No answer coming to her knock, Laura pushed the door open, and saw just
the same poor little room Grim had described. There were fagots burning
on the hearth; but though it was so poor and bare, it had an air of
neatness and order as if unused. Even the forlorn little bed of straw
looked as if no one had slept on it. Laura was so disappointed that she
knew not what to do; but, too tired to make any search, she was about
turning away when a light footfall arrested her, and she saw the figure
of a weeping child coming towards the hut. Evidently this was the elder
of the two children, for she had the same brown hair Grim had spoken of,
but she was so much overcome by sorrow that she did not see Laura until
she came quite to the door, and then she started as if with painful
surprise.
"Do not be alarmed," said Laura. "I have been walking a long way, and am
very tired: can you let me rest here for the night?"
"Oh yes," said the girl, with a sweet, sad smile. "I am very lonely now,
but"--and she hesitated, glancing at Laura's embroidered dress--"I fear
I cannot offer you anything so nice as you are used to having. I am very
poor."
"But see, I have enough for both of us," said Laura, showing her flask
of wine and her oat-cakes; "and I have nice warm clothing, too, which a
kind friend sent to you. But where is little Fritz?"
A look of such deep pain came in the girl's pale face that Laura was
sorry she had asked.
"How did you know anything about my little Fritz?" responded the girl,
in a low tone.
"I will explain very soon," replied Laura; "but first tell me your
name--mine is Laura."
"And mine is Kathinka, or Kathie."
"Now we can get along nicely; but shall we not have more fire and some
tea before I tell you my story?" said Laura.
"I have no tea, and since little Fritz has been gone I have not cared to
eat," said Kathie, with the dulness of sorrow.
"Then I will make the fire burn better," said Laura, "and make tea, too,
for I am sure the Motherkin packed some."
"But your hands are too fine and white--no, I will do it," said Kathie,
more aroused; and she went out for a while, and came back with some
sticks. Presently there was a good blaze, and Laura got out the tea and
sugar and cakes, and set them down on the hearth, for there was no
table. Laura was hungry, and glad to eat, and, after looking somewhat
curiously at her, Kathie, too, joined in the simple repast.
Then Laura told her all about herself, beginning at her mother's leaving
her with the Motherkin, all about her new and strange experiences, about
Grim, and lastly about her adventures in the woods coming to Kathie's
relief. Kathie became so interested that she forgot for a moment her
sorrow; but when Laura related Grim's account of little Fritz, and
Kathie's own kindness to her young brother, about Grim's whisper to the
woodsman, and his regret at leaving the children alone, and Laura's
resolve to come to them, she could keep quiet no longer, but fell into
such sobbing as Laura had never heard nor seen before. Though she had
not seen the like, she knew by intuition that tenderness and patience
would subdue it; so she drew Kathie's head on her own shoulder, and
softly smoothed the child's brown hair; then she bathed the poor tired
eyes with her handkerchief, and forced a little wine upon the sorrowful
girl, and at last Kathie fell asleep.
Outside the wind was rising, the moonlight glittering; within, by the
few smouldering brands, sat the two children. Laura held Kathie until
her own head began to droop, and then, in each other's arms still
resting, they slept the sound sleep of childhood.
When the bright beams of morning penetrated the little hut, Kathie
awakened first, and rekindled the little fire.
Laura still slept; unaccustomed to so much fatigue, she needed the long
rest, and as Kathie looked at the pretty silver and blue of her dress,
and at the golden hair and healthful flush of her young companion's fair
face, she seemed to her an angel of mercy sent to comfort her in her
loneliness. For little Fritz was gone to the better land; hunger and
want had been more than his poor little crippled body could bear, and
Kathie's kindness could not keep life any longer in so feeble a frame.
The woodsman had made a little grave in the forest for him, and there
poor Kathie had gone every day, and was but returning from it the
evening previous when she found Laura waiting for her.
[Illustration: "WITH LAURA'S HAND CLASPED OVER HERS, SHE FELT NO LONGER
ALONE."]
As soon as Laura had wakened, and the two children had eaten, Kathie led
Laura to the place where her brother had been laid. Birds were singing
gayly in the trees over his head, and Kathie had made wreaths of
wild-flowers and garlands of grasses and placed them over the spot so
dear to her. Together they stood silently listening to the birds' clear
notes, and the morning was so bright and beautiful that Kathie could not
grieve as she had done the night before. With Laura's hand clasped over
hers, she felt that she was no longer alone; and when Laura said, "Now
we will both go back to the dear Motherkin," she did not refuse, but
turned away to make her little preparations. This was soon done, and
guided by Laura's staff, they started out for their long tramp through
the woods.
"Now, Kathie," said Laura, after they had walked far enough to need a
little rest, "let us sit on this nice mossy rock, and you tell me,
please, how you came to be living all alone here in the woods."
Kathie sat down, and, pushing back her hair, said to Laura, "It is
all so sad and sorrowful that I wonder you care to hear about it."
