WALTER AND MOTHER BOPP.
"Women are soft, mild, pitiable, flexible;
But thou art obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless."
Clear and bright rose the sun on the following morning. The birds
warbled, and the mowers were whetting their scythes in the fields. A
butcher's boy from the town, occupied in the business of his master,
was going, accompanied by his large dog, to the neighboring village,
and thought it best to take the short cut through the meadow. But
the dog suddenly ran to the little copse of hazel-bushes, shoved his
shaggy head deep in among the leaves, growled, and then sprang barking
back to his master, rapidly bounded off again to the thicket, and did
everything in his power to awaken the attention of his owner.
"Something must certainly be in there," thought the boy, as he hurried
to the spot where the dog was still standing and barking, to see if he
could discover anything. He drew the branches asunder, looked carefully
around him, and at last saw a sleeping child.
"What can be the meaning of all this?" he muttered to himself, as
he pressed into the thicket. "The deuce take me if it isn't a poor
forsaken child! There seems to be a card or a letter pinned upon his
breast. The mother who could do such a wicked thing must have had the
heart of a vulture! What a beautiful little fellow! Can the poor little
rascal have spent the whole night here? I suppose he has, for he looks
blue and frozen with the cold! What am I to do with him? If he should
waken up and cry, it would drive me crazy, for I am sure I wouldn't
know how to quiet him. Oh! now I know what to do with him! I will run
back to the town and tell the squire about it, for the child is lying
between his two fields; he has plenty, and will take care of him. I
will leave my piece of bread close by him, lest he should waken up and
cry for hunger. Now I must be off, for I have no time to lose!"
The boy soon carried his design into execution. The information that a
child, a foundling, had been left upon his land, in the hazel-bushes
which separated his meadows from his grain-fields, was given to the
squire as he sat at breakfast. The squire frowned, and wanted to hear
nothing more about the infant who had been placed upon his farm. In the
mean while, some of the people of the town, and some of the servants of
the squire, were sent out to see what the truth of the matter really
was.
Mayor, squire, and magistrates were soon assembled in the council
hall, to draw up a record, and to consider what it was best, under the
circumstances, to do. The sheriff held the foundling in his arms, and
the little fellow looked around him as if quite unconcerned about the
matter, while he was busily employed in consuming the hard piece of
brown bread which had been given to him by the good-hearted butcher's
boy.
The child was stripped, in accordance with the command of the squire,
in order that the letter, which was firmly sewed to his dress, might be
more conveniently read, and also to ascertain if any distinctive mark
could be found upon his body. The boy was clad in a dark woollen frock,
whose color had become almost undiscernible through constant use, and
a fine linen-cambric shirt, without any mark. A little round locket of
some worthless metal was fastened round his neck with a silken cord,
but all attempts to open the lid were in vain. Either it was not made
to open, or the spring which closed it was so hidden that none but
those already in the secret could find it out. This little locket gave
rise to the supposition that, although the boy seemed, at the present
moment, to be utterly forsaken, yet those who had deserted him still
preserved a wish to be able to identify him at some future period of
his life.
The letter was very badly written, and read as follows:--
"My name it is Walter.
Though still very young,
I have known want and care,
As to you I have sung;
Whoe'er will receive me
Will not be ashamed,
If once in his hearing
My lineage is named.
My parents are dead,
They sleep sound in the grave:
Alone they have left me,
Strange sufferings to brave.
I dare say nothing further:
Yet pity my grief,
Help me in my sorrow,
And yield me relief!
O, shelter me, women!
And harbor me, men!
O, save me from famine!
In God's name,--Amen!"
Mayor, squire, and magistrates looked inquiringly at each other. Many
guesses were made, many suppositions proposed to solve the mystery, and
the most searching inquiries were to be immediately instituted, with
a view of finding out who had been guilty of exposing the unfortunate
boy to the solitude and darkness of the past night. In the mean time,
it was determined that the child should be taken care of, and, after
a protracted discussion, it was finally resolved that he should be
boarded with one of the poor families of the village, and that his
expenses should be paid out of the revenues of the town. The people
were then called together, in order to make them acquainted with
the occurrences which we have just related, and the boy was finally
apprenticed to the one who was willing to take him at the lowest rate.
