Wiseli also rejoiced over the flowers and the sunshine, especially when

she went to and from school. Beyond this she had little time for

enjoyment, for she had so much work to do. Every moment out of school

she had to employ in some useful occupation; and, indeed, often was

obliged to stay away from school for a half-day at a time, there was so

much to be done that could not be neglected, as her cousin Gotti, and

particularly his wife, were forever telling her. The cultivation of the

fields had begun, and also the garden work; and when her cousin's wife

was in the garden, then Wiseli had to wash the cooking utensils, and had

the hogs' trough to cleanse and carry back to the barn; and then the

boys' stockings and shirts must be mended, and her cousin's wife always

said, "Oh, the child can do that, she has nothing else to do;" and yet

she never was idle a single moment, and felt almost giddy at times,

because she was called from one piece of work to another before she had

time to breathe. Moreover, she found that if, for example, she ran over

to the field with the seed-potatoes that her cousin Gotti was calling

for, then his wife would scold because she had not made the kitchen-fire

for the supper, as she was bidden to do; but if she stopped to make the

fire, then she was found fault with by Cheppi because she had not mended

the hole in his jacket-sleeve he had told her to long ago; and everybody

called out, "Why don't you do this, or why don't you do that? you have

nothing else to do." She was glad to go to school whenever she was

allowed to go, for she was quiet for a while then; and, moreover, in

that place the poor child heard a pleasant word now and again. For each

time that recess came, or they left school to go home, Otto would come

to her, and talk with her pleasantly for a while, or give her an

invitation from his mother to visit them on Sunday evening and play

games with the children. Poor Wiseli could never avail herself of these

charming invitations, because on Sunday she had always to make the

coffee for the family; and her cousin's wife said that she could not

think of letting the child go away to visit on the only day when she was

really of some use to her. But the child was glad that Otto always asked

her, though she could not go, and that he always spoke kindly to her;

for those were the only friendly acts or words that she knew of

nowadays. There was still another reason that made it pleasant for

Wiseli to go to school, and that was the passing by Andrew the

carpenter's pretty garden on her way there. She always paused and looked

over the low hedge, hoping that she might catch sight of the carpenter;

for she had her mother's message to deliver, and never ceased hoping to

find the opportunity. She was far too shy to go into the house for that

purpose. She felt that she did not know Andrew well enough to venture to

do that. She was particularly timid with him, because he was so very

quiet, and always looked at her kindly when they met, but never spoke;

or, at least, never said more than a kindly word in passing. And she had

never succeeded in catching even a glimpse of him, no matter how long

she stood by the hedge and looked over.

May passed, and June. The long days of summer came, with more and more

work to be done in the fields, and work that was ever hotter and hotter.

Wiseli felt this keenly when her cousin Gotti called her out to help

with the haymaking, and the heavy rake was so hard for her to lift; or,

worse still, to handle the clumsy wooden fork when the hay needed

spreading in the sun to dry.

She often was obliged to work in the fields, and in the evening was so

tired out that she could scarcely move her poor little arms. She never

fretted, however, for she thought it was necessary and right; but often,

when she was still for a moment in the evening, it hurt her sadly to

hear Cheppi call out, "You ought to do your examples in arithmetic now,

as I do. You are never doing any thing out of school, and in the classes

you are always behind the others."

She would have liked to study and get on at her lessons, if she could

only have gone regularly to school, and been able to keep up with the

class. She was well aware that she was far behind her schoolmates; but

what could she do, when she only got a little here and there, and all

was confused for her, and she never knew what lessons were given out for

the out-of-school studies. When she came quite unprepared to school, and

could not answer the questions put to the class, she was overwhelmed

with mortification, especially when the teacher would say, before all

the other children, "I did not expect to see you so behindhand,

Wiseli,--you of all others, who used to be so clever at your books."

Then she used to feel fit to sink through the floor for shame, and would

cry all the way as she walked home. But she did not dare to answer

Cheppi back when he taunted her, because then he would begin to cry and

scold, and make a noise, until his mother came in, when she, too, would

reproach her with being behind her classes, because Cheppi said she was.

So Wiseli often kept back her tears, and only gave way when she was

alone; and sometimes it did seem to her as if she were quite forgotten

by her heavenly Father and her mother, and as if nobody in the whole

world cared for her; and she was too sad at heart even to say her

comforting hymn for a long time; but she could not rest nor sleep until

she had done so, even though there was little satisfaction for her in

the words.

One beautiful evening in July Wiseli slept, after a sad time of weeping,

and could not obtain an answer, the next morning, to her question of

whether she might go to school with the boys.

Off scampered the boys. She looked sadly after them through the open

window as they sprang away gayly through the flower-besprinkled grass,

and chased a cloud of white butterflies along in front of them as they

ran through the brilliant sunshine.

Her cousin's wife had prepared the big wash,--this was the work laid out

for the whole week. Must Wiseli work there too?

Yes: already she heard a calling from the kitchen, and her cousin Gotti

called her by name,--he stood at the well, and saw her looking out of

the window.

"Make haste, make haste, Wiseli; it is time to be off: the boys are

half-way to school. All the hay is in: make haste and go too." She did

not wait till he told this twice. Like a flash she snatched her satchel

and was off.

"Tell the teacher that I have not sent him his money for a long time,

but he must not be vexed at that, we have had so much work with the hay

this summer."

How happy the child felt as she flew along! She need not stand all day

at the wash-tub: she could go instead to school. How beautiful it was

everywhere about! The birds sang more sweetly than ever from the

trees, the grass was scented, and the pretty red and yellow flowers

glistened in the sun. Wiseli could not stop to enjoy them,--it was too

late for that,--but she felt the beauty as she ran along, and rejoiced

at every step.

That same evening, just as all the children streamed out of the

close schoolroom into the beautiful afternoon light, the teacher

called out, with his serious face peering into the little crowd,

"Whose week is this?"

"Otto's, Otto's," called the whole company at once, and ran off.

"Otto," said the teacher, earnestly, "yesterday it was not swept up here

at all. I excuse you for once; but do not let it happen again, or I must

punish you, boy."

Otto looked for a moment at all the nut-shells and apple-parings and

bits of paper that lay scattered about the floor waiting to be brushed

up; then he turned his head quickly away, and scampered out of the door,

for the teacher had disappeared into his own part of the house. Otto

stood outside and gazed about him at the golden sunset, and thought, "If

I could go home now, I could get a capful of cherries, and I could ride

the brown horse home from the field when the groom fetches the hay; and

now I must stay here instead, and sweep up these scraps from the floor!"

And Otto was so angry over this unpleasant task, that he scowled about

him, saying, "I wish the day of judgment would come, and carry off the

schoolhouse, and break it up into a thousand pieces!" But every thing

was still and peaceful all about, and not a sign of any such ravaging

earthquake to be seen or heard.

After a while Otto turned back towards the schoolroom-door with a savage

determination, for he knew that he must bite into his sour apple, or be

punished the next day by having to sit still during recess; and he would

not run the risk of that disgraceful punishment. He entered the room,

but stood still with surprise as soon as he stepped past the threshold.

