cat and her kittens were playing. Outside he could catch a glimpse of
various animals frisking about the dooryard. Birds sang merrily in the
trees overhead and in the bushes just outside the window. The raven
hopped into the doorway and stood looking saucily at Gigi, with head on
one side. It was all so peaceful, so quiet, so different from anything
which Gigi had known, that he thought it must be a dream. He sighed
again, and turned over, stretching out his arm. In doing so he touched
the hairy neck of Brutus, who was still sleeping by his bed. Instantly
the dog sprang up and began to lick the boy's face. At the same
moment, with a pious gesture, the Hermit also rose and came toward the
cot, smiling kindly.
"You are better, my son?" he asked, laying a cool hand upon Gigi's
forehead. "Ah, yes! You will soon be quite yourself."
Gigi stared up at him contentedly. "Who are you?" he asked. He had
never been taught manners, and he could no longer hide his curiosity.
"I am a Hermit," answered the old man. "I live here alone with my
animals, as you see. I pass the days in prayer and meditation,
studying the Lord's Holy Book and the living works of His hands."
"Why do you live away from men?" asked Gigi again.
The Hermit's face grew sad.
"Men are wicked and cruel, child," he said. "Men hurt and kill one
another. They love to slay the innocent animals for sport. In their
kingdoms is no love. I have made myself here an animal kingdom, where
all is love and peace."
"Do all animals know you?" asked Gigi, wondering.
"With time I can make friends with them all," said the Hermit, smiling.
"One has but to love and understand and be patient. See!"
He gave a peculiar call. Instantly there came tumbling into the hut,
until it nearly overflowed, a strange medley of creatures,--hares,
mice, birds, kittens, squirrels. Last of all peered into the doorway a
deer and her little speckled fawn.
The dog sat quite still, not moving a muscle. He had been trained not
to frighten his more timid neighbors.
"Follow the example of Brutus, my son," said the Hermit gently. "Make
no sudden movement and do not speak. They know my voice, and they will
learn yours. But you are still a stranger to them, and must expect
them to be shy."
The animals crowded lovingly about the Hermit, some springing upon his
shoulders and knees, the birds flitting about his head.
Gigi thought he had never seen so wonderful a sight. "Oh!" thought he,
"if I could only do this, what money might I not take from a crowd on
market-days!"
After talking to his pets and caressing them tenderly, the old man
dismissed them to the outdoor sunshine, so that he was alone with Gigi,
who could then be free to move and speak once more.
"The beloved innocents!" said the Hermit, with a sigh. "Who could ever
willfully injure one of them. God's creatures?--But now, my son, tell
me about yourself," he broke off. "Who are you? Whence do you come?
Whither are you going?"
"I do not know," said Gigi simply, in answer to all three questions.
And then he told his story as he had told it to Mother Margherita.
The old man listened pitifully. "Poor little lad!" he said. "Men have
been cruel to you, also. You have no home, no friends, no past, and no
future. What shall we do with you?"
"Oh, let me stay with you!" cried Gigi, clasping his hands. "You are
so good and wise. Teach me! Teach me to be good and wise, too. Take
me into your animal kingdom, and teach me to make them all my friends.
I could do such tricks with them,--far better than tumbling. I should
grow rich!"
The old man shook his head. "That cannot be," he said. "I cannot
teach men to grow rich. Nor would I see my animals made ridiculous for
money. I came here to be a hermit. I vowed to have nothing more to do
with human folk, only with the animals whom they persecute. But I
never thought that a child would seek my roof."
Pie looked at Gigi doubtfully. The boy returned the look, and the
brown spot on his eyelid trembled piteously. The Hermit blinked.
"Yes, you are a poor little animal, too," he said at last. "You are
ignorant and innocent as they. I cannot turn you away. Perhaps I can
teach you better things than tricks. Perhaps I can make you a disciple
and a Christian. If you are teachable, I can make you wise with the
knowledge of herbs and healing. If I send back to the world which I
have left one man useful, tender, strong, and good, perhaps he may be
able to do more than I have done to stay the march of evil."
Gigi did not understand the words at all, but the tone was kind. He
pushed the bandage from his head, looked up at the Hermit, and smiled
his own strange smile. "I think you will not beat me," he said. The
brown spot on his eyelid gave him the wink of mischief.
