TWO LETTERS
"Princess, to you the western breeze
Bears many a ship and heavy laden;
What is the best we send in these?
A free and frank young Yankee maiden."
"COLOGNE, GERMANY.
"_Dear Miss Billikins_:
"Prepare to clap your hands and chortle with joy! In six
weeks and two days more I shall be at home with you!
Perhaps I am a trifle conceited to think that you will be
as delighted over the prospect as I am.
"Even my grief at leaving my beloved Germany is drowned in
joy at the thought of being home again; and when I see papa
and mamma's dear faces I shall be the happiest girl this
side of the Atlantic. After all, there is no place like
America, and no people like the Americans.
"In proof of which, I can a tale unfold--a tale, Miss
Billy, which will make your blood stand on end and your
hair run cold in your veins. I have had an adventure that
brought the tears of shame and contrition to my eyes, and
which will bring the tears of sympathy to yours. Get out
your largest and most absorbent handkerchief and prepare to
listen.
"It rained yesterday,--not one of the mild English
drizzles, but a regular American downpour that lasted all
day. About four o'clock I put my music aside and went
downstairs, with the intention of taking a stroll, or more
literally, a swim. Frau Henich held up her hands in holy
horror at the sight of my costume, which was a combination
of bathing suit and bicycle skirt.
"Will the bold Fräulein venture out in such wetness?
"The bold Fräulein would.
"Did she not fear the dampness?
"The Fräulein adored dampness.
"Was there no message that could be sent?
"The Fräulein had no message. She was going out for her
pleasure.
"Frau Henich looked at me in pity and amazement. Generally
she considers me erratic, but on occasions of this sort
she knows I am unbalanced. As I closed the door I could
feel that she was still wondering in which branch of my
family insanity was rampant. Now there is a certain tiny
store in Cologne which I intend to buy out some day. It
is a most fascinating place, with the windows full of gay
knit garters, and hideous pictures of the saints, and dried
herrings, and with funny little reward-of-merit-cards and
work-boxes tucked away in dark corners.
"Of course none of these things are exactly in my line, but
the mistress of the house sells a delicious little German
cake that is my especial delight. Whenever my music lessons
go badly or I fail to get a letter from home, I comfort
myself with a bag of these little 'pfeffernes.'
"On this rainy day the shop was even more inviting than
usual. It was brightly lighted with three candles, a big
pussy cat was purring on the mat, and there was an odour
of hot gingerbread in the air. My long walk had made me
hungry, and I recklessly ordered two dozen cakes, a square
of the frosted gingerbread, and a little pail of sauerkraut
which tasted and smelled very German indeed. It was dark
outside, so I didn't stay to practise my German on the
rosy-faced woman behind the counter, but took my bundles
hurriedly. I paddled out, leaving a long stream of green
water in my wake--(the colour in my green umbrella has
'run' as you predicted)--and faced the storm.
"The long narrow street was deserted, and I sprinted along
making good time, though my feet were soaking wet and I
could feel the water gurgle in my shoes at every step. As
I started across a muddy street within two blocks of Frau
Henich's, a sudden gust of wind blew my umbrella inside
out. I righted it by facing about and holding it against
the wind. Then clutching my bundles a little tighter, and
still treading determinedly backwards, I bumped forcibly
into a man who was coming towards me. The result was what
might have been expected. We sat down in the street. The
gingerbread went into his lap, the cakes fell about me
like stars from a rocket, and from what I could see in the
dusk the kraut seemed to be equally divided between us. We
both sat perfectly still for a moment. Then six feet of
masculinity arose from the mud, with the sound of a suction
pump, and approached me, with the air of a count. 'Are you
hurt, Fräulein?' he inquired, in irreproachable German that
made me green with envy. I felt of myself in the cleanest
places and decided that I was not. He helped me up with
difficulty, for the mud had a strong attraction for me,
too, and I feebly began to collect my thoughts, and my
cakes, and to look about for my umbrella.
"By this time my companion in misery had a beautiful
un-German-like apology ready for me, and proposed that we
move on, and repair damages by the street lamp. I replied,
in very bad German, that my boarding-place was just around
the corner, and that I would prefer to remove the signs
of our collision at home. He graciously acceded to my
humble request, and crossed the street with me, holding the
remains of my umbrella over my head. When we reached the
lamp I could fully appreciate the humour of the situation.
The aristocratic chest of the Count was plastered with
white frosting, his hat was caved in, and his noble face
was covered with spatters of mud. My skirt dripped mud
and water at each step, my hands were gloved with honest
German soil, and my hair fell over my face in degraded
little stringlets. We both fairly reeked with kraut. But
the Count, courteously oblivious to our picturesque and
barbaric appearance, walked by my side, with that skeleton
of an umbrella gallantly protecting the remains of my Knox
hat, and discoursing cheerfully upon the vagaries of the
German climate. Naturally my answers were not so teeming
with wisdom as usual, for I was fairly overcome with
suppressed emotion and mud. Beside, I am awfully stupid
about languages, and all the German I have learned since
I have been here would rattle if it were shaken about in
a peanut shell. If he had asked me about the lamb of the
daughter of the gardener, or the pink frock of my sister's
child, I could have conversed fluently; but as it was I
maintained a dignified silence and let him think that I was
a modest little German Mädchen.