Every thing was brushed up in the school-room: not a scrap nor bit to be

seen anywhere. The windows all stood wide open, and the soft evening

breeze blew through the quiet room. Just then the teacher came out of

his own room and looked about him, and at the staring Otto, and said,

pleasantly, "You may well look about you with satisfaction. I did not

think that you could do it so well. You are a good scholar; but you have

surpassed yourself to-day in cleaning up, for I never saw it so neatly

done before."

So saying, the teacher went away; and after Otto had convinced himself

by a last glance that what he saw was fact, and no witchcraft, he dashed

down the steps, two at a time, across the little place and up the

hillside: and not until he began to tell it all to his mother did he

begin to wonder to whom he was indebted for this good turn.

"Nobody has done it through a mistake, that is certain," said his

mother. "Have not you some good friend who is noble enough to sacrifice

himself in this way for you? Think over all of them: who can it be?"

"I know," cried Pussy, who had been listening eagerly.

"Yes; pray who?" said Otto, half curiously, half incredulously.

"Jack, the mouse," explained Pussy in a tone of conviction; "because you

gave him an apple last year."

"Oh, yes; or William Tell, because I did not take away his, year before

last. One would be quite as probable as the other, you wonderfully

clever Puss." And Otto ran away barely in time to catch the groom, who

was going for the hay.

Wiseli also ran about this time. Down the hill with a happy heart and a

merry countenance, past Andrew's garden, she ran, jumping and leaping in

her frolicsome mood; and then about she went, and jumped back again to

the garden, for she had espied the pinks all in bloom just within the

enclosure, and must look at them again, they, were so beautiful. "I

shall soon overtake the boys," she thought; "they stop at every corner

to play ball."

But the pinks were most lovely to look upon; and they had such a

sweet perfume, too, that the child lingered, looking over the low

hedge for a long time. Suddenly Andrew came out of his house-door,

and stood in front of Wiseli. He offered her his hand over the hedge,

and said most kindly,--

"Will you take a pink, Wiseli?"

"Yes, indeed," she replied; "and I have a message to give you from

my mother."

"From your mother?" repeated Andrew the carpenter in great surprise, and

let the pink that he had just gathered fall from his hand. Wiseli ran

round the hedge and picked it up from the ground; then she looked up at

the man who stood still and looked at her strangely, and said,--

"Yes; at the very end, when my mother could do nothing more, she drank

up the nice syrup that you put on the kitchen-table for her, and it

refreshed her very much; and she charged me to tell you that she thanked

you for it very much indeed, and for all the many acts of kindness that

you had shown her; and she said, 'He always felt kindly to me.'"

Now Wiseli perceived that big tears rolled from Andrew's eyes and fell

over his cheeks. He tried to say something, but could not speak. He

pressed the child's hand, turned him about, and went into the house.

Wiseli stood still and wondered. Nobody had wept for her mother. Even

she had not dared to cry, except when nobody could see her; for her

cousin said that he would not have any whining, and she was even more

afraid of making his wife angry. And now here was some one who wept

because she had spoken of her mother to him. It seemed to the child as

if Andrew were her very best friend upon the earth, and she felt herself

strongly drawn towards him. But now she ran with her pink as fast as

possible towards the beech grove; and it was well that she did so, for

she saw the boys also drawing near the house, and it would never have

done for her to be later than they.

Wiseli said her prayer with a light heart that night, and could not

understand why she had been so depressed the night before, and why she

had felt no confidence in God's kindness, and could not even say her

hymn. Now she felt sure that he had not forgotten her, and she would

never allow herself to think that again. Had she not received many kind

things from him? And as she fell asleep she saw before her the kind face

of Andrew the carpenter, with the tears in his eyes.

On the following day--it was Wednesday--Otto was again surprised by the

good deed performed for him by his unknown friend; for he could not

refrain from going out with the others when school was first over, and

making a few gambols here and there to refresh himself after the long

confinement. When, at last, he returned somewhat sadly to his work, it

was all done again, and the schoolroom perfectly tidy. Now his curiosity

began to be excited, and also gratitude to his invisible benefactor

began to stir in his heart. He would certainly find out on Thursday what

it all meant.

So, when the classes were dismissed, and they all left the house as

usual, Otto stood for a while by his seat, thinking how he could

discover his helpful friend. But a knot of his schoolmates rushed in as

he stood there, grasped him by arms and shoulders, and dragged him out,

crying, "Come along! Come on! We are playing 'Robbers,' and you must be

our leader."

Otto defended himself for a moment. "This is my week," he cried.

"Oh, nonsense! put it off," they said. "Only just for a quarter of an

hour. Come along!"

And Otto went. To tell the truth, he relied secretly upon his unseen

friend, who would certainly shield him from punishment. He found it

extremely agreeable to feel such a support under his feet; and the

quarter slipped into the full hour, and Otto was lost. He went back to

the schoolhouse to fulfil his duty, and threw open the door with such a

slam that the master rushed out of his room very quickly, and asked,--

"What do you want, Otto?"

"Only to look in again, to see if every thing is as it should be,"

stammered the boy.

"This is excellent," said the teacher; "but it is not necessary for you

to slam the door in that way."

Otto went away in good spirits. On Friday he made up his mind not to do

his work of cleaning until he was satisfied about the mystery; and

then,--then there would only be Saturday morning left of his week.

"Otto," called out the teacher on Friday, as the clock struck four,

"take this paper over to the pastor as quickly as you can. He will give

you some papers to bring back. It will only take you a moment or two,

and you will be here in time to brush out the room."

The boy did not like to go very well, but there was no help for it; and,

of course, he could be back in a twinkling. He reached the parsonage in

half a dozen bounds. The pastor was busy, just then, with a visitor. His

wife called Otto to her in the garden. She wanted to know how his mamma

found herself; if his father were well, and Pussy, too; how Uncle Max

was employed; and if they had good news from their relations in Germany.

Then the pastor made his appearance, and Otto had to explain why it was

his business to bring the papers, and what the teacher was doing at

present. At last he got his papers, and was off like an arrow, pulled

open the door of the schoolroom,--to find every thing swept and

garnished, and no living being visible.

"And I have not been obliged to stoop once, to clear away the tiresome

bits, the whole week through," thought Otto contentedly. "But who can

have done all this dirty work without being obliged to do it?" Now he

determined, for once and all, to have that question settled.

The school hours ended at eleven o'clock on Saturday. Otto waited until

all the children had gone, and the room was empty. Then he went outside,

closed the door, and leaned with his back against it. There could no one

enter without his seeing who it was. He preferred to do this, rather

than to go at once to work at the sweeping and cleaning. He waited and

waited: no one came. He heard the clock strike the half-hour. There were

plans at home for an excursion that afternoon. The family were to dine

early, to get away soon after dinner. He ought to begin with his work at

once, if he wanted to get home in good season. How he hated it!

He opened the door. Now Otto stared about him even more than he had done

the first time. The work was all done. It was certainly so, and nicer

than ever before.