"Beat you!" The old man's face broke into an answering smile, and he
rocked to and fro with pleasure in Gigi's little joke. Then he bent
forward suddenly, and stared into the boy's face with a keen look.
"The wicked eye of him!" he said, talking to himself. "How like it is!
Strange, strange! About nine years old, he is. Nine years ago--" He
paused, gazing at Gigi, and murmuring under his breath. "What are you
wearing about your neck?" he asked suddenly.
Gigi put his hand to a tiny silver chain which just peeped above his
green doublet, and drew out a flat piece of silver of strange shape,
and with one side carved deeply with a notched Cross.
"Where did you get this?" asked the Hermit, strangely excited.
"I do not know," said Gigi, wondering. "I have worn it always. Not
even Cecco dared take it from me. I have heard him say so. But I do
not know why!"
"The lost one!" cried the Hermit, embracing Gigi, with tears in his
eyes. Then, crossing himself, he added piously, "Dear little lad! We
are in the Lord's hands. Gigi, you shall stay with me until the time
is come. But you wear the Cross, a blessed emblem. I shall call you
no more by that heathen Gypsy name. You shall bear the beloved
Christian name of John, to which perhaps you have as good a right as
any. Ah! I will not tell you more. I will wait until I see if you be
worthy indeed. If not--his son shall never know!"
All this Gigi did not understand. But he was happy to know that he
might stay. And he began his new life as one of the Hermit's animal
kingdom by hugging close old Brutus, his first four-footed friend, who
had brought him safely to this haven.
XI
THE PUPIL
_But ask now the beasts and they shall teach thee, and the fowls of the
air and they shall tell thee_.--HOLY WRIT.
Gigi the Gypsy was now become John; no longer an outcast and a
wanderer, but a happy little Christian boy. Surely no child ever lived
so strange a life as he. Surely no boy ever had such queer playmates,
or studied in so wild a school.
First of all he had to become acquainted with his oddly-mixed family of
two-footed and four-footed brothers. Brutus was his friend from the
beginning. The great dog seemed to have adopted for his very own the
boy whom, led by some kindly angel, he had found that night in the
forest. But the other creatures were shy at first. They ran at the
sound of John's shrill boyish voice, and shrank from his quick
movements. They hid in the bushes when he came dashing and dancing
into the clearing after a romp with Brutus, and it would take some
patience to coax them back again.
John saw that this troubled the good old Hermit, whom he loved better
every day, and he tried to imitate his teacher's gentle voice and
manner and his soft tread. The little tumbler was himself light as a
feather, and graceful as the deer, his new-found sister. He was quick
to learn and naturally gentle, though his cruel life had made him
careless and rough. Soon he had made friends with all the Hermit's
pets, so that they knew and loved him almost as well as they did the
master of this forest-school.
In his green doublet and hose, clumsily patched with pieces of gray
serge from the Hermit's own cloak, John rambled about the wild woods,
looking like one of the fairy-folk of whom legends tell. Often he went
with the wise old man, who gave him lessons of the forest which he knew
so well. John learned to steal on tiptoe and surprise the ways of the
wood-folk,--the shy birds and the shyer little brothers who live in the
moss and mould. He grew wise in the lore of flowers and herbs, and
could tell where each one grew and when it blossomed, and which ones,
giving their life-blood for the sake of men, could cure disease and
bring comfort to the ailing. At night they watched the moon and the
far-off, tiny stars. These, too, became friends, many of them known to
John by name. He loved each one, for the Hermit said that they also
were his brothers and sisters, like the birds and beasts and fishes;
all being the children of that Father who had made this beautiful world
to be the home where all should live together.
But the book of Nature was not all that John studied in these days. He
learned to read also the written language of men, and studied the wise
and holy words which have kept goodness before men's sight since
knowledge began. Until now John had never opened a book or held a pen.
But the Hermit taught him wisely and well, and soon he was in a fair
way to become a scholar.
A busy life he led, what with his studies indoors and out and his
duties about the hut,--for the Hermit taught him to be deft in all
tasks, however simple and homely. John could cut up firewood or cook a
porridge with as happy a face as he wore when he played with Brutus or
sang the morning hymn of praise at the good Hermit's side.
One thing his teacher would not have him forget. He must practice his
tumbling every day. For the Hermit said, "No skill once learned will
ever come amiss, my son. You spent years and suffered hardly to gain
this agility. It seems to me not frivolous nor undignified, but a
beautiful thing, to keep one's body lithe and graceful even as are the
free-natured animals. Then practice, John; and some day even this
skill may not come amiss."
