the
children looked on with the greatest interest, knowing very well that that
bundle held some gift for each one of them. First came a pair of shining
spurs for "big Jule," then a lovely book with blue covers for Paula. Next
a long bow with a quiver and two feather arrows. "This is for Rolf," said
the father, adding as he showed the boy the sharp points of the arrows,
"and for Rolf only, for he knows how to use it properly. It is not a
plaything, and Wili and Lili must never dream of playing with it, for they
might easily hurt themselves and others with it."
There was a beautiful Noah's Ark for the twins, with fine large animals
all in pairs, and Noah's family, all the men with walking-sticks and all
the women with parasols, all ready for use whenever they should leave the
ark.
Last of all, little Hunne had a wonderfully constructed nutcracker, that
made a strange grimace as if he were lamenting all the sins of the world.
He opened his big jaws as if he were howling, and when they were snapped
together, he gnashed his teeth as if in despair, and cracked a nut in two
without the slightest trouble so that the kernel fell right out from the
shell.
The children were full of admiration over both their own and each others'
presents, and their joy and gratitude broke out afresh at every new
inspection of each.
At last the mother stood up and said that they must all go into the
house, for it was long after the children's usual bed-time. At this their
father arose, and called out,
"Who has guessed the charade?"
Not one had even thought of it, except to be sure, the author.
"Well, I have guessed it myself," said their father, as no one spoke. "It
must be 'welcome,' is it not, Rolf? I will touch glasses with you, my boy,
and thank you very much for your charade."
Just as Rolf was raising his glass towards his father's to drink his
health, a terrible shriek arose, "It is burning, it is burning!" Everybody
ran from under the apple-tree; Battiste and Trine came from the house with
tubs and buckets, Hans from the stable with a pail in each hand; all
screaming and shouting together.
"The bush is on fire! the hedge is on fire!" There was terrible noise and
confusion.
"Dora! Dora!" cried a voice of distress from the cottage behind the hedge,
and Dora rose from her hiding place and hurried into the house. She had
been so completely absorbed by what had been taking place under the
apple-tree, though indeed she saw and heard but imperfectly, that she had
entirely forgotten everything else, and it was full two hours that she had
been lying all doubled up in the gap under the hedge.
Her aunt was flying back and forth, complaining and scolding. She had
collected all her things from the drawers and the presses, and heaped them
together, ready for flight.
"Aunt Ninette," said the little girl timidly, for she knew she had staid
out too long, "you need not be frightened; it is all dark again in the
garden; the fire is all out."
Her aunt cast a rapid glance from the window, and saw that this was true;
everything was dark, even the last lantern extinguished. Some one was
moving about among the trees, evidently to make sure that all was safe.
"This is too terrible! Who would have believed that such things could
happen?" said Aunt Ninette, half scolding, half-whimpering. "Go to bed now
Dora. To-morrow we will move away, and find another house, or leave the
place altogether."
The child obeyed quickly, and went up to her little bedroom, but it was
long, very long, before she could sleep. She still saw the illuminated
garden, the sparkling apple tree, and the father and mother with their
happy children gathered about them. She thought of the time when she too
could tell her father everything, and the thought doubled her sense of her
own loneliness, and of the happiness of those other children.
And the child had become so much interested in the life beyond the hedge,
and so almost fond of that good father and mother, whom she had been
watching, that the thought of going away again as her aunt threatened, was
a very sad one. She could not go to sleep. Presently she seemed to see the
children with their kind father again, and her own father was standing
with them, and she heard these words,
"God holds us in his hand,
God knows the best to send."
And so she fell asleep, and in her dreams she again saw the shining
apple-tree, and the merry group under its branches.
On investigating the cause of the fire, it was discovered that Wili and
Lili had conceived the happy thought of turning the riddle into a
transparency, so that suddenly the company might see it shining with red
light behind it, like the motto behind the Christmas tree, "Glory to God
in the highest."
So they withdrew silently from the company, fetched two candles, climbed
upon some high steps, which had been brought when the placard was put in
place, and held the candles as near as possible to the card. As they did
not perceive any expression of surprise on the faces of the company at the
table, they raised their candles higher and higher, nearer and nearer,
until the paste-board suddenly took fire, and the flame quickly spread to
the bushes above.
The twins readily confessed themselves the cause of the mischief, and were
sent to bed with but a gentle reproof, so as not to spoil the general
effect of the festivity, but they were seriously warned never to play with
fire again as long as they lived.
Soon all was quiet in the great house, and the moon looked peacefully down
on the trees and the sleeping flowers in the silent garden.