The town-fiddler, Bopp, had offered to feed and clothe him for so small
a sum, that the poor foundling, utterly unconscious of how destiny was
disposing of him, was given over to his charge. As he took the helpless
infant in his arms, to carry it home to its new brothers and sisters,
it grasped his hand with its tiny fingers, and smiled friendlily in his
face.
* * * * *
"Maggie! don't pound so with your feet, for you shake the table so that
my writing is blotted, and my letters all humpbacked!" said Conrad,
gruffly, to his sister, who was sitting beside him.
"What has the pounding of my feet to do with the shape of your
letters, I should like to know?" answered Maggie. "I can't help doing
it, at any rate; I must beat the time when father plays, it helps me on
with my knitting. If you would only be more careful, you would write
better. Look here, what a long piece I have knit in my stocking!"
With a rapid movement, she held her long blue stocking up immediately
in front of her brother's face; but as she did so, she awkwardly gave a
great push to his elbow, and so jostled his arm, that it drove the pen
full of ink entirely across his copy-book, and spoiled the appearance
of the whole page. Crimson with rage, the boy gave the little girl a
violent box upon the ears. Maggie shrieked loudly, and tried to revenge
herself in the same way. Thus a fierce battle began at the table,
round which the children were engaged in their studies. Not far from
it two fat, ruddy little boys were playing with the black house-cat.
Conrad and Maggie had wrestled and struggled forward until they were
close upon the little ones; Maggie stumbled over the cat, and fell upon
her little brothers. The children screamed, the cat yelled, so that
the baby in the cradle was waked up, and soon added his cries to the
general uproar. Quite undisturbed by all this frightful tumult, Father
Bopp stood tranquilly at the window, and practised a dance upon the
clarionet.
He was a little, slender man, and blew with his cheeks puffed out into
his instrument. His tailor-work, the signs of his daily occupation,
hung upon the wall, between his fiddles and horns. He was so accustomed
to the noise of the children, that he continued his practising without
appearing in the least disturbed by their deafening din. As tranquil
as the musician himself, as undisturbed by all that was going on in
the dark, dirty room, a beautiful little boy of about five years old
sat quietly at his feet. With his large, dark eyes fastened upon the
face of the father, his bare legs doubled up under him, he supported
himself, half reclining, upon his left hand, while with the right he
beat the time lightly, but accurately, upon his naked knee. He was
wretchedly clothed; his torn coat of dark-blue linsey was a great
deal too short, and, as it had neither buttons nor hooks to keep it
together, it gaped widely in front, exposing his breast and shoulders
to view, whose soft forms shone in their warm brown tints. His dark,
full curls fell uncombed and uncared for over his rounded forehead and
blooming face.
"Potz tausend! Odds bodikins! What a noise you are making there!"
called the mother from the adjoining kitchen. In the same moment she
made her appearance at the smoky door. She was a stout, strong woman,
her thick and coarse blond hair fell in uncombed masses from what had
once been a black velvet cap, but which had now assumed a gray tint
from age and constant wear. A gray petticoat, a long red jacket, a red
and black plaid neck-handkerchief, and a blue cotton apron, completed
the costume of the mother, whose clothing, as well as her full, red
face, bore visible marks of the life of the kitchen. Armed with a
broom, she sprang into the sitting-room, and brandished it over the
heads of the children, who were still tumbling about upon the floor.
"Will you be quiet, you noisy brats?" she loudly cried. "Get up from
the floor, instantly! What has happened? O, do quit that everlasting
blowing upon the clarionet, man! It is impossible to hear one's own
voice with such an incessant clatter! Which of you began it?"
"Conrad struck me!" screamed Maggie.
"Maggie pushed my elbow when I was writing, and I shall be kept in for
it to-morrow!"
"They both fell over me, and the cat scratched me!"
"They hurt my foot!"
"They knocked me in the head!"
Thus the children cried and screamed confusedly together, while the
baby in the cradle shrieked until it lost its breath.
"Silence!" commanded the mother, accompanying her order with a heavy
thump of the broom-handle upon the floor.