"But I do--really I do; only if it makes you unhappy to tell me, perhaps
you had better not."
"It is not much to tell: we have not been long alone. I do not remember
my mother; my father was a wood-cutter, and we were very happy till the
war came, and he had to be a soldier, and leave little Fritz and me all
alone."
"Your father a soldier! so is mine. How nice!" said Laura.
"Ah, but your father is an officer, of course, and can do almost as he
pleases, while my poor father had hardly time to bid us good-bye when he
went away; and I do not know whether he is alive or has been killed in
some dreadful battle."
"Then we'll think he is alive and well, and soon coming home," said
Laura, springing up and dragging Kathie with her for a race. "Come, we
will not talk any more, for your eyes are full of tears, and this is
too lovely a day for us to be unhappy, my poor, poor Kathie. Come! I am
sorry I asked you anything."
The day was indeed lovely, and the soft, sweet air was full of delicious
odors from the many buds and blossoms.
Soon the children forgot their sad talk, and were chasing butterflies,
when again Laura, in her glee, threw down her staff, and could not
recollect the spot where it had fallen.
"Oh, Kathie, my staff! my staff is lost again! where did I put it?" she
exclaimed, when a little mocking voice was heard repeating her words,
and skipping over the rocks was seen the well-remembered rabbit-skin of
the Herb Elf.
Laura was very much provoked at her own carelessness, and annoyed at
again seeing her teasing acquaintance of the woods reappear; but she had
gained a little wisdom from her former encounter, and took care not to
show her vexation.
But Kathie was very much alarmed, and clung close to Laura. The Herb
Elf, seeing this, brandished his bludgeon, and executed a fantastic
series of capers.
"Afraid, are you?--ho! ho! he! he! A great big girl afraid of me!" he
sung.
"I am not afraid, Mr. Elf," said Laura. "You and I have met before, and
what nice honey you gave me! I am sure Kathie would like some, and are
you too busy to help me find my staff?"
"Lost it again, have you? Oh, you're a nice one! I am busy pruning
witch-hazels, and your knife has been very useful."
"So much the more reason why you should find my staff again for me.
Please, Mr. Elf, do be as kind as you were before."
"Let me see you dance again."
Laura took Kathie's hand and whirled her away in a waltz till they were
both breathless, while Kathie whispered, "What shall we do to get away
from this strange little creature?"
"He will find my staff if we are good-natured," replied Laura, in a
whisper, "and we never could get back to the Motherkin without it."
[Illustration: "THE HERB ELF CAME UP BEHIND KATHIE AND GAVE A TWITCH TO
ONE OF HER BROWN BRAIDS."]
Suddenly the Herb Elf came up behind Kathie, and, jumping up vigorously,
gave a twitch to one of her brown braids.
"They don't come off, then?" he said, as Kathie winced.
"No, they are not meant to," said Laura, in some haste, fearing he might
be disposed to cut one.
"I was in China once, and saw all the men with pigtails--how do you
think I would look with one?"
"Queer," answered Laura, still fearing he might covet Kathie's beautiful
hair.
"Not at all queer," said the elf, angrily, stamping his foot and
hitching his rabbit-skin from shoulder to shoulder.
A bright thought just then came to Kathie, but fearing to speak to the
Herb Elf, she whispered it to Laura.
"Oh, Mr. Elf," said Laura, "Kathie thinks you would be grand with a
great long Chinese queue, and she says she is sure she could make one
for you."
At this the elf looked greatly pleased, and cut a very curious caper.
"But," continued Laura, "she needs some flax to make it of, for her
dark brown hair would not be at all becoming to you."
The elf frowned at this, and asked, "Why not?"
"Oh, it would be really ridiculous; instead of looking like a Chinese
mandarin, a splendid, elegant Chinese, you would be exactly like an ugly
old Indian who had scalped somebody--indeed, it would not be nice," said
Laura, very earnestly, so afraid was she that the elf would insist upon
having one of Kathie's beautiful braids. "But if you would get us some
lovely yellow flax, Kathie would plait it, and we would fasten it on for
you, and then you would find my staff for me, and we would be your
friends forever."
"Ho! ho! he! he!" laughed the elf. "Well, I'll get the flax;" and away
he went, leaving the two girls again alone.
Laura squeezed Kathie, and told her she was a jewel for thinking of the
flax, for she certainly would have had to cut off her hair had she not
been so shrewd.
By this time they were hungry; so, opening their basket, they sat down
to their dinner. Birds hopped tamely near them for the crumbs, and
squirrels leaped, chattering, from bough to bough. They finished their
lunch, but still the elf did not return; they did not dare to go from
the spot where he had left them, and their little hearts were full of
anxiety, for if he should not return, how could they ever find their way
through the woods without the precious staff? Laura blamed herself for
her giddiness, and wondered how she could for a moment have been so
forgetful. Kathie tried to comfort her, and suggested that if they found
it again it would be well to tie or fasten it in some way to her
girdle.