"His good manners lasted the whole two blocks, and he
handed me in at Frau Henich's door with the air of King
Cophetua, though I did think I caught a twinkle of fun in
his eyes as he said 'Gute Nacht, Fräulein. Es ist immer der
Amerikaner der die deutschen Länder bekommt.'
"Fräulein Henich has much to say of the gracious Herr, who
came to my rescue so nobly. It seems after all that he is
no count, just an American student, as she expresses it
touring Germany,--'but so amiable in manner, so hard in the
working, and so good to the children.' He boards across the
street with her good friend Frau Heller, and I have often
seen a young man, answering to his description, frolicking
with the six flaxen-headed Heller cherubs. But, to me he
will always be known as the Count. My introduction to him
is also my farewell, for he leaves to-morrow--whither I
know not--and alas, I shall see him no more! Still, he has
served his purpose in furnishing me with many a recent
chuckle, and material for what otherwise would have been a
most stupid letter to you. Musical students never have any
brains left for letters, and nothing to write about. Maybe
I won't have enough things to _tell_ you about, my dear, in
six weeks and two days more!
"Lots of love from
"PEGGY."
Miss Billy laid down the closely written sheets of foreign paper, and
drew a long sigh of pleasure. Six weeks more!
Perhaps no one knew just what the end of the six weeks meant to
Miss Billy. Even the cheeriest and happiest of us all have our dark
days, and the fact that our friends do not suspect them, makes the
days none the less hard to bear. Miss Billy's interest in her new
surroundings, and her bravery in her changed circumstances had not
prevented many a heart-ache and longing for the old life. Girls are
merciless aristocrats, and many of Miss Billy's old friends had
wounded her with careless speeches, or rude actions, since the old
life had ended. The covert sneers, the uplifted eyebrows, the small
snubs that so often crushed Beatrice in these days of stern economy,
had touched Miss Billy's sensitive soul; and though she was brave
enough to rise above them, they were not easy to bear.
But after Margaret came,--dear loyal Peggy, so leal and true--whom
changed circumstances only made nearer and dearer,--Miss Billy felt
that she could face the world and "the girls" with courage, as well
as independence, and she yearned for her friend with all the strength
of her young soul.
And on the heels of this joyful letter came another delightful
surprise. It was an overture of peace, and the carrier dove was Aaron
Levi. The olive branch he bore was a message to the effect that "ol'
man Schultzsky" wanted to see Miss Billy "to wunst." "What can he
want of me?" thought the girl, hurrying out of the door in a state of
high excitement. "It must be that he wants something done; if that's
the case, perhaps he's not so awfully mad at me, after all."
She crossed the street, and went quickly up to Mr. Schultzsky's door.
The little Bohemian maid, who was rocking on the front porch, rose
up uncertainly and fled around the house at her approach. Miss Billy
entered without the ceremony of rapping, and made her way to the room
in which she had found Mr. Schultzsky before.
In appearance it was the same dark mildewed room of two weeks before,
with the harness on the wall, and the picture of the beautiful woman
hanging crookedly near the ceiling. In the half gloom she saw the
old man still stretched on the hard bed with the weight of flatirons
attached to his foot. His face in its gauntness and pallor showed the
suffering he had endured; but the sunken eyes were bright, and he
displayed his eagerness in the gesture with which he motioned her to
the chair by his side.
"I vant you to write a letter," he began in a weak voice. "It comes
to me in the night if I haf no one to do for me I vill not soon get
vell. Johanna is a child. She can speak not the English; she can
order not the food. She can do nothing but rock herself in the chair
and cry. Open the drawer in the table, and take the paper and ink. It
is to my niece's oldest child--the letter."
Not without trembling, because of her proximity to the strange old
man, Miss Billy obeyed.
"I am ready, Mr. Schultzsky," she announced.
The old man fell to pondering.
"To Frances Lindsay, my niece's child," he began at last.
"I am in much trouble that my leg is broke and I cannot
mofe. It is such warm weather, and such pain, I cannot get
well unless you come by me.
"I will pay it when you come, which you should do right
away.
"Your affectionate uncle,
"ABRAHAM SCHULTZSKY."
"Is that all?" asked Miss Billy, as the dictation ceased.
"Yes," said the old man wearily. "The street number is on a piece of
paper in the drawer. That's right." He closed his eyes, but turned
slightly as Miss Billy rose to go, and held out his hand. "You are a
smart girl," he said. "I thank you for what you haf done for me."
Miss Billy gave his hand a little squeeze in her excitement. "I've
been so sorry, Mr. Schultzsky," she said softly. "Can you ever, ever
forgive me?"
"It is nodding," responded Mr. Schultzsky shortly. "Goot-day."
Miss Billy, thus dismissed, sped home as one whose feet were shod
with wings.
"All is forgiven,
Blest be my soul,"
she hummed to herself as she made her way to the mail box. "I'm as
happy as a lark. Margaret's coming home, and Mr. Schultzsky has
forgiven me. It's too much good luck for one day." She smiled happily
as she dropped into the box the letter addressed to
"Miss Frances Lindsay,
"886 East Forty-fifth Street,
"New York."