So the boy practiced daily in front of the cabin. He danced and
tumbled; he turned somersaults and stood on his head; he leaped with a
pole and swung nimbly as a monkey from the limbs of the overhanging
trees. And the circle of animals watched him gravely, marveling no
doubt at the strange antics of their brother; but, being now used to
his voice and manner, neither annoyed nor shocked by anything which he
might do.
[Illustration: The circle of animals watched him.]
When the day was over, John would throw himself on a soft bed of moss
under a tree, beside the Hermit seated on a log. Then they would read
or talk, and tell stories of what they had seen in the world of men.
Brutus would be curled down between them. Blanche and her kittens, big
and little, would play with John's hair as he lay there. The squirrel,
perched on the boy's doubled-up knees, would chatter and crack nuts.
The brown hares would run to and fro over his feet, while the doe and
her little fawn nibbled the grass close by, listening to the sound of
the human voices as though they liked it.
What a happy home it was! John wondered if ever any boy was so lucky
as he.
XII
THE BEAR
John had grown to love the little four-footed brothers dearly, and they
were great friends of his. But still the Hermit seemed to have a charm
about him which John lacked, and which drew even the strange new
creatures to him and made them trust him from the first. John longed
to learn this secret. But when he asked the old man about it he looked
at the boy kindly and said,--
"It will come, my son, with time. Love, live, and learn."
John had been with the Hermit some months, when happened an adventure
that interested him more than anything which had befallen. He was
walking one day with the old man in a part of the forest far distant
from their hut. They were looking for a rare and wonderful herb which
the sage needed to distill a certain precious balm.
"This should be the spot," said the old man, going toward a heap of
rocks around which grew a tangle of shrubs and creepers. "The plant
which I seek is shy, and hides in the shadows of sheltered places.
Yonder is a cave, where first I made my dwelling when I came to the
forest, before I built the hut in which we now live. And at the
entrance, I remember, grew the herb of grace, which more than once has
done me service in healing the hurts of my pets."
The Hermit plunged eagerly forward to the rocks. John followed close
behind. At the entrance to the cave the old man stooped to pluck the
herb which they had come so far to seek, and John, clambering beside
him, bent curiously to peer into the cave. Suddenly a sound from
within made him start. The Hermit paused in his task, and both stared
motionless into the blackness of the cave. Presently the sound came
again,--a deep growl ending in a whine.
"Some animal in pain," whispered the Hermit to John. "Stay you here,
my son. I will discover what it may be."
"Nay, father!" pleaded the boy. "It may be some fierce creature; it
may hurt you. Do not go!"
The old man turned beaming eyes upon him. "Never yet have I been hurt
by an animal," he said gently. "My body bears only the scars of human
hands. I am not afraid. But do you stay here, my son. You have not
yet quite learned the language of dumb things."
"I shall go with you!" said John to himself. He seized the staff which
the Hermit had dropped, and followed close upon his heels.
Soon their eyes became more used to the darkness of the cave, with
which the Hermit was already familiar. Presently out of the shadows in
a far corner they spied two red eyes glaring upon them. Behind the
eyes bulked a huge, apparently shapeless form. It half rose as they
drew near, and again they heard the growl of anger. But as the
creature made a sudden movement, the growl turned into a howl of agony,
and it rolled back into the corner, whimpering.
John plucked the Hermit by his robe. "It is a bear!" he said. "I have
met them sometimes upon the highways, traveling with mountebanks. And
the men told me that they were very fierce and hard to tame. Be
careful, my father! Go not near, I beseech you!"
But the old man paid no heed to his words. Bending forward, he made a
strange sound in his throat, a soothing, cooing noise. The bear heard
it, and ceased to whine. They saw the ugly head rear up and look at
the Hermit wildly. Again he made the sound, and stooping without fear
brought his face close to the bear's great body. The animal did not
move.
Presently the Hermit turned to John. "The poor beast has a wounded
paw," he said. "An arrow has hurt it badly."
He unfastened from his girdle a cup which he always carried in his
wanderings.
"Here, my son," he said, "fill this at the spring which we passed
yonder. The creature suffers from thirst."
John hesitated. "Is it safe to leave you here alone with this wild
beast?" he asked.
The Hermit smiled. "Quite safe," he said. "Do you think I need your
protection? Brother Bear will soon know me for his friend."
