trees on the avenue, and the scent of the flowers from the laborers' little
gardens over the way, floated in through the window, and what a multitude
they were!--roses, lilies, geraniums, pansies and forget-me-nots. I could
not see our own garden from our bedroom window, but I knew that there also
there would be flowers in profusion, thanks to faithful Teresa's unceasing
care. Here also hung that delight of my life--the swing which my father had
placed under the apple-tree one happy day five years ago. Oh, how Paula
would love it, and how happy she would be among us! Again I took a peep
between the curtains but still she slept. Would she never wake up? Now I
had a chance to observe her more closely. That beautiful face, just a bit
serious, buried in the white pillow, on which were signs of moisture,
betraying the fact that tears had been mixed with her slumbers.
It was long after we finished breakfast, and our father had gone to his
work, that she finally awoke. But now, all her sadness had disappeared, and
not a sign of a tear remained. She ate her breakfast with great gusto, not
however without again performing that strange custom of putting her hands
together, and repeating the prayer which our astonished ears had heard the
night before.
Teresa searched among my sister's clothes for something a little more
modern with which to clothe our little country visitor. Meanwhile Paula
chatted happily to us, telling us quite a little of her life in that
far-off Waldensian valley. In the winter she and her father had lived in
the stable in the midst of the cows, goats, sheep, rabbits, etc. It was the
heat from the bodies of these animals that kept them quite warm; and at the
same time saved the price of the fuel which would otherwise have been
necessary if they had stayed during the day in the dwelling-house.
Sometimes, she told us, the poor from the village would come to their
stable, bringing their children with them for this same purpose of getting
warm without any expenditure for fuel. Then, what happiness and what games
they had together, in that little space in the stable between the animals!
Oh, yes, she went to the school, she said--the little school whose teacher
was her own father who every afternoon gathered the children together in
that self-same stable. In the evening, the neighbors would bring each one
his own little stool, crowding into every unoccupied space that could be
found in the stable; the women spinning, the men reading in turn from the
Bible by the light of a tallow candle. Meanwhile the babies were put to
sleep in the straw above the sheep-fold, until the time came to disperse
for the night Paula, being a great girl of ten years old, always tried
desperately to keep awake along with the older folks. Toward the close of
the evening, her father would say, "Now, my friends, let us meet before the
Lord." Then the needles would be put away, the hymn-books would be taken
out, and often they would sing far into the night. Then after earnest
prayers by several of the neighbors, the long winter meeting would break
up.
Of course, Paula preferred the summer, she said, when she ran barefoot
through the flower-covered fields or when she accompanied her father as
they gathered the wheat. Then at other times she had to take her turn
caring for the flocks of sheep and goats, and see that the lambs and little
kids did not stray too far away. She never tired of watching these happy
little creatures with their thousand antics as thy jumped over the rocks.
In the summer, how happy she was in those vast green Alpine fields, how
magnificent that pure air, and that bluest of all blue skies! And in the
autumn!--What a beautiful season was that, with the nut-gathering and the
bringing in of the apples and the grapes. Then she told us how our Uncle
John would take the honey from the hives, that golden honey with its
heavenly taste.
As she spoke, Paula with her lovely animated face, appeared to live again
in her happy past, quite forgetful that she was now far away from her
beloved, sunny land of the Alps, where that dear father slept on the
hillside, nevermore to return.
I, of course, had been in the habit of hearing our mother speak of her home
in the Alps with nothing but sighs and tears. It astonished me now to hear
this young creature so full of life and vigor and happiness speak of her
old life in Waldensia. I had been preparing myself to console her and
endeavor to make her happy and forget her past life of poverty. But now it
was quite the contrary. Here was Paula scattering happiness and love all
around her, entertaining us and making us laugh at her wonderful stories.
Teresa came and went from one room to another opening boxes, finding here a
dress that Catalina could not wear any more, there an apron that had grown
too short for Rosa, and here again a pair of small shoes that would no
doubt fit our country cousin, with a black ribbon or two that had formerly
served us in our time of mourning when mamma died. From her bed in the
other room, Catalina listened, calling me at times to re-tell some of the
conversation which she had missed, and Rosa wrote a letter to Louis to tell
him in detail all about Paula's arrival.
Of course, we were all in high good humor, but I believe I was the happiest
of all, for I certainly loved this newly-arrived cousin of mine and found
her a thousand times finer than I had even imagined.