"What are you doing there, Walter?" she angrily cried. "Are you
sitting there again, with your eyes and mouth wide open, staring at
your noisy father, instead of rocking the cradle, as I ordered you to
do? Wait, you little good-for-nothing,--I'll give it to you!"
With a single bound, she stood by the frightened boy, tore him up by
the arms, slung him round with rude force, and then shook him fiercely.
Then she dragged him to the corner in which the cradle stood, and,
pushing him down by it, she said: "Sit here upon the floor, and don't
stir a single inch; and don't let me hear a single tone, a single
sound, from your ugly lips!"
She held her red fist, doubled up, threateningly before his eyes. The
poor child pressed his lovely face closely upon the dirty floor, to try
to stifle the loud sobs of pain which broke from his wounded body and
his crushed spirit.
In the mean time the children had become more tranquil. Conrad was
rubbing out the ugly stroke which marred the beauty of his copy-book;
Maggie tried to take up the stitches which had fallen, when she pulled
one of the needles out of the long blue stocking; and the two little
boys had run into the kitchen to hunt the black cat, which had taken
refuge under the table. The tailor-musician had put up his instrument
in its allotted place, put on his blue cloth roundabout, and, taking
his hat from the nail, was blowing the dust off it, as he said lightly
to his wife, who was trying to quiet the baby: "Listen to me, wife!
Walter had nothing at all to do with the noise and screaming of the
children; so don't be cross to him about it, will you?"
"What's that to you, I should like to know? Mind your own business,
and don't meddle yourself in things that don't concern you. Stick to
your needle and your fiddle: what do you know about children? That's
my business; and, potz tausend! I should like to see the man who would
dare to meddle in my affairs!"
"I am sure I have no wish to do it," said the crest-fallen little
tailor, "but you must not abuse Walter; for although he is so very
young, he can already play three dances upon the fife; in another year,
I can take him about with me when I play at the balls; and thus he will
soon be able to gain money for us all."
"Indeed!" cried the woman, scornfully. "He is a little miracle in your
eyes! But mark well what I say; if I don't keep your infant miracle in
order, he'll soon become a monstrous good-for-nothing. Odds bodikins,
but I intend to do it, too! Now go about your business at once, and
don't bother me with any more of your ridiculous nonsense!"
The tailor looked compassionately at the poor, sobbing boy, shrugged
his narrow shoulders, and, after an abrupt "good by," left the house.
Mother Bopp put the child in the cradle, ordered Walter to rock it
and watch the baby, and told Maggie to set the table for supper. This
command soon brought the still quarrelling brother and sister again
together. They all bestirred themselves busily, shoved the heavy oaken
table from the wall out into the middle of the room, and put stools and
benches round it. Maggie set a tin salt-cellar upon it, and placed a
large spoon near the salt. The four children took their seats at the
table. The mother soon brought in a great earthen bowl, full of smoking
potatoes, and put them on the table. She then seated herself in the
arm-chair, and they all began to eat their supper. But Walter still
remained alone on the floor in the corner, and rocked the cradle, while
he eagerly breathed the vapor from the smoking potatoes, which soon
spread itself through the low room.
A considerable time had elapsed, in which Maggie had often touched her
mother's arm, and looked pleadingly and significantly towards Walter,
but it had not produced the least effect upon Mother Bopp. Maggie had
eaten very little herself, and two or three potatoes, which she had
carefully selected, still lay before her, which she boldly protected
against all Conrad's attempts to appropriate to himself. At last,
Mother Bopp cried, "Walter!" and the boy hastened to her side.
"Will you always mind what I say to you? will you always do what I tell
you to do, and never again lie, like a little idler, upon the floor?"
"Yes!" sobbed the boy, "I will never again forget to rock Johnny, even
if my father should play upon the clarionet!"
"Well, then, if you will promise always to be good, I will punish you
no more to-day. Sit down, then, and eat your supper, and mind that you
begin no quarrelling with the children!"
Walter slipped quietly to the corner of the table, where Maggie made
room for him, and secretly shoved before him the potatoes which she had
so carefully chosen.