When John returned he found the Hermit sitting on the floor of the
cave, with the bear's paw resting on his knee. The animal was quiet,
save for a whimpering now and then. John could see his little red eyes
fixed upon the Hermit with a curious look of wonder and appeal. He
seemed unable to move, and the Hermit touched the beast quite
naturally, as if he were a great kitten. The bear stirred and turned
his eyes when John entered.
"Thanks, son," said the Hermit, taking the cup from the boy's hand;
and, turning again to' the bear, he held it to the animal's mouth.
"Drink, brother," he said.
Eagerly the bear lapped up the water.
"Now, my son," said the Hermit to John, "go you to the entrance of the
cave and pluck me a handful of the healing herb-leaves. I must bind up
this suffering paw."
"Surely, father," begged John, "you will not try to touch the
creature's wound. He will tear you to pieces!"
The old man turned reproachful eyes upon him. "Son," he said, "I have
tried to teach you obedience. Go, get me the leaves."
Without more words John hastened to do as he was bid. When he returned
with a handful of the plant, he found that the Hermit had bathed the
wounded paw of the now quiet animal. He had torn a strip of linen from
the shirt which he wore under his gray robe, and was making this into a
bandage. Soon he had crushed the leaves and had bound them upon the
foot of the bear, who lay still and gentle under his hands. John
stared, amazed.
"Now we will go home," said the Hermit softly, "and you, John, shall
return with food for this poor hungry brother. You will soon make him
your dear friend also. For, you see, he asks only love and patience.
Men have been cruel to him. But we will be kind to our Brother Bear."
Thus John learned a new lesson of courtesy to the wilder, bigger
beasts. That same day he made the long journey a second time, bringing
the bear his dinner, with a comb of wild honey which the Hermit had
found on the way home. And he had the joy of seeing the creature act
no longer like an enemy, but like a timid friend.
Day after day John went and ministered to the sick animal. At last,
there came a joyous time when the bear rose to greet him on his
approach. The injured paw was healed. And when John left the cave
that night, the bear hobbled at his heels, even to the clearing where
the Hermit lived. He would not go farther at that time. He sat down
on his haunches outside the border of tall trees, and when John tried
to coax him he looked at the hut doubtfully. At the sight of Brutus he
made lumberingly away.
A few evenings later, the bear came of his own accord to beg for his
supper; and at last this became a custom. Soon he also was accounted a
member of the animal kingdom, and became good friends with them all.
In time John taught him many tricks, such as he had seen the
mountebanks do with their traveling bears. But unlike them, John
taught only by kindness; and his bear learned the faster.
XIII
A FOREST RAMBLE
"Father," said John one summer afternoon, when his tasks for the day
were quite finished, "Brutus and I are going for a long walk."
"Very well, my son," answered the Hermit, "I will bide here and read my
book, for the heat has made me somewhat weary. But see that you return
before sunset."
"Yes, father," said John.
Slinging over his shoulder a little basket in which to fetch home any
strange plants which he might find in the forest, John whistled to
Brutus, and the pair trotted away together as they loved to do. The
Hermit looked after them, and smiled.
"John is a good boy," he said. "One day he will be a fine man. May
the Saints help me to make him worthy of his father and of the name he
bears." Then he turned to his beloved book.
John and Brutus went merrily through the forest, the boy singing under
his breath snatches of the cheerful hymns that he and the Hermit loved.
The dog ran ahead, exploring in the bushes, sometimes disappearing for
long minutes at a time, but ever returning to rub his nose in John's
hand and exchange a silent word with him. They were not going for any
particular errand to any especial spot. They were just rambling
wherever the forest looked inviting; which is the nicest way to travel
through the woods,--especially if one of you can be trusted to find the
way home, however wavering may be the trail that you leave behind. It
was what John loved to do more than anything in the world.
The woods were cool and green and full of lovely light. It was so
still and peaceful, too! The tiny queer noises all about, which once,
before he knew the kingdom of the forest, had frightened him so much,
now filled John with the keenest joy. Often he paused and listened
eagerly. He liked to feel that he was surrounded everywhere by little
brothers, seen and unseen. With a word to Brutus, which made the dog
lie down and keep perfectly quiet, John would steal forward softly and
peer through a screen of bushes, or into a treetop, and watch the
housekeeping of some shy brother beast or bird. Once he flung himself
flat on the ground, and lay for a long time eagerly watching the antics
of a beetle. A little later, with Brutus patiently beside him, he sat
cross-legged for ten minutes, waiting to see how a certain big yellow
spider would spin her web between two branches of a rose-bush.