Things began to look rather queerly to Otto. He thought of ghost

stories, and such things. Very much more softly than usual he

slipped out, and closed the door behind him. Just at the same time,

something slipped silently out of the teacher's kitchen, and they

came together face to face. It was Wiseli. She grew red and redder,

just as if Otto had detected her in something mischievous. Now the

truth flashed into his mind.

"So it is you who have done my work all the week, Wiseli?" he said.

"Nobody else would have thought of doing it unless obliged to, I am

sure of that."

"You have no idea how glad I am to get the chance," said Wiseli, in

reply.

"No, no; you must not say that, Wiseli. Nobody in the world can be glad

to do such things," said the boy decidedly.

"But I mean it,--I really do," repeated the girl. "I have thought,

all day long through the week, with pleasure of the chance the

afternoon would give me; and, while I was working, I was more than

ever glad, because I thought, when Otto comes, he will find the work

done, and be pleased."

"But what put it into your head to do it for me?"

"Oh! I knew how much you disliked it; and I have always wanted to give

you something, as you once gave me your sled. Don't you remember? But I

have nothing to give."

"What you have done is worth a great deal more than lending a sled. I

won't forget your kindness, Wiseli." So saying, Otto offered her his

hand, quite overcome for the moment.

Wiseli's eyes shone with satisfaction as they seldom did nowadays.

Presently Otto wanted to know how she had managed to get into the room

again, for he had always waited until all the children were gone.

"Oh! I never did go out," said the girl. "I hid myself quickly

behind the closet-door. I thought you would go out for a few

moments, as usual."

"How did you get out without my seeing you afterwards?" Otto wanted to

know all about it.

"Oh! while you were running around with the other boys, I got out easily

enough. I listened; but yesterday and to-day, as I was not certain where

you were, I went through the teacher's kitchen, and asked his wife if

she had any errand for me to do,--she often gives me a message to carry

somewhere,--and then I went out that way. Yesterday I was behind the

kitchen-door when you ran into the schoolroom."

Now Otto knew all the ghost story. He offered his hand again to Wiseli.

"I thank you," he said; and they both ran off with happy hearts, each a

separate way.

CHAPTER VI.

OLD AND NEW.

Summer was over, and Autumn had followed in her footsteps. The evenings

were cool and misty. In the damp meadows the cows were eating the last

grass of the season, and here and there little fires were visible where

the sheep-boys cooked their potatoes and warmed their stiffened fingers.

It was on such a misty evening that Otto, on leaving the schoolhouse,

ran home for a moment to tell his mother that he was going to see what

kept Wiseli from school; for she had not been there since the autumn

vacation,--certainly not for eight days.

As he approached the beech grove, he saw Rudi sitting before the door,

eating pear after pear from a heap that lay before him.

"Where is Wiseli?" asked Otto.

"Outside," was the answer.

"Where outside?"

"In the meadow."

"In which meadow?"

"I don't know;" and Rudi went on munching his pears.

"You won't die early because you know too much," remarked Otto, and

went haphazard towards the big meadow that stretched away from the

house to the wood.

Presently he discovered three black spots under the pear-trees, and went

towards them.

He was right. There was Wiseli stooping over the pears which she was

sorting, while a little farther off Cheppi sat astride of his rake; and

behind him Hannes lay on his back across the piled-up basket, and rocked

it back and forth so violently, that it nearly fell over at each

movement. Cheppi looked at him, laughing loudly.

When Wiseli saw Otto coming towards her, her whole countenance glowed

with pleasure.

"Good evening, Wiseli," cried the lad from afar. "Why have you not been

to school for so long?"

The girl stretched out her hand with a pleasant smile to her friend.

"We have had so much to do that I was not able to go," she said. "Just

look, what a lot of pears we have! I have to sort them from morning till

night, there are so many."

"Your shoes and stockings are all wet. It is not pleasant here. Are you

not cold when you are so wet?"

"Yes, I do feel chilly sometimes; but, in general, I get very warm at

this work."

At this moment Hannes gave his basket such a powerful twist that over it

went, and there lay Hannes, the basket, and the pears all in a heap on

the ground.

"Oh, oh!" cried Wiseli in distress; "now they are all to be picked

up again."

"And this one, too," cried Cheppi, and laughed aloud as the pear that he

had in his hand struck Wiseli's cheek with such force that it brought

the tears to her eyes, and she turned quite white with the pain.

Scarcely had Otto seen this than he flew at Cheppi, threw him and his

rake to the ground, and seized him by the nape of the neck.

"Stop, or I shall choke!" Cheppi was not laughing now.

"I want to make you remember that you will also have me to deal with in

future, when you treat Wiseli in that way," said Otto, scarlet with

anger. "Have you got enough? Will you remember it now?"

"Yes, yes! Let me go!" said Cheppi, in a very humble tone.

Otto released him.

"Now you have felt," he said, "how it will be whenever you hurt Wiseli

again. I will give you some more of this each time, even if you are

sixty years old. Good-by, Wiseli." And Otto went his way to carry his

anger to his mother.

He unburdened himself to her as soon as he reached home. It was a

terrible thing to the generous boy that Wiseli should be obliged to

submit to such treatment. He was determined to go at once to the

pastor to complain of him and of his whole family, and demand that

Wiseli should be taken away from them at once. His mother listened

quietly to him, and let his indignation have time to cool off a

little; then she said,--

"I do not think, my dear boy, that there is the least use in your doing

this. They would not take the child from her cousin Gotti, I am sure;

and it would only irritate him, should he hear that such a thing was

thought of. He himself does not feel unkindly towards Wiseli, and there

is really no sufficient ground for removing her from his roof. I know

very well that the poor girl has a hard time of it there. I have not

forgotten her, and am constantly hoping to find some way to help her. It

lies very heavily on my heart to know how much she has to suffer, you

may be sure of that, Otto. And if you can at any time manage to shelter

her and intimidate that brutal fellow Cheppi, without being too rough

yourself, I shall be very glad."

Otto took what comfort he could in the knowledge that his mother was

constantly looking out for some way to help Wiseli.

He was always planning some way to help her himself, but never hit upon

any thing that could be carried out. He saw very well that she could not

free herself; and the only idea that occurred to him as Christmas drew

near was to write on his list of wishes, in huge letters so big that

they could easily be read from heaven above, "I wish that the Christ

child would set Wiseli at liberty."

Winter was come again, and the coast offered its feast of inexhaustible

pleasure to the children, who never wearied of its charm. The moon shone

with the most unusual brightness, it seemed to Otto, who, at last, had

the cleverness to suggest that all the children should collect on the

hillside at seven o'clock to take advantage of its beauty for an evening

coasting-party.

This suggestion was received with universal approbation, and the

children separated at five o'clock when it began to be dark, to meet

again at seven for their favorite amusement.