"See now," growled Conrad, "you can pick and peel potatoes enough for
Walter, but I have to peel them for myself. Can't he peel them for
himself as well as I can?"
"No, for you are a great deal larger than he is, and can peel two
before he is ready with one; and you have already eaten a great many,
and he is just beginning," answered his sister.
"But I will have these, too!" he cried, defiantly, and attempted to
seize them.
Walter tried anxiously to cover his treasure with his little hands;
Maggie helped him, but Conrad was strong, and soon again began to beat
them. Mother Bopp, who had gone for a moment to the cradle, turned
angrily round, and in a great passion cried, "What! fighting already?
Who began it?"
"Conrad took my potatoes from me," said Walter, in a meek voice.
"The stupid little devil lies; they didn't belong to him at all, for
Maggie peeled them!" screamed Conrad.
"I don't tell a lie," said Walter; "he did take them away from me."
"Walter is right; Conrad is both a thief and a liar!" asserted Maggie.
"Can it be possible that Walter is fighting again? That is too much to
bear!" cried Mother Bopp in a rage. "Didn't I just tell you, you must
be good, and that you must never fight again? You are a bad, wicked,
troublesome fellow! Off,--off to bed with you! You shall not taste a
single bite of anything to-night!"
"But, indeed, mother," interrupted Maggie, "it is not at all Walter's
fault; Conrad--"
"Hold your tongue, miss!" cried Mother Bopp. "Much you know about right
and wrong, to blame your own brother! You had better take care of
yourself, or--"
The raised hand and threatening face explained sufficiently this
mysterious "or."
Maggie sunk into a gloomy silence, and secretly wiped the tears from
her eyes. Conrad made a triumphant face at her, and ate at his ease the
peeled potatoes which he had so unjustly stolen from the foundling; and
poor Walter, hungry and crying, stole to hide himself in his wretched
bed.
It was very late; everybody had gone to rest, but Walter could not
sleep. But when the rest of the family retired, he too, out of fear,
pretended to go to sleep, but he could not do so; and as he restlessly
tossed about upon his bed, the straw crackled under him. He thought
he heard some one lightly calling his name. He sat up, and saw Maggie
standing beside him, who asked him in a whisper, "Why don't you go to
sleep?"
"Dear Maggie, I can't, I am so hungry!"
"I thought so, poor little fellow!" she answered compassionately.
"Here, I picked up two potatoes while mother was in the kitchen, and
slipped away a little bit of bread, too. Eat them, Walter! But take
care that you don't let any crumbs fall in the bed; for if mother
should find out to-morrow that you have had anything to eat to-night,
it would be bad enough for us both!"
"Dear, good, kind Maggie, thank you, thank you!" said the child, while
he eagerly devoured the cold potatoes.
"Good night!" "Good night!" said the children to each other as they
parted. Maggie slipped quietly back to her bed again; and after Walter
had satisfied his hunger, he slumbered sweetly and quietly on until the
morning dawned.
* * * * *
The scene which we have just sketched may serve to give some idea
of the loving hearts to which the poor foundling had been intrusted.
Mother Bopp had persuaded her husband, whom she completely ruled,
to take the child, because she thought that, where so many children
had to be fed, one mouth more would scarcely add anything to the
necessary expenses, and that the little sum which the mayor, squire,
and magistrates were willing to pay from the town revenues for his
keeping would be very useful to her in various ways. In what manner she
fulfilled the duties which she had assumed for the deserted boy, we
have already seen. At least, the "one mouth more added nothing to the
additional expenses."
In spite of her cruelty, the boy was strong and healthy, and both
in beauty and behaviour far surpassed the little Bopps. This was,
however, only a new ground for her deep and intense hatred. Walter
was maltreated, starved, and beaten. But, even if crying from pain
and hunger, when Father Bopp commenced his daily practising upon his
instruments, he would cease upon the very first tones, and, creeping
close to the feet of the tailor, he would listen to him with the
greatest apparent satisfaction. For this reason, the tailor-musician
began to love the deserted boy even more than any of his own children,
who never paid the least attention to his playing. This of course
increased the hatred of Mother Bopp to the unfortunate orphan, and
awakened the envy of her darling, the red-headed, noisy, wicked Conrad.