I said to her once without thinking, "Paula, were you very sorry when you
lost your father?" Teresa looked at me threateningly, but it was too late!
Paula had already heard me and her eyes filled with tears. I would have
given a good deal if I could have recalled my thoughtless words. "Father is
in heaven," said this valiant, young daughter of his. "He suffered much
before he died, but now he is happy indeed! One day I shall go and be with
him there."
Never had I heard such an astonishing statement. Suddenly Teresa exclaimed,
her voice shaking with emotion, "Surely, thou art a daughter of the good
God and our very beloved Paula!"
The three days that followed Paula's arrival were very happy ones for me. I
greatly wanted to take her to school with me, but my father thought that
for a while she would be better in the house, where she could accustom
herself to her new life and be with poor Catalina whose strength diminished
day by day.
In the morning, and at dinner-time, and after school, and in the evening,
we were always together. On my return from school, we took tea together out
of doors. When I had finished my home-work, we would dig together in my
portion of the garden, and then as the summer days were long ones, Teresa
would let us play outside until bed-time.
Of course, I showed Paula all our toys and dolls and the wonderful
illustrated books that had been given me from time to time by relatives and
friends. Paula was in ecstasies in this new world of books that opened
before her. She touched my dolls one by one, looking at them with awe,
examining their clothes, passing and repassing her fingers through their
hair and exclaimed, "Oh, how beautiful! Never have I seen such things
before!" Paula in her turn, showed us her treasures. They were not very
numerous, but we could see our country cousin esteemed them very highly.
With a trembling hand she untied a red-and-blue pocket-handkerchief, and
without a word placed on the table a portrait, a little black-covered book,
and some faded flowers. I took up the portrait. It was that of a young man
with smiling eyes, quite similar to those of Paula, and with that same
kindness and sweetness in his face, so that it was not difficult to
recognize who he might be. "It's my father," said Paula quite simply.
I wished at that moment I could have said something to comfort her but I
could not find a word to say. Sobbing, I embraced her, and I felt her hot
tears mingling with mine.
"Don't let us cry any more," she said presently. "My father has gone to
heaven and my mother also. They are there with the Lord. Some day we shall
go and join them, and we shall be with them there forever; shall we not,
Lisita?" "Yes," I said, somewhat troubled.
"See my flowers," she said. "I picked them near our house in the morning
just before leaving. Do you not see? Here are forget-me-nots, pansies and
daisies. Poor little things! It is hard to recognize them, but I shall keep
them always, and when I return to Villar, I will carry them with me." "But
you will never return there," I cried, "you are to stay with us always. I
never want you to leave us."
"Well, don't worry about that, Lisita. When we grow up, you will go with me
to my old home. Uncle Peter and the man that rented the farm from father,
promised me never to leave the place until I grew up and returned. So I
made them a solemn promise that I would come back and take over the farm
some day. Perhaps the cows and the goats and the rabbits will all be
different when I go back. If you only knew how I cried when I kissed them
all on coming away. They all know me so well. I wonder if they still
remember me."
With a sigh, Paula put her flowers back carefully in the handkerchief, and
then passed over the little black book to me. "This is my Bible," she said.
"It was my father's for years, and he gave it to me on the day he died.
See, he has written my name here on the first page."
I was hardly able to decipher the shaky signature of our Uncle John, but
finally made out the following,
"To
PAULA JAVANEL
A remembrance from her dying father."
It was an old book with many loosened leaves. On each page were many
underlined passages, some marked with pencil, others with ink, with small
neat comments in the margins.
"This is my most precious treasure," said Paula. "Father had it in his
hands as he breathed his last. I promised him to read from it every day of
my life, asking the Lord's help to understand what I read. Although Papa is
no longer here, still I obey him. I try to remember all that he told me. He
was a wonderful man, this dear father of mine, and how he did love the
Lord! My one desire is to be like him."
"Yes, but you are only a girl yet," I said to her.
"That's true, Lisita, naturally I know that, but father used to say to me,
'You're not too small to serve the Lord, Paula!' I read the Bible with him
many times, and when we didn't have time to read it in the house, we took
it to the fields with us and read it as we rested. Then as I watched the
cows and sheep, I read the Book alone. And now you and I can read it
together; can we not, Lisita? And I know the Lord will help us to make
everybody else happy around us. I've never had a sister, and now that you
say you wish to be my sister, my prayers are answered!"