Otto's mother was not so enthusiastic over this great scheme as were the

children, and could not agree with them when they expressed their

delight. She said it was too cold for them to be out late into the

evening; that there was great danger of accidents in the uncertain

moonlight; and particularly objected to allowing Pussy to expose

herself. But her objections only served to enhance the interest the

children felt for the expedition, and Pussy pleaded for her consent as

if her very life hung on being one of this coasting-party. Otto

promised, "upon his word of honor," that he would not let any thing

happen to his sister, and would always keep near to her and protect her.

At last their mother gave her consent; and, with great noise and

rejoicing, the children went out into the beautiful, clear, cold

moonlight.

Every thing went on without a drawback. The coast was in perfect

condition; and the mysteriousness of the darker places, upon which the

moonlight did not fall, heightened the interest of the occasion. There

were a vast number of children assembled, and all were in the best

humor. Otto let them all go down first; then he followed, and Pussy came

last of all, so that no one could run her down. Otto had arranged it in

this way, so that he could always glance backward to see that his little

sister went safely down the coast.

As every thing went so smoothly and happily, somebody proposed that they

should make a "train;" that is, bind all the sleds together, and so go

down: it would be more delightful than ever by moonlight. No sooner said

than done. Only Pussy's sled was not tied to her brother's, for he

feared lest the straining and shocks that often took place in this kind

of coasting might prove dangerous to her. She followed, therefore, as

usual; but Otto could not stop his sled if she was delayed, for he had

to go on with the "train." Off they went, and the long chain reached the

bottom safely and happily.

Suddenly Otto heard a fearful cry, and he recognized at once his little

sister's voice. What had happened? He had no choice, however, but to go

down to the very end with the merry party to which he was closely

fastened--down to the foot of the hill, no matter how great his fear

might be. Once at the bottom, however, he tore his sled loose, and ran

up the hill as quickly as possible, with all the others at his heels;

for they had all heard the screams, and wanted to see what they meant.

Half-way up the ascent stood Pussy by her sled, and screamed and cried

rivers of tears. Out of breath with his haste, Otto could hardly call

out, "What is the matter? What has happened?"

"He did--he did--he did," sobbed Pussy, and could get no further.

"What did he do? Who was it? Where? Who?" stammered Otto.

"That man there, that man; he did try to kill me, and said terrible

words, too."

As much as this Otto understood, accompanied by screams and sobs.

"Be quiet now, Pussy: do not go on like that. He did not kill you, after

all. Did he really strike you?" asked Otto, very gently and soothingly,

for he was much alarmed.

"No," sobbed Pussy, beginning again; "but he was going to. He had a

stick, and he held it out like that, and said, 'Wait a moment;' and such

dreadful words he said, too."

"Then he really did not do any thing to hurt you?" asked Otto, and began

to breathe more freely.

"But he did, he did; and you were all off down the hill, and I was all

alone." And Pussy's tears and sobs continued to break forth.

"Hush, hush!" said Otto, consolingly. "Now try to be quiet. I will not

leave you again, and the man will not trouble you any more; and if you

will be quiet and good, I will give you the red candy cock that was on

the Christmas-tree."

This made an impression upon Pussy. She dried her eyes, and did not make

another sound; for that big red candy cock on the Christmas-tree was

what the child had most wished for. In the division of the things it had

fallen to Otto's share; but his little sister had never forgotten her

longing for it. Now that every thing was quiet again, the children began

to climb the hill, and they tried to make out who the man could be who

had threatened to kill Pussy.

"Oh, kill! Not so bad as that," interposed Otto. "I saw a big man with a

stick, who was obliged to step into the snow to get out of our way when

we went down the coast on the 'train.' It made him angry to be obliged

to go into the snow; and finding Pussy alone there, he scolded her a

little to relieve himself."

This explanation satisfied everybody, it was so perfectly natural.

Everybody wondered that they had not thought of it before,--indeed,

thought they had,--and soon forgot all about it, and continued coasting.

This, however, had an end, like all other pleasures; for eight o'clock

had struck long ago, and that was the hour at which they were to break

up and go home. On the way back, Otto charged Pussy not to speak of her

adventure; otherwise their mother would never again let them go coasting

in the moonlight. She should have the candy cock, but must promise not

to say a word if she took it.

All traces of her tears had long vanished, and nothing betrayed their

secret to the family.

Both children slept quietly in their beds soon after, and Pussy dreamed

of the red candy cock, and shouted out with pleasure in her dreams.

Presently there was a loud knocking at the house-door, that made Colonel

Ritter and his wife spring up from the table, where they were

comfortably talking about the children; and old Trine called out of the

window, in an angry tone,--

"What sort of a way of knocking is that?"

"A terrible thing has happened," said some one from below. "We want the

colonel to come down the hill. They have found Andrew the carpenter

dead." And off ran the messenger again.

Mr. and Mrs. Ritter had heard enough, however, for they had heard this

sad news from the window. The colonel threw his cloak about his

shoulders, and hastened down to the carpenter's. As he entered the room,

he found that there were already a crowd of people assembled. The

justice of the peace and the chief magistrate had been fetched, and a

number of curious and sympathetic people had come along with them.

Andrew lay on the floor, in his blood, and gave no sign of life. The

colonel went to his side.

"Has nobody been for the doctor?" he asked. "We want a doctor at once."

Nobody had thought of that,--there was no use in trying to do any thing,

they said.

"Run, somebody, as quickly as possible," said the colonel. "Go,

you,"--to a lad who stood near,--"tell the doctor that I send him word

to come here immediately." He helped to raise Andrew from the ground,

and to carry him into his bedroom, and to lay him on the bed. Then he

went back to the chattering group of neighbors, to find out how the

accident had taken place,--if anybody knew the precise circumstances.

The miller's son stepped forward, and told his story. He was passing

the house about a half-hour ago, he said; and, seeing a light in the

window, stopped to ask if his bits of furniture were finished. He found

the door of the room open, and Andrew lying dead on the floor, covered

with blood; and by his side stood Meadow-Joggi, and held out a piece of

gold between his fingers. Then the miller's son had called all the

neighbors, and sent some one for the chief magistrate and everybody

whose business it was.

Meadow-Joggi--who was so called because he lived down in the

meadow-land--was a foolish fellow, who was supported by the neighbors,

who gave him little jobs of work suitable to his feeble capacity, such

as carrying sand or stone where they were needed, or helping to sort the

fruit, or gathering fagots in winter.

No one ever had heard of his doing any mischief. The miller's son told

him to stay where he was until the president came; and so Joggi stood in

the corner, held his fist tightly closed, and laughed to himself. The

doctor soon arrived on the scene, and behind him came the president. The

council took its place in the middle of the room, to consider the case.

The doctor, however, went at once into the bedroom, and the colonel

followed him. The doctor examined the motionless body carefully.

"Here it is," he cried presently. "Here, at the back of the head, is

where Andrew was struck. There is a large wound here."

"But he is not dead, doctor, is he?"

"No, no; he breathes feebly, but it is with difficulty."

The doctor wanted all sorts of things,--water and sponges, and linen

rags, and so on,--and the people ran this way and that, and searched and

pulled things out from the closets and drawers, and produced a heap of

things, but nothing that was useful for this occasion.