Maggie had felt a tender compassion and real affection for the luckless
child, from the first moment in which he had entered her home, a
desolate but beautiful creature of about three years old. She cherished
and protected him to the extent of her power.
The tailor began to give Walter lessons in music when he was only
about five years old. He taught him upon a fife which was of the
right size for his little hand, and he could soon play several dances
tolerably well. It was his intention to render his progress as rapid
as possible, and to teach him all the dances in common use, so that
he might take him with him to play at fairs, parties, and wedding
festivities. Mother Bopp had nothing to urge against it, because she
saw that he would soon be able to earn some money in this way; but
she always contradicted and battled with her husband, when he spoke
of the astonishing talent which the child possessed, or expressed his
astonishment at the rapidity of his progress. She said Conrad would
have learned a great deal faster, if his father had only taken the
trouble to have taught him. But, indeed, she thought it was better it
should be so, for Conrad was far too smart to content himself with
being nothing more than a town-fiddler. No, indeed! She had higher
views for him: he should be a student. When such remarks were made by
Mother Bopp, the tailor would heave a light sigh, and say, "Well, well,
we'll see about that."
He never ventured to contradict his wife openly; but when it grew too
stormy and uncomfortable for him at home, he used to go to the Golden
Star, and drink his sorrows into forgetfulness. But when he came
staggering back to the house, he had often the courage to express and
maintain different opinions from those held by his wife. But she always
got the upper hand in such contests, for she forcibly supported her
right to tyrannize in her own province, and knew how to hold him under
the most despotic petticoat government.
These vulgar scenes and low squabbles were the first impressions which
the young spirit of Walter received. He loved the father and Maggie,
and hated the mother and Conrad. When he was about seven years old,
he could play the fiddle and fife almost as well as the tailor, and
accompanied him everywhere where his business called him. Indeed, the
people soon refused to employ the old musician without the young one,
which pleased the little tailor exceedingly, because it furnished him
with an excuse to have Walter always with him. The squire himself had
admired the skill of the foundling, and sent him a present of a violin
as a Christmas gift, which made Walter so happy, that it enabled him to
bear, almost unnoticed, the constant and provoking malice of Conrad.
So Walter, with the new fiddle which the squire had given him at
Christmas, went everywhere with the tailor, and his happiest hours
were spent far from the house of his tormentors. Without ever growing
tired, he played away in the midst of dust and tobacco-smoke, laughed
at the coarse jokes which occurred, drank off, without thinking, the
brandy and strong beer which was handed to him; and when, through the
stimulating effects of such draughts, his shyness and bashfulness
vanished, and his vivid spirit manifested itself in droll jests and
witty speeches, then old and young would crowd around him, admire his
musical talent, and laugh at his smart sayings; and the more impudent
and spoiled he became, so much the more was he the petted darling of
the farmers and mechanics.
Thus was Walter upon the high road to destruction; thus might he have
become a complete good-for-nothing. But the stain of this spoiling by
the inconsiderate populace was only upon the outer man; and his inner
nature remained pure and unhurt, so that the evil vanished as soon as
its cause was removed.
Notwithstanding the constant interruptions which occurred in his
attendance at school, from which, at times of festivals and weddings,
he was often absent for whole weeks together, as he was industrious and
desirous of acquiring knowledge, he made rapid progress in his studies.
The praises and rewards given him by the different teachers in the
school excited Conrad's envy to the highest degree, and greatly enraged
Mother Bopp.
The yearly examinations had just ended. Among those who had taken the
highest prizes Walter stood conspicuous. Conrad had obtained none.
Walter stood, with his cheeks glowing with excitement, turning over
the leaves in the books which he had just received, when the venerable
pastor approached him, stroking, as if he were well pleased with
him, his dark, clustering curls, and said to him: "I hope, my child,
that you will win, next year, the prizes in the higher classes. But
in order to render this possible, you must not lose so much time at
school as you have done this year. Music, in the right time and place,
is certainly a very good thing, my son; but you are now at the right
age to acquire more extended and general knowledge, and the loss of
proper schooling in our early years can never be replaced by any future
application, however severe it may be. It is also high time that you
should begin to study the Word of God; and if the director of the
school continues to be as well satisfied with you as he is at present,
I will take you under my own care, and myself instruct you in all
necessary knowledge."
