"Yes," was the general answer; and from this time forth he was
unmolested,--for he had shown that his temper was proof against
teasing.
But on this occasion he formed the resolution of seeking intercourse
with his neighbors more than formerly. He saw that his duties to his
fellows were not circumscribed by the school-room.
The execution of this design was not long without its reward.
One Sunday afternoon, on returning from church-service, he took his way
by the street which skirted the hill-side, called the "Bruck," or
Bridge. An old woman was sitting in front of her house with her hands
folded and her head shaking with palsy. He said, kindly,--
"How do you do? The sunshine does you good, doesn't it?"
"Thank you, kind gentleman," answered the old woman, still nodding.
The teacher stood still.
"You have seen many summers, haven't you?" said he.
"Seventy-eight: a good number. Seventy years is the life of man, says
the Scripture. I often think Death must have forgotten me. Well, our
Lord God will fetch me in his own good time: he knows when. I sha'n't
get out of his sight."
"But you seem to keep up very well."
"Not very well,--the cramp; but this helps it." She pointed to the gray
threads she had tied around her arms, the veins of which were swollen.
"What is that?"
"Why, a pure virgin spun this before she broke her fast in the morning,
and spoke the Lord's Prayer three times while she did it. If you put
that round your arm, and don't cry out about it, and speak the prayer
to the Lord's holy three nails nine times over, it drives away the
cramp. I have to cough so much," she said, pointing to her chest, to
excuse the frequent interruptions in her speech.
"Who spun the threads for you?" inquired the teacher, again.
"My Hedwig,--my grand-daughter. Don't you know her? Who are you?"
"I am the new teacher."
"And don't know my Hedwig! Why, she's one of the choristers. What's the
world coming to, I'd just like to know! The schoolmaster doesn't know
the choristers any more!
"I used to sing in the choir myself,--though, to hear me cough, you
wouldn't think so. I was a smart lass: oh, yes. I was fit enough to be
seen: and once a year there was a grand dinner, and the parson and the
schoolmaster were there. Oh, they did use to sing the funniest songs
then, about the Bavarian Heaven, and such things! That's all over now:
the world isn't what it used to be when I was young."
"You love your grand-daughter very much, don't you?"
"She is the youngest. Oh, my Hedwig is one of the old sort; she lifts
me up and lays me down, and never gives me an unkind word. I almost
wish to die, just for her good,--she's kept home so much on account of
me; and, after I'm dead, I'll pray my best for her in heaven."
"Do you pray a great deal?"
"What can I do better? My working-days are over.
"I know a prayer which brings the souls out of the moon right into
heaven, and so that they don't get into purgatory at all. The Holy
Mother of God once said to God the Father, 'My dear husband, the way
the poor souls squeak and howl down there in purgatory is too bad: I
can't stand it any longer.' So he said, 'Well, I don't care: you may go
and help them.' So, there was a man in the Tyrol with eight children:
and his wife died, and he went on about it dreadfully when they carried
her to the churchyard. But the Mother of God came every morning and
combed the childrens' heads and washed their faces, and made the beds;
and for a long time the man never found out who did it all. At last he
went to the parson, and the parson came very early with the sacrament,
and saw the Mother of God flying out of the window, as white as snow;
and the prayer was lying on the sill; and they built a church on the
spot."
"And you know this prayer, ma'am?" said the teacher, taking a seat
beside her.
"You mustn't say 'ma'am' to me: it's not the way hereabouts."
"Have you more grandchildren?"
"Five more; and fourteen great-grandchildren,--and I'm going to have
another soon by my Constantine. Don't you know my Constantine? He is
studied too, but he's a wild one. I have no reason to complain of him,
though, for he's always good to me."
Suddenly there appeared, coming from behind the house, a girl, closely
followed by a snow-white hen. "Ha' ye gude counsel, grandmammy?" she
asked, scarcely looking up as she passed. The teacher was so taken by
surprise that he rose involuntarily and touched his cap.
"Is that your grand-daughter?" he asked, at length.
"To-be-sure."
"Why, that is splendid," said the teacher.
[Illustration: Coming from behind the house a girl appeared.]
"Isn't she a smart-looking lassie? Old George the blacksmith always
tells her, when she goes into the village, that she's just like his
grandmother. George the blacksmith is the last of the young fellows I
used to dance with: we might as well be three hundred miles apart as
the way we are: he's down in the village and can't come up to me, and I
can't get down to him. We'll have to wait until we meet each other
half-way in the churchyard. I expect to find all the old world there,
and in heaven it'll be better yet. My poor Jack Adam has been waiting a
long time for me to come after him: he'll be getting tired of it."
"All the people in the village must like you," said the teacher.
"Call into the wood, and you'll have a good answer. When we're young,
we want to eat everybody up,--some for love, and some for vexation:
when we're old, we live and let live. You wouldn't believe me how good
the people are here if I were to tell you: you'll have to find it out
yourself. Have you been much about in the world?"
"Not at all. My father was a schoolmaster like myself, and when he died
I was only six years old: my mother soon followed him. I was taken to
the Orphans' House, and remained there--first as a pupil, and then as
an incipient and assistant--until this spring, when I was transferred
here. Ah, my good friend, it's a hard lot to have almost forgotten the
touch of a mother's hand."
The old woman's hand suddenly passed over his face. He blushed deeply,
and sat for a moment with closed lids and quivering eyeballs. Then, as
if awaking from a dream, he seized her hand, saying,--
"I may call you grandmother, mayn't I?"
"Yes, and welcome, my kind, good friend: a grandchild more or less
won't break me, I'll try it, and will knit your stockings: bring me
your torn ones, too, to mend."
The teacher still kept his seat, unable to tear himself away. The
passers-by were astonished to find the proud man chatting so cosily
with old Maurita. At last a man came out of the house, rubbing himself
and stretching his eyes.
"'Had your nap out, Johnnie?" asked the old woman.
"Yes; but my back aches woefully with mowing."
"It'll get well again: our Lord God won't let any man get hurt by
working," answered his mother.
The teacher recalled the thoughts suggested by the bowing motion of the
mowers. He saluted Johnnie, and walked out into the fields with him.
Johnnie liked those conversations which were not attended with
drinking, and, therefore, free from expense. He found the teacher, who
was an excellent listener, in the highest degree amiable and smart. He
favored him with an exposition of his finances, with the story of
Constantine, and many other interesting particulars.
In the evening he informed all his friends that the teacher wasn't near
so bad as people made him out to be, only he couldn't drive his tongue
very well yet: he hadn't got the right way to turn a sharp corner.