"We want a woman here who has some intelligence, and knows what is

needed in sickness," said the doctor at last, rather impatiently. They

all called out this one or that one; but not one was able to come of all

those mentioned.

"Let somebody go to the 'Heights,' and tell my wife to send old Trine

down here," said the colonel. And somebody ran off.

"Your wife won't thank you," said the doctor; "for I shall not be able

to let the nurse leave this patient for three days and nights."

Trine came, laden with all needful things, much sooner than anybody

dared hope for her; for she was all ready with her big basket packed,

and her mistress stood by her side, expecting the order for her to go

down to Andrew's; for they would not believe that Andrew was dead, and

had thought of every thing that could possibly be needed. She had

sponges and bandages, lint and oil, and warm flannels, packed in her

basket, and had only to run off when the messenger came. The doctor was

delighted.

"Everybody must go now. Good-night, colonel; and turn all those people

out of the house, will you?" cried the doctor, and closed the door

without ceremony as soon as the colonel went out.

The committee was still sitting, but the colonel explained that the

house must be emptied; so they decided to imprison Joggi, and then

institute investigations. Two men took Joggi between them, so that he

could not get away, and carried him off to the poor-house, and shut him

up in a room. Joggi went with them very willingly, and laughed now and

then, and looked into his hand.

The following morning Mrs. Ritter hastened down to Andrew's house in

great anxiety. Trine came softly from the bedroom, and brought the

welcome news that Andrew had come to himself a little; that the doctor

had already made his visit, and found his patient in better condition

than he expected; but he left especial orders that nobody should be

allowed to enter the room. Andrew was not to be permitted to speak one

word, even if he wished to speak: only the doctor and the nurse might

come into his presence. Trine said these words with great pride, for she

was a very good nurse, and well aware of the importance of the

situation. Mrs. Ritter fully appreciated all this, and went home

rejoicing over the news.

A week went by. Every morning Mrs. Ritter went down to the sick man's

house to obtain an accurate statement of his condition herself, and to

find out if any thing were needed for his comfort, in order that all his

wants might be supplied at once. Every day Otto and Pussy sent the same

message; namely, "When could they be permitted to see their sick

friend?" but the doctor was inexorable. There was no possibility of

Trine being allowed to go, either; and the doctor could not praise her

enough for her intelligent care of the patient. After the week was

fairly over, however, the doctor sent word to the colonel that if he

would come to Andrew's at the same time he made his daily visit, they

would go in together; for now that Andrew was able to talk, the doctor

wished to have the colonel hear what could be told about the terrible

assault that had prostrated the good carpenter.

Andrew was very glad to press the colonel's hand gratefully in his

own,--he knew very well where all the care and comfort came from with

which he was surrounded.

He collected his thoughts to the best of his ability to answer the

questions put to him. This was, however, all that he could tell them. He

had taken out the yearly sum of money that he always carried up to the

colonel for investment, and was in the act of counting it over once

again, to be sure that it was right. It was rather late in the evening,

and he was seated with his back towards the door. While he was in the

midst of counting, he heard some one enter the room; and before he had

time to turn about, he received a tremendous blow upon his head. After

that, all was a blank.

There had been a heap of money upon the table. Nothing was to be found

of it, however, but the piece that Joggi held in his hand when they

found him.

Even supposing that Joggi were the malefactor, where was the rest of

that money? When Andrew learned that they had taken Joggi into custody

and shut him up, he was very uneasy.

"Oh, you must let him go, poor Joggi!" he said. "He never would hurt the

smallest infant. _He_ never struck me."

For all that, Andrew had no suspicion who it could have been. He had no

enemy, he said, and knew of nobody who would wish him harm.

"It may have been a stranger," suggested the doctor, as he looked at the

window. "If you sat here, with the bright light shining upon your pile

of money while you counted it over on the table, anybody going by the

house could have seen you, and taken a notion to rob you."

"I suppose it must have been in that way," said Andrew. "I never

thought of such a thing, however. Every thing has always stood open in

the house."

"It is well that you have laid something by already, Andrew," said the

colonel. "Do not fret over this: it is so lucky that you will soon be

well again."

"Certainly, colonel; and I have every reason for thankfulness. The good

God has given me far more than I have any use for." And he shook hands

with his friends, who agreed, in parting, that Andrew was much less to

be pitied than the man who tried to kill him.

There was a sad story told about Joggi, which excited the sympathy of

the schoolboys exceedingly. Otto brought it home with him and repeated

it several times, for it made a deep impression on his mind. It seemed

that when they brought Joggi, laughing all the way, into the almshouse

that evening, he was told to give up his piece of gold to one of his

guards,--the son of the justice of the peace; but Joggi shut his fist

tighter, and would not give it up at all. But the two men were stronger

than he, and at last forced his hand open; and, as they took the money

away from him, one of them said, "Only wait a little till the others

come, then you will get what you deserve. You will see!" For he was

vexed at the scratches he had got in the struggle.

These threats had frightened the poor half-witted fellow, who thought he

was going to be beheaded, having no idea of what his punishment might

be. And he refused to eat, and cried and groaned incessantly.

The officers of justice had been to see him twice, to assure him that,

if he would only tell them what he had done, he should not be

punished. He repeated that he had not done any thing but look in at

the window; and when he saw Andrew on the floor, he went to him and

shook him a little, and then he was dead. He saw something shining in

the corner, and picked it up; and then the miller's son came in, and a

lot of other people.

When Joggi got thus far in his story, he began to cry and groan, and

would not be pacified.

CHAPTER VII.

ANDREW IS BETTER, AND SOMEBODY ELSE, ALSO.

Mrs. Ritter went, as usual, to visit her friend, but no longer remained

closeted with Trine, for she could now go freely into his room, talk

with him for a little while, and mark his daily improvement. Otto and

Pussy also paid several visits, armed with dainties for their favorite.

So that Andrew said to the old Trine, with great feeling, "If I were a

king, they could not show me more kindness."

The doctor was well pleased with the rapidity of the cure, and said to

the colonel, whom he met on the threshold one day,--

"Every thing has worked wonderfully well. Your wife can have her Trine

back again; and tell her she was worth her weight in gold. I only wish

there were some one to stay with Andrew for a little while; or who could

come in, now and then, to help him. The poor fellow must have something

to eat, and he has no wife nor child,--in fact, nobody. Do ask Mrs.

Ritter if she cannot think of something that will help us."

The colonel carried his message correctly, and his wife went the next

day to Andrew's, as usual; and, seating herself by his bedside, said,

without circumlocution, "I have something to say to you, Andrew. Are you

inclined to listen to me?"

"Certainly, certainly. Every thing you do is right," said Andrew,

supporting his head on his hand, and prepared to give her all his

attention.

"I am going to take Trine away, now that you are so well," began

Mrs. Ritter.

"Oh, dear lady, I beg you to believe me, I have wished to send her home

for a long time past. I know how much you must miss her."