Walter's eyes sparkled with delight; an exclamation of grateful joy
parted his rosy lips; he stammeringly promised to do all that would be
required of him, and with both his little hands he trustingly pressed
the hand of the pastor, who bade him a cordial good-by. He then turned
to the tailor, and advised him not to keep the child from his school to
go about to fairs and weddings with him, and thus prevent his otherwise
certain progress in his studies. The tailor promised that he would do
so no more, and then spoke of the genius of the boy for music, and of
his own strong attachment to him.
Then they all left the school-room, and when they stood in the street
before the door of the school, the elated tailor could contain himself
no longer, but seized the boy in his arms, pressed him to his breast,
and kissed him frequently, as he said, "You dear little fellow! I
always knew you were a smart boy, and now I am sure you will do me
credit some day or other."
In a very bad humor, Mother Bopp ran her elbows into his side, and
wakened him, not very pleasantly, from his dreams of joy and honor.
He saw a dark storm lowering upon the threatening brow of his wife,
and knew that, as soon as they were sheltered by the privacy of their
own roof, a perfect avalanche of abusive words would flow from the
bitter, firmly-closed, thin lips. Frightened at once into silence, he
quietly slipped behind his angry spouse, and placed as many of the
school-children as he could between himself and the ruffled dame. But
as their way led through a back street, in which the glittering sign
of the Golden Star enticingly hung, he slipped, unobserved, into the
beloved precincts, in order to gain courage to face the tornado which
he felt awaited him at home.
Poor little Walter was soon driven from the heaven which the praise
of his teachers and the smiles of the venerable pastor had prepared
for his heart. Conrad told his mother that Walter had made use of the
meanest and most disgusting arts of hypocrisy and flattery to win the
love of the teacher, and that it was entirely through unjust partiality
that he had obtained the prizes, which all the boys in the school knew
he did not deserve.
"Mean hypocrite!" cried the angry woman, "I'll teach you to play your
low tricks upon us, you detestable viper! Do you really think I'll
suffer you thus to impose upon my son, and not punish you for it? I
don't care whether the schoolmaster or the parson does it, but it's
infamous and scandalous that a miserable foundling, whom nobody knows
anything about, nor in what jail or penitentiary his parents may now be
stuck, should be preferred to the decent children of honest people!"
Walter's cheeks glowed like fire; he pressed his hands spasmodically
together, while the lightning fairly flashed from his lustrous eye as
he gazed angrily at the irritating woman. She well knew that there was
nothing she could have said or done which would have wounded him as
deeply as this stigma cast upon his unknown parents.
"Only look, mother!" said the malicious Conrad. "Look! Walter stares
at you as if he were going to eat you up! He scorns and defies you,
mother!"
"Does he? O, I know how to break him of that! I'll beat the life
out of him, or I'll break his defiant temper!" said she, exasperated
to perfect fury, while she slapped him again and again, with all her
strength, in his face. "March into the room, sir! march! You sha'n't
leave the house to-day! You sha'n't go to the school festival at all,
sir! You are no fit companion for honest people's sons, you beggar's
brat! The pastor shall know before the day is over what a mean,
hypocritical, wicked, ungrateful boy you are!"
No expression altered in the lines of Walter's young face; he was so
accustomed to abuse that he had long borne it with an air of calm and
cold defiance. Without making any reply, he went quietly into the room,
as he had been ordered, and concealed the rage boiling in his heart
under an appearance of perfect indifference. He soon after took up
his violin, and, as he played, peace and tranquillity returned to the
tortured little breast.
Twilight began to darken into night, and the children had not yet
returned from the school festival. Walter had played until he was
really tired, had put his violin down upon the table, and, with his
head resting upon his arm, had sunk to sleep. When the tailor, half
intoxicated, returned home, the customary scene of quarrelling was
renewed. Walter was awakened by the noise; he listened, and heard the
falling of the blows which the strong and vigorous woman was heaping
upon the fragile little man whom he loved, and who had never said an
unkind word to him since his entrance into the family. His heart bled
for the poor tailor, and all the bitterness in his nature was aroused
against the wicked woman who treated them both so cruelly.