Then after a pause, she said, "Why don't you answer me, Lisita?" And she
laid her head on my shoulder and fixed her great eyes upon me. How could I
answer her! I had a great desire to tell her of the true situation. We all
of us wished to be as good as possible, if that should please her, but we
would never be permitted to read the Bible. I knew father would never
consent to that. Yet how could I tell her that things in our house were not
as they were in hers--in that God was never mentioned! Then I remembered a
long discussion our old servant had had that very morning with my sisters
on this subject, and Teresa had ended the matter by saying, "She's only a
little girl, anyway, and she'll soon become accustomed to do as we do.
Besides your father will remember how she has been brought up, and he has
too good a heart to make the poor child unhappy. Of course in the end the
thing will finally adjust itself. Poor little thing! How she would suffer
if we should bluntly tell her the truth that we live here in this house
like a bunch of savages."
As I searched my poor brain for a reply, Teresa without knowing it, came to
my help by calling me into the kitchen. Upon any other occasion, I would
have simply answered, without moving, "What do you want?" But now I was
only too glad to obey her immediately and so put an end to a difficult
situation. "I'm going to town," she said, as she put on a clean apron.
"Perhaps you and Paula would like to come along." "What a lark!" I cried,
as I ran out to tell the glad news to Paula, and two minutes later we were
ready.
Teresa looked us over from head to foot, reminding us that the strings of
our shoes hadn't even been tied, that our faces and hands showed signs of
an all-too-hasty toilet, to say nothing of a lack of a comb in our hair.
Finally, however, we were on the road to town, happy to find ourselves in
the cool shade of the long avenue of linden trees that stretched away in
the distance. What a joy it was to have at my side this new, wonderful
companion to whom I would be able to open the mysteries of the great shops
and public buildings--marvelous things which this simple country girl had
never seen before in all her life. What could be greater happiness for any
girl of my age!
CHAPTER FIVE
LOUIS' WATCH
When Louis returned at the end of the week, he was surprised to find Paula
so happy and contented. He found her in the kitchen helping Teresa to dry
the dishes. "One would think," said he, "that you had been with us for many
months instead of a few days." Paula showed herself to be much more
embarrassed in his presence than she had been with us. It may have been the
school uniform that did it. But Louis, like the good-hearted lad that he
was, did what he could to make her feel at home. Presently, out we went
into the garden to play, not without an anxious look from Teresa, for she
knew that when Louis came into any situation, he generally caused trouble.
When, however, we returned with our aprons decorated with mud but still
happy, the good old lady heaved a sigh of relief. The fact is, that when
Louis played with us he always acted as he did with the boys at school. But
no matter what happened, Paula seemed afraid of nothing. When it came to
running races, Louis found to his great chagrin, that she could even beat
him at this; and in the other games if she happened to fall and hurt
herself, she'd rub an injured knee with a laugh or sucked a stubbed finger
without further comment, and go on playing as if nothing had happened. But
in spite of entering wholeheartedly into all our fun, it was easy to see
that our servant had well named her, "The daughter of the good God!" She
was always ready to step aside and let others take the first place, and to
yield all her own rights, to recover a ball at whatever distance when a
dispute arose as to, "Who should get it?" or to look for a lost kite, no
matter how thick the brambles might be. No wonder Louis was quite content
to have such an accommodating companion!
Then the moment arrived when we must go back to the house. That fatal time
always seemed to arrive on the wings of the wind. Teresa seldom had any
time to come and call us, but she relied on Louis, as he had a watch.
Beside all that, we could clearly hear the hour strike in the great clock
on Darnetal Church.
"Listen," cried Paula, woefully, "it's nine o'clock, and Teresa said we
must go back to the house at nine."
"Oh, shut up," said Louis. (He had just started a thrilling new game of
jumping from a high wall.) "I'll tell you when it's time to go home. Now
are you ready? Hurry up, Paula, get the ladder. There it is, under the
cherry-tree!" Paula obediently ran and returned with the required ladder,
and helped Louis put it in position, saying at the same time, "But Louis,
you know well that Teresa told us that we must be in at nine o'clock."
"Oh, yes, I heard it," said Louis ill-humoredly.
"Well, then we must go!"
"Oh, not yet, five minutes more or less won't make any difference."