"I would not have allowed her to enter my house, if she had tried to

come back before," replied Mrs. Ritter. "But now it is different: the

doctor has dismissed her. He says, however,--and I fully agree with

him,--that you need some one who can wait upon you, cook for you, or

fetch your food from my house, and do a hundred little things: somebody

for at least a few weeks. Now, Andrew, why cannot you have little Wiseli

to do this?"

The words were scarcely spoken, when Andrew almost sprang up in his bed.

"No, no, Mrs. Ritter; certainly not!" he said, and became very red from

excitement. "I could not dream of such a thing. Could I lie here in bed,

and let that delicate little thing work for me out there in the kitchen?

Oh! in Heaven's name, how could I think of her poor mother, where she

lies buried? How she would look at me, if she knew of my doing such a

thing. No, no, Mrs. Ritter; I would rather not get well at all."

Mrs. Ritter did not try to stop him; but, when he sunk back again upon

his pillow, she said quietly,--

"It is not any thing very shocking, however, that I have proposed,

Andrew: think it over now. You know what kind of care Wiseli is getting,

do you not? Do you suppose she has nothing to do there, or even light

work suitable to her strength? Hard work she has, and hard words with

it. Would you give her any thing like that? Do you know what the child's

mother would do, if she were standing here by our side? She would thank

you, with tears in her eyes, if you would take her child into your

house, where she could be happy. I am sure of that. And you would soon

see how useful she would make herself."

After these touching words, Andrew began to take another view of the

matter. He wiped his eyes, and said softly, "How can I be sure that the

child would be willing? And how can I get her? Her cousin would not wish

to part with her, probably."

"That is all right. You need not trouble yourself about that, Andrew,"

said his friend, cheerfully, as she rose to go. "I will attend to it all

for you. It is a thing about which I have thought long and anxiously."

She took her leave; but, as she was passing out of the door, Andrew

called out again,--

"Only in case Wiseli herself is perfectly willing: you will not forget

that, please, Mrs. Ritter."

She promised again that the child should come gladly, or not at all, and

left the house.

She went down the hill at once to the beech grove, for she was impatient

to take Wiseli where she could think of her in safety. She met the

cousin Gotti just as he was himself entering his own house. He saluted

her, without concealing his surprise at her visit. But she did not leave

him in doubt for a moment over the object that brought her there, and

how anxious she was that Wiseli should take charge of the wounded Andrew

at once, as she was sure she could do, if they were willing. His wife,

who was in the kitchen, came directly she heard their voices, and was at

once informed of Mrs. Ritter's proposition. But she answered that it was

not possible, for the child was not able to be of use to anybody. But

her husband interposed. The truth should be told: Wiseli was able and

willing to work, and did so, well and intelligently. He did not wish to

have her go, for she was useful and obedient. He would not refuse, for

two weeks or so, to let her nurse Andrew. He would not probably need her

longer than that, and then she must come back; for there was a great

deal of work on hand against the spring.

"Yes, yes," said his wife. "I have no mind to begin it all over again

teaching her, it has given me so much trouble already. If Andrew wants

anybody to help him, let him get somebody for himself."

"Well, well; for two weeks, as I have promised, she shall go. It is our

duty to help a neighbor, if we can."

"I thank you for your kindness," said Mrs. Ritter, rising. "And Andrew

will himself show his gratitude. May I take Wiseli with me at once?"

Although his wife grumbled out that there could not be any such hurry,

her husband said it was better the child should go at once. The sooner

she went, the more quickly she would be back again; and repeated that it

was only for fourteen days in all.

Wiseli was called, and told to get her clothes together, and tied in a

bundle. The child obeyed, not daring to ask for a reason. It was exactly

a year since she had brought the little bundle into the house. Nothing

had been added to her scanty wardrobe in that time but a black frock.

She wore that now, but it had been so long in use, that it hung about

her almost in rags; and Wiseli looked shyly at Mrs. Ritter as she stood

before her now, with her little bundle on her arm. The colonel's wife

understood the look, and answered it. "Come, my dear; we are not going

far away. You can go as you are."

Quickly taking leave, she waited only for Wiseli to give her cousin

Gotti her hand. He said,--

"Oh, you are soon coming back; this is not a separation."

Off trotted Wiseli in silence, and much astonished, behind Mrs. Ritter,

who walked rapidly across the snow-covered fields, as if she feared they

both might be recalled; but as soon as they were out of sight of the

beech grove, she turned about, and stood still. "Wiseli," she said

kindly, "do you know Andrew the carpenter?"

"Certainly, I do," said the child; and glanced at her friend with such a

happy expression, that Mrs. Ritter was rather surprised.

"He is ill," she proceeded. "Would you like to take care of him, and

wait upon him a little, for about two weeks?"

"Yes, indeed!" replied the child promptly; and her face, that

became suddenly rosy with pleasure, told Mrs. Ritter more than her

short answer.

The good lady was pleased, but did not understand the child's feeling,

for she knew nothing of her gratitude for Andrew's kindness to her

mother. After they had gone on a while, Mrs. Ritter said,--

"You can tell Andrew the carpenter that you are very glad to go to take

care of him, or he will not believe it. Don't forget to tell him that."

"No, no; I won't forget," said Wiseli. "I was just thinking about

it myself."

They reached the house at last. Mrs. Ritter told Wiseli to go in alone,

promising to come down in the morning to see how things went on; and, if

she needed any thing for her patient, she could come up to the "Heights"

to fetch it herself.

Wiseli stole into the garden, and opened the house-door. She knew that

Andrew lay within in the bed-room behind the sitting-room. She entered

the room softly. No one was there; but it was in good order, as old

Trine had left it when she went away.

The child looked about to see that every thing was in the right place.

Against the wall, in the back part of the room, stood a big wooden

bedstead called a coach, and which was all arranged like a proper bed.

The curtain was almost closed across it, but Wiseli could see how neat

and clean it looked, and wondered who slept there usually. Presently she

knocked quietly at the bedroom door; and when Andrew called out, "Come

in," she entered, and shyly stood before him. Andrew raised himself in

his bed to see who was there.

"Oh, oh!" he said, partly glad and partly startled. "Is that you,

Wiseli? Come here; give me your hand." The child obeyed.

"You did not come to me against your will?"

"No, no," replied the child; "surely not." But Andrew was not satisfied.

[Illustration: ANDREW RAISED HIMSELF IN HIS BED TO SEE WHO WAS

THERE]

"I mean, Wiseli," he continued, "perhaps you would have liked better not

to come; but perhaps you wanted to do a kindness to the good colonel's

wife, she is so kind."

"No, no," repeated the child again; "she did not say any thing to me

about it being for her. She only asked me if I was willing to go to

you, and there is nobody in all the world to whom I would go so gladly

as to you."

These words must have quieted all Andrew's scruples, for he did not ask

any more questions, but let his head sink back on his pillow, and lay

gazing silently at Wiseli; and presently he turned his head aside, and

wiped his eyes several times.

"What shall I do now?" asked Wiseli, as Andrew did not move his head. He

turned at the sound of her voice, and said, very kindly, "I do not know,

I am sure, Wiseli. You may do any thing that you like, if you will only

stay with me a little while."