"Wait a moment, wicked woman!" he murmured. "Conrad is not in the house
to help you, and the father shall have the best of it to-day!"
With one rapid bound he was in the room, and fastened his arms round
the feet of Mother Bopp, so that she might be thrown down, and thus
forced to release her husband. She was surprised for a moment when
she felt herself thus suddenly caught, but seeing immediately that
it was only Walter, she tried to push him away with her feet. With
her left hand she grasped the little tailor by the throat, while with
her right she brandished the yardstick. Again and again she struck
him violently over the head and shoulders with it. Alas! Walter could
endure it no longer! He seized the round and powerful arm, and fastened
his sharp, snow-white teeth firmly in the solid flesh. She screamed
loudly with the sudden pain, the yardstick sunk from her right hand,
the left loosened its grasp from the throat of the tailor, and wreathed
itself in the dark locks of the unfortunate boy. The tailor fell upon
the floor, muttering words which were quite unintelligible. Walter
had pulled his teeth out of the athletic arm, and the blood dropped
down upon his head. He looked at it unaffrighted, nay, rather with a
triumphant expression, and said,--
"You shall never beat my father again! I will never suffer you to do
it again, never! I am growing taller and stronger every day, and I will
henceforth always help him. You cannot treat me worse than you have
hitherto done, unless you kill me outright. Do that if you dare; for if
you do, you know you will be hanged!"
Actually struck dumb with astonishment and rage, the woman looked down
upon the defiant little hero. Recovering herself, however, she seized
him by the arm, dragged him to the front door, and, as she pushed him
down the steps, cried after him,--
"Off with you! off with you, you good-for-nothing little rascal! Go and
beg your bread where you can! If you ever dare to enter my house again,
I'll strike you dead with a club, like a mad dog! I'll teach you to
bite like a bloodhound!"
The heavy bolt fell jarringly in its place, and Walter stood in the
street alone!
Soon after, the school-children, full of joyous prattle, began to
return from their festival, and poor Walter hid himself, that they
might not see him as they passed by. The moon looked calmly down upon
the house from which he had just been driven. He had never known any
home but this, and although he had spent many wretched days there, yet
the separation from it pained his heart. He said to himself, as the big
tears rolled rapidly down his cheeks,--
"How many stories she will tell about me! The good pastor, who spoke
so very kindly to me to-day, and my teacher,--oh! they will all learn
to think so badly of me, for she will tell them all what a wicked,
dreadful boy I am! But she might say of me all she could, if she would
only stick to the truth. But she won't do that! Suppose I were to go
myself to the pastor, and tell him how it all happened? But that would
be of no use to me, for perhaps he would not believe me, and it would
not bring me back to my home. Nothing would ever induce me to enter the
house again! No, she shall never again have a chance to beat me like
a mad dog! I need not beg either, as she says I must. I can support
myself very well, if she would only let me have my fiddle! Ah! if
Maggie had been there, she could have told the pastor that I only tried
to help her father, because he is so much weaker than this strong,
cruel woman!"
As these thoughts were passing through the mind of Walter, the door
of the house was softly opened, and Maggie slipped noiselessly up the
street, looking searchingly in every direction, and at last cried, with
a suppressed voice,--
"Walter!"
"I am here!" answered the boy, and Maggie hastened to meet him.
"O Walter!" she said, "why have you treated my mother so badly? Her arm
is very much swollen, and she suffers a great deal of pain!"
"I am not sorry," answered the boy; "I would like to leave her a long
remembrance of Walter."
"Shame! shame! Walter, that is wicked!" scolded Maggie. "I never could
have believed that you would have spoken in such a cruel manner. Do you
not know that he who lifts up his hand against his father or mother
stands near his own grave?"
"But she is not my mother at all; and you know she has always reviled
me as a poor, miserable foundling. But, Maggie, you must not think that
I bit her because she whipped me. She may say what she will about it,
but I will tell you the truth. I ran in to help your father. Could I
stand quietly by, and see him beaten with the hard, heavy yardstick?