"No, five minutes won't make any great difference, of course," said Paula
slowly, "and it certainly is lovely here, but Teresa ordered us in at nine
o'clock. I'll run and ask her if we cannot stay another fifteen minutes."
"Certainly not," sneered Louis. "Teresa would never give permission. Now,
hurry up, you're first on the wall, Paula."
"No, I'm not going to stay. Teresa will be angry."
"No, no, never fear. Besides, she'll never know. I think she's out."
"Well, she'll know when she returns. She'll ask us what time we came in."
"Oh, you needn't worry about that," and Louis took out his watch. "I can
fix that matter easily." We both looked over his shoulder at the watch,
which by this time clearly pointed to five minutes after the hour.
Suddenly, we saw the hands of the watch begin to turn backwards. "Now,"
said Louis, "what time it is?"
"Half-past eight," answered Paula, lifting astonished eyes to her cousin's
face.
"Well, if it's half-past eight why do you look at me like that?"
"Because I don't understand."
"What do you mean by saying you don't understand? It's all quite simple. If
Teresa is angry, I'll tell her that we left the garden at nine o'clock;
then I'll show her my watch."
"But," cried Paula, quite upset, "that would be a lie!"
"Nonsense, you foolish youngster, that's not a lie. We'll go from here at
the dot of nine, according to my watch, and that's what I'll tell Teresa in
case she asks us. Of course, if she doesn't ask us, we don't have to say
anything. Besides, I do it for you and Lisita, for if you were boys instead
of girls, there would be no reason to return so early. Now, up with you.
Yes, or no."
"Not I," said Paula, with a heightened color. Louis was furious.
"No, you say? Oh," he laughed, "the wall's too high." Paula looked at the
wall. It was certainly high, but he knew very well from past exploits that
the height would not bother her.
"No," she said, "I'm not afraid to jump. Over in Villar, when I had to tend
the goats, many a time I have had to jump from far greater heights than
that to keep them from straying into our neighbor's pastures; but I tell
you now, we promised Teresa to return at nine o'clock, and I'm not going to
disobey her."
Then it was that I joined in on the side of Louis. "If you're always going
to obey Teresa, you'll never have a quiet moment."
"Then are you, too, going to stay with Louis?" Paula asked sadly.
"Of course," cried Louis, without giving me time to reply. "And now, go if
you wish and leave us in peace. Get out of the way!"
Paula, who was seated on the lowest rung of the ladder, immediately stepped
aside and soon Louis was on the wall.
"Now, it's your turn," he called to me. I followed my brother as Paula
slowly moved away up the garden walk.
"I'm going back with Paula," I said to Louis. Then from the top of the
wall, I saw her turn her head for one last look.
"Oh, let her go!" said Louis. "She can find her own way. I'm afraid the
little fool is going to become impossible. Now, do as I do. But be sure and
don't break your nose, for Teresa will blame me."
"You jump first," I said.
"Getting afraid, are you? All right, see me jump. One, two, three!" and
down he went, in the middle of a pansy-bed, Teresa's especial pride and the
object of her particular care.
"Oh, oh," I cried, viewing the ruin that Louis had made. "Now, won't Teresa
be angry indeed!"
"Well, why should I care?" said Louis. "Why did she have to put flowers
alongside of a perfectly good wall like this? Now, hurry up and jump. We'll
fix it up and water it, and she'll know nothing about what happened."
"Oh, Louis, I'm afraid!"--Certainly the distance to the ground seemed
enormous!
"What are you afraid of? I'll catch you if you fall. Don't be a
'fraidcat!'" Just at that moment I would have done anything rather than
jump.
"I'm coming down by the ladder."
"No, you'll do no such thing! Now, come on; don't be a coward!"
Just at this moment we heard a voice calling, "Louis! Lisita!"
Louis turned to see Paula calling us from the bottom of the garden.
"And now what do you want?" cried Louis. "I thought you had gone home."
I profited by this diversion to come rapidly down the ladder.
"I was almost at the house," answered Paula, coming nearer, "but I didn't
go in because I didn't want to meet Teresa."
"Why not?"
"Because I didn't know what to say to her, if she should ask me where you
two were."
"Well, wouldn't you have told her the truth?"
"Of course, I would have had to tell her. That's why I've come back to look
for you. I've run all the way. Oh, please, come now; won't you?"
My brother seemed to hesitate.