Wiseli scarcely knew what to think. Since the death of her mother,

nobody had spoken to her in such kindly, loving tones. It seemed as if

her mother's voice and love were come into Andrew's words and tones. She

took his hand in both hers, as she often took her mother's, and stood by

the bedside. She did not even speak, but felt that her mother's loving

presence was about them. Andrew, too, had a silent, peaceful conviction

that Wiseli's mother was happy in their happiness.

Presently Wiseli said, "I think I ought to cook something for you: it is

past twelve o'clock already. What shall I cook?"

"Whatever you like," said Andrew. But Wiseli knew that she was there

for the purpose of making things comfortable for the sick man, and

she did not cease her questioning until she found out what he usually

had to eat,--a good nourishing soup, and a piece of the meat that was

in the closet; and then Andrew said she must cook something with milk

for herself.

The child was perfectly at home in the kitchen. She had really learned a

great deal at her cousin Gotti's, even if she had received many cross

words at the same time. She had every thing ready in a short time; and

Andrew begged her to push a little table to the bedside, and sit down

and eat with him, so that he could enjoy the pleasure of her company.

Neither Wiseli nor Andrew had eaten such a pleasant meal for a long,

long time. After eating, Wiseli rose; but Andrew looked at her sadly,

and said, "Where are you going now, Wiseli? Won't you stay with me here

a little longer, or is it too dull for you?"

"No, indeed, not dull; but after dinner the things must be washed and

put away in their places in good order," said the child.

"I know," said Andrew; "but I thought that just for to-day--the first

day, you know--you might put them away as they are, and to-morrow wash

them all together."

"But if the colonel's wife should see them so, I should almost die of

shame;" and Wiseli looked very grave while she spoke.

"Yes, yes; you are right," said Andrew. "Do whatever you think best."

So the child went to work, and cleaned and sorted and swept, so that

every thing shone in the kitchen. Then she stood quietly, and looked on

her work with satisfaction, saying softly, "Now Mrs. Ritter may come

when she will."

Going into the room next the kitchen, she cast an admiring glance at the

beautiful big bed on the "coach" behind the curtain; for Andrew the

carpenter had told her that she was to sleep there, and that the little

chest of drawers in the corner was also for her, and that she might put

all her things there, if she liked.

So she laid away all the clothes in her little bundle in good order; but

it did not take long to do that, they were so few. At last she returned

to Andrew, and seated herself by his bedside. He had been looking

towards the door very wistfully for a long time. She had scarcely seated

herself before she asked, "Have not you a stocking to be knitted, or

something else for me to do?"

Wiseli had been well drilled,--first by her mother, and then by her

cousin's wife, whose words she never forgot, they frightened her so; and

when Andrew said, "Oh, you have worked enough for to-day; let us sit

still and talk over all sorts of things together now," the child

replied, "I do not like to sit and do nothing, for it is not Sunday; but

we can talk while I knit, you know."

Andrew was pleased at this sign of the little girl's industry, and he

again bade her do whatever she thought right and best. She might get a

stocking to knit, if she wanted to: he had not one for her, however.

So Wiseli fetched her own, and took her seat by the bedside; and, truly,

she could talk and knit at the same time perfectly well.

Andrew chose the one subject for their conversation that was by far the

most agreeable to Wiseli; namely, her mother. It was the first time she

had been able to talk about her mother to anybody since her death. But

now she had a listener who could not hear enough, and so she told all

that she could remember of their happy life together.

And day after day slipped by. For every little thing that Wiseli did,

Andrew thanked her over and over,--not from politeness or mere form, but

because every thing pleased the good man, and he wanted to express his

pleasure. He became strong and well very rapidly under Wiseli's care,

and soon was able to leave his bed. And the doctor was much surprised to

see how quickly his strength had returned, and how happy he looked

besides. He sat at the window in the sunshine all day long, and watched

Wiseli as she moved about, as if he could never get enough of her. His

eyes followed her as she went here to a drawer, opened it and shut it

again; and noticed how every thing that passed through her hands was

done in an orderly, regular manner, such as he had never seen before.

And Wiseli was so happy, so happy, in this quiet little house, where she

never heard any but loving words, and moved constantly in an atmosphere

of affection, that made it impossible for her to allow her thoughts to

dwell on the sad fact that the fourteen days would soon be past, and

then she must return to the beech grove.

CHAPTER VIII.

SOMETHING VERY STRANGE HAPPENS.

On the "Heights" there was a great deal of talk about Andrew and Wiseli.

Mrs. Ritter went down every day, and always brought back good accounts.

They all rejoiced together over this, and Otto and Pussy formed a plan

to have a great convalescence festival in Andrew the carpenter's room

while Wiseli was still with him. It should be a great surprise for them

both. But before that came another feast,--their father's birthday. And

the children had invented all sorts of "celebrations" from early morning

on, but the great moment was yet to come; namely, at dinner-time. Otto

and Pussy had taken their seats, full of excitement and expectancy.

The father and mother made their appearance, and the merriment began.

After one or two surprises came a large covered dish,--certainly that

was a birthday dish. The cover was removed, and, behold, a beautiful

cauliflower!

"This is a fine vegetable," said the father; "I must admire it. But, to

tell the truth," he went on, with an air of disappointment, "I expected

something different. I expected artichokes. They are to be found and

bought as well as cauliflowers. You know, my dear Mary, there is no dish

I care for so much as artichokes."

Suddenly Pussy called out,--

"That is it! that is it! That is exactly what he called to me twice.

And he raised his stick in the air, and did so,"--and Pussy raised her

arm in the air in great excitement. But suddenly she was quiet, and put

her arm under the table, and turned crimson; and Otto, who sat on the

other side of the table, looked at her with flashing eyes and very

angry looks.

"What is this?" asked the colonel. "A strange way to celebrate my

birthday. My daughter cries out, on one side, as if some one were going

to kill her; and, on the other, my son is giving me such kicks on the

shin that I shall soon be covered with black-and-blue spots. I should

like to know where you learned this agreeable amusement, Otto?"

Now it was Otto's turn to become fiery red. His intention had been to

give Pussy certain decided warnings to keep quiet, but his boot had

encountered his father's leg instead, and not gently either. When he

discovered his mistake, he did not dare to raise his eyes.

"Now, Pussy," said the colonel, "tell me the end of your robber story.

You said the terrible man called out 'artichokes' to you, and raised his

stick in the air; and then"--

"Then--then," stammered Pussy, who perceived that she had betrayed every

thing, and would have to give the sugar cock back to Otto again. "Then

he did not strike me, or kill me."

"Well, that was nice of him," said her father, laughing. "And

what else?"

"Nothing else," said Pussy, whimpering.

"Well, then, the story had a good ending. The stick remained in the air,

and Pussy came back to the house like an 'artichoke.' Now we will drink

the health of the 'artichokes' and of Andrew the carpenter together."