No! I could not bear it; for he is not strong enough to contend with
her,--and he is so good and kind, and never likes to hurt anybody. You
know I have borne calmly enough all her harsh treatment to myself,
no matter how unjust and unkind she might be to me,--as she was this
morning when I brought my school-prizes home, and she beat me; yet you
know, Maggie, I never retaliated my wrongs upon her. But indeed I could
not see the weak father so abused! Ah, dear Maggie! do not let them
slander me! Tell the good pastor, and my kind schoolmaster, that I did
not do it to defend myself from her blows, but only to help my poor,
weak father!"
"Yes, yes, I will! I will indeed!" sobbed Maggie; "but what can you do
for yourself, poor boy? Hide yourself anywhere you can to-night, and
then come to-morrow and beg mother's pardon, so that you can come home
and live with us again!"
"Never! never!" said the boy, hastily. "I will never enter the door
again! Your mother pushed me out, called me a dog, and threatened to
knock me down dead with a club if I ever crossed her threshold again!
She said I would have to beg my bread. Beg, indeed! I am far enough
from that, I can tell you! If I only had my fiddle, I could take
care of myself well enough, for I can play all the dances as well as
anybody! Beg, indeed!"
"You are right," said Maggie. "You are a musician, and there is no
reason you should be beaten and abused by anybody."
"Yes,--but without an instrument!" said Walter, sadly. "My fiddle, and
the beautiful book that I got to-day in school, as a reward, are surely
my own property; they lie both together in the chamber."
"Don't fret about them, Walter, for I will bring them both to you,"
said Maggie, soothingly. "Stay here in the shadow of the wall; as soon
as mother goes to sleep, I will find them, and bring them to you. Here
is a piece of bread; it is all I could find in the kitchen, and I have
brought you a cake home from the school festival. Good-by! Don't grow
weary waiting for my return; but if I don't go back now to the house,
mother will miss me, and I may not be able to get out again."
[Illustration: THE YOUNG ARTIST.]
Maggie hastened away, and the boy seated himself in the shadow of the
wall, ate his bread and school-cake, and soon slept tranquilly upon the
cold stones.
After a considerable time had elapsed, Maggie wakened him up; she had
the treasured fiddle, and a little bundle in her hand.
"Here, poor boy, is your fiddle!" she sobbed; "I have tied your shirts
and your book up in this bundle. The father sends you a thousand
good-byes; he has somewhat recovered himself, and is very much
distressed at your going away. But he thinks that when you get away
from here, and mingle in the world, that you may become a great artist.
He sends you the few pennies which he had by him, and begs that, when
you go into the wide, wide world, you will not forget him, for that he
will always love you. He whispered this secretly to me, when mother
was in the kitchen, and our wicked Conrad in his chamber. Good-by!
good-by, my dear, dear Walter! and don't forget Maggie in the wide,
wide world!"
"Farewell, dearest Maggie! Stand by your father whenever they treat
him badly. When I have grown to be a great artist, as the father says
I will,--and you may be sure he must know something about it,--I will
have plenty of money; and then you, Maggie, and the good father shall
live with me, and I will try to reward you for all the kindness you
have both shown me. But I cannot let your mother and Conrad live with
me, for they are so bad that they would make us all unhappy; but I will
give them plenty of money, so that they can have pancakes every day in
the week for dinner, and a nice piece of roast beef for Sundays."
"Will you really do all that, Walter?" said the child, as she clapped
her hands in astonishment and delight.
The boy proudly and confidently nodded an assuring "Yes," and Maggie
continued,--
"What a good-hearted boy you are! Only make haste to be a great artist,
that we may soon meet again! O how very happy father, you, and I might
be together! Until then, Walter, farewell!"
"Farewell, Maggie!" said Walter.
Then the two children embraced each other. They parted, consoled in
some degree by the idea of soon meeting again. Maggie slipped back into
the house, and Walter, carrying his bundle on a stick slung over his
shoulder, and his violin under his arm, passed, full of hope, through
the closing gate of an unhappy past, into the breaking dawn of an
uncertain future!