They wandered on and on. A great golden butterfly rose before them
from a bed of lilies, and together he and Brutus ran after it; not to
capture and kill it, oh no! for to John the wonder of the flower with
wings lay in the life which gave it power to move about and pay calls
upon the other blossoms that must be always stay-at-homes. John chased
it gaily, as one brother plays with another. And when it lighted on a
rose-bush or a yellow broom-flower, or poised on a swaying blade of
grass, he crept up and admired its lovely colors without touching the
fragile thing. But at last, as if suddenly remembering an errand which
it had forgotten, the butterfly soared quickly up and away over the
treetops and out of sight.
"Good-by, little brother!" called John after it. "I wish I could fly
as you do and look down upon the kingdom of the forest! Then indeed I
would learn all the secrets of our friends up in the treetops there,
who hide their nests so selfishly. Oh, I should so love to see all the
little baby birds! To be sure, some that I have seen in the
ground-nests are ugly enough. Oh, the big mouths of them! Oh, the
bald skins and prickly pin-feathers! Ha! ha!" John laughed so
heartily that Brutus came running up to see what the joke was. "O
Brutus!" cried John. "I think I know why the father and mother birds
build their nests so high. They are ashamed to have any one see their
funny little ones before they are quite dressed!"
Brutus looked up in John's face and seemed to smile. The boy and the
dog often had talks together in this wise.
"I think I will ask them," said John. "Now, Brutus, lie still." He
gave a peculiar whistle, waited a moment, and repeated it, twice,
thrice. At the first call there was a fluttering in the branches
overhead. At the second call one saw the silhouettes of tiny bodies
dropping from branch to branch ever nearer to the boy below. At the
third, there was a flutter, a rush of wings, and a flock of dear little
birds came flying to John's shoulder, to his out-stretched arms, to his
head; so that presently he looked like a green bush which they had
chosen for their perch.
John talked with them in his own way, with chirps and lisping of the
lips, and they were no more afraid of him than of a good-natured tree.
But after a while, a fly, which had been tickling Brutus's nose, grew
so impertinent that the poor dog had to punish him with his paw. At
the sudden movement the birds fluttered away, and John looked
reproachfully at his friend. But when he saw the drop of blood on the
dog's nose he forgave him.
[Illustration: John talked with them.]
"Poor Brutus!" he said. "You kept still as long as you could, I know.
And indeed, it is time we were moving. Come, Brutus!"
The pair continued their voyage of discovery. The woods are so full of
thrilling stories for those who know how to read them! A field-mouse's
nest in a tuft of grass; a beehive in a hollow tree; tracks of a wild
boar in the muddy edge of the brook; a beautiful lizard changing color
to match the leaves and moss over which it crept. John longed to carry
this little brother home to join the circle of pets. But he knew it
was kinder to leave him there, where perhaps he had a home and family.
And oh, the flowers! So many kinds, so fragrant and so beautiful!
John gathered a great armful to carry back to the Hermit. And so the
minutes went; the shadows began to lengthen, and it was time to turn
homeward.
XIV
THE WOLF-BROTHER
John whistled to Brutus, to call him for the home-going. But just then
he spied a new plant whose name he did not know. He was stooping over
to examine the lovely pink blossoms, when Brutus came bounding up to
him, behaving strangely. He whined and looked distressed; he started
away into the bushes, begging John to follow. Evidently he had found
something which he wished John to see. The boy laid down his armful of
flowers and ran after the dog, as swiftly and softly as he could; for
he did not know what forest secret he might be about to discover.
Brutus led him straight to a hollow under a great rock. And there John
soon saw the cause of the dog's excitement. Stretched out on a bed of
leaves were four little gray bodies. John ran up to them with a cry.
"Why, they are puppies!" he said. "Brutus, you have found some little
brothers of your own!"
Brutus whined and sniffed about the rock strangely. John bent over the
little bodies, which lay quite still and seemed to be asleep. He
touched one softly. It was stiff and cold.
"Oh, they are dead, poor little things!" said John. "I am so sorry. I
hoped to take them home to my father. How came they here, I wonder?
They must have starved to death!"