"You know I hated to disobey," added Paula, with tears in her eyes, "and at
the same time, I don't like to be a 'tattle-tale.' Won't you please come
home now with me?"
Louis was a good-hearted lad in spite of his shortcomings. Therefore,
seeing his young cousin beginning to cry, he said, "All right, let's go.
Anyway, I can't play the way I want, especially with a pair of youngsters
like you two. But, look here, Paula, you forgot the ladder. Take it away
now, if you want us to play up to all your nonsense."
Paula, grabbing the ladder, simply said, "Oh, thank you so much," as she
dried her tears. I went meanwhile and filled the watering-pot while Louis
tried to restore the crushed pansies as best he could.
"There you are," said Louis finally, "Teresa will never know." And off we
all three raced for the house.
"And so you are back already," remarked Teresa as we invaded the kitchen.
"Back already!" said Louis. "It's more than a quarter after nine, but if it
hadn't been for the country cousin here, we'd have been a whole lot later."
CHAPTER SIX
IN THE MIDST OF DARKNESS
My father had not had much time to pay attention to Paula since her
arrival; for on his return from his long trip he had found the head of the
factory very sick. This had so increased his duties that he hardly had time
in the morning to take a hurried cup of coffee, before going off to his
work. In the evening, he always went to see Catalina for a few moments, and
then he shut himself in his room where he worked far into the night.
It was, therefore, with a sigh of relief that he sat down at the family
table on Sunday morning to take breakfast with us children.
"Now, then, Paula," he said, turning to our cousin as Teresa served us
coffee, "you haven't told me how you like your new family?"
Paula colored a little as she said, "Oh, I love you all very much, uncle
mine."
"Well, that's a happy reply," said my father, "and we love you also, my
little daughter."
The coffee had been served. Paula had been with us four days and she knew
that we never asked the blessing; but she never dreamed that anyone would
hinder her from following her own custom which she still continued at every
meal. Without any hesitation therefore, she repeated in front of my father,
the words that had surprised us so at our very first meal. "The food which
we receive, O Lord, may it be blessed in the name of the Father, and of the
Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."
"What's that you say?" said my father, hardly giving her time to conclude.
Paula, still on her feet, with her hands still joined for the prayer, fixed
her great luminous eyes on my father.
She was not smiling now, and I saw that she understood that somehow she
must have displeased him.
"Answer me," demanded my father. "What were you doing?"
"But ..."
"Repeat those words of your prayer."
Paula quietly obeyed.
"Where did you learn that?"
"My father taught it to me. We always prayed before and after eating."
Paula said this with a trembling voice, trying to restrain her tears.
"Listen to me, Paula," my father said in a voice much less severe; "I don't
wish you to imagine that I'm angry with you. In fact, I'm glad that you
want to remember your father and his words. That is all very well. But I
simply wish you to understand that in the future you are to conduct
yourself like the other members of my family. Do you understand, my little
daughter?"
"No, uncle, I don't."
"No? Well, then, I must speak more plainly. Your cousins no doubt have
already told you that in this house I will permit no word relative to
religion. In the future that applies to you also."
"But, uncle dear!"
"That will do. When you come to more mature years you will be able to
understand my reasons, and if you should desire it at that time I will give
them to you. At present it is enough for you to know that you are not to
pray anymore. Hand me the morning paper, Rosa."
We ate in silence, all except Paula who apparently couldn't swallow a
mouthful. Our father with his eyes buried in the paper, paid no more
attention to her. I had a great desire to cry without knowing why, for I
couldn't possibly understand why my father's warning should make Paula so
unhappy. Father had not punished her, yet, nevertheless, to see her stand
there with a mixture of grief and fright on her pale face, one would have
thought that she had been threatened with a most terrible misfortune.
Rosa and Louis made understanding signs to one another. Meanwhile to
demonstrate my own sympathy, I tried to take my poor cousin's hand, but she
withdrew it, and I understood that it was useless to try to comfort her.
"Uncle," she cried suddenly, "oh, uncle mine, please pardon me but I
cannot, cannot obey you."
"What's this?" said my father, gazing at her with stupefaction and growing
anger. Our surprise at this untoward daring of our young country cousin was
so great, that even Louis dropped his spoon and forgot to eat.
We had disobeyed very often, especially Louis and I, and many times we had
been punished for it, for disobedience in my father's eyes was the greatest
of all crimes; but never had we dared to defy him openly.