The father raised his glass, and his companions did the same. When they

left the table, they were all rather sad; all except the father, who

took his newspaper, and lighted his cigar, as usual. Otto stayed in

another room in the corner, and thought how, when the children were all

allowed to go again to coast by moonlight, he would be obliged to remain

at home; for his mother would not now let him go, he was sure. Pussy

crept into her bedroom, nestled down in a corner by the bed upon a

footstool, took the red candy cock upon her lap, and felt very sadly at

the thought that she held it for the last time.

At the window her mother stood sadly thinking. She soon became agitated,

however, and moved uneasily about the room, and presently began to seek

for her little daughter in every corner. She found her at last, in her

hiding-place behind the bed, sunk in deep dejection.

"Pussy," said her mother, "I want you to tell me the story about the man

who threatened you. When was it, and where, and what words did he use?"

Pussy told all that she knew, but did not give much more information

than she had conveyed at the table. The man had called out the same word

that her father had used at table,--that she was sure of. Her mother

turned away, went directly to the room where her husband was smoking,

and said, in a very excited tone, "I must tell you, for I am more and

more sure of it."

The colonel put down his newspaper and looked at his wife, much

surprised.

"That scene at table has made me think of something; and the more I

think, the surer I am about it."

"Do sit down, and tell me what you mean," said the colonel, who now

became very curious. His wife did as he desired, and went on.

"You noticed Pussy's excitement. She must have been very much

frightened by the man of whom she spoke. She was not joking. Therefore

it is clear to my mind that the word was not 'artichoke,' but

'aristocrat,' that he used. Now you know who used to call us that,--my

brother and I. Pussy has just told me that this took place on that

evening when they all went coasting by moonlight; and that was the

night when Andrew was assaulted and robbed. That rascally fellow Jorg

has not been seen for years in this vicinity; and the very first time

that there is any trace of him, we hear of this act of brutality

towards his brother, against whom no one but he has any grudge. Do not

you think there is something strange in this?"

"Yes; certainly there may be something in it," said the colonel. "I must

look it up at once."

He arose, called his servant, and presently rode off at a sharp trot

towards the town.

And for several days he continued to go there, to hear if the

investigation had produced any result. On the fourth day he came home

towards evening, and sent word to Mrs. Ritter, who was seated by Pussy's

bed, that he had something important to tell her. It was that the police

had been seeking for Jorg, and had found him without much delay; for he

had not taken precautions to conceal himself, being sure that no one had

seen him on the evening when he visited his native village. He had,

therefore, merely gone to the city, and was spending his time in the

taverns. When they took him into custody, and accused him, he denied

every thing; but when he heard that Colonel Ritter had accusations to

make against him, he was intimidated, thinking that the colonel must

have seen him, or he would never have suspected him, as he had just

returned from the Neapolitan army service. It never occurred to him that

one single word that he had thrown to a little child had betrayed him.

When he heard the truth, he began to swear terribly, and declared he had

always known that those aristocrats would bring him into trouble. On

further examination, he said he had gone to his brother's house with the

intention of asking him for a loan of money; but when he looked through

the brilliantly lighted window and saw the big pile of money lying on

the table, it occurred to him that he would strike Andrew down and rob

him. He had not meant to kill him,--only render him insensible. Nearly

all the money was found at his lodgings, and taken. Jorg was lodged in

the prison.

When these facts were made known in the village, everybody was very much

interested and excited, for nothing of the kind had happened before in

that small place. In the school, particularly, every thing was

topsy-turvy, for the children were as much excited as their elders. Otto

scarcely stopped to take breath all day long, for he ran from one place

to another, hoping to hear the latest news at each. He came to the

house, on the third evening, in such a state, that his mother told him

that he must sit perfectly quiet and silent for a little while before he

communicated the piece of news with which he was bursting.

At last he was calm enough to tell them that they wanted to set Joggi

free, for he had been shut up all this time; but the poor fellow was so

convinced that they only wanted to take him out to cut off his head,

that he fought against being removed with all his might. So they decided

to take him out by force, and two men dragged him into the open air. He

fought and screamed so violently, that a crowd soon assembled; and the

poor, foolish fellow, becoming more and more alarmed, had darted away

like an arrow to the nearest barn, where he took refuge from his

imaginary danger in a stall, cowering down in a heap in one corner, and

would not let anybody approach him. His countenance showed his terrible

fear. He had been there all day and night; and now the peasant to whom

the barn belonged said if he did not move soon, he would use the

pitchfork to him.

"It is a sad, sad story, my children," said their mother, when Otto had

finished. "Poor Joggi! how terribly he must suffer from his fear, that

nobody can relieve him of, because he cannot understand what is said;

and yet he is perfectly innocent of any evil deed or wish. Oh, if you

had only told me what had happened that evening on the coast! Your

keeping that a secret has had very, very sad consequences. Cannot we do

something to comfort and reassure him again?"

Pussy was almost crying. "I will give him my red candy cock," she

said, tearfully.

Otto was much disturbed, but he said, scornfully,--

"Yes; a nice present for a grown up man,--a sugar cock! You had better

keep it for yourself."

After a moment he asked his mother, however, to allow Pussy to carry

some food to Joggi in the barn: he had not eaten any thing for

nearly two days.

His mother was more than willing, and had a basket filled at once with

bread and sausage and cheese for the children, and sent them off without

delay. Poor Joggi! there he was cowering in the stall, white as a sheet,

and dared not stir. The children gradually drew near, and presently Otto

held out his basket and showed the food, hoping to tempt Joggi.

"Come out, Joggi. See, all this is for you to eat."

There was no sign of movement.

"Do come out, or the peasant will stick his pitchfork into you."

The poor fellow gave a piteous moan, but still did not stir.

Now Pussy went quite close to him, put her mouth to his ear, and said,

gently, "Do not be frightened, Joggi; they won't cut off your head. My

papa will help you, and will not let anybody harm you. And see, Joggi;

here is a candy cock, all red. Santa Claus sent you this on the

Christmas-tree." And the little girl took the cock very carefully from

her pocket, and held it out to Joggi.

This little gift had a wonderful effect. Joggi looked at his friend

without fear, then at the candy cock, and presently began to laugh. It

was many days since he had laughed. He rose slowly from his corner, and

followed Otto out of the barn behind Pussy. When they got well out of

the yard, Otto said,--

"You can take this basket, Joggi; we are going up there to our house.

Your way is down yonder."

But Joggi shook his head, and followed close to Pussy's heels. They all

went up the hill. Their mother watched the little procession coming, and

her heart began to feel lighter; and she also noticed how the poor,

foolish Joggi held his sugar cock in his hand, and laughed at it with

childish satisfaction.

They all three entered the house and went into the sitting-room, where

Pussy fetched a chair, and, taking the basket in her hand, beckoned

Joggi to come to her; and when he was seated at the table, she spread

out the bread and cheese and sausage before him, saying, very gently,

"Now do eat,--eat up every bit, Joggi, and be happy again."

The poor fellow obeyed, and left no crumbs. He never relinquished his

hold of the red cock, however. He held it in his left hand, and nodded

and smiled at it from time to time. For bread and cheese and sausage he

had often received, but a red candy cock never before.

At last he went down the hill to his cottage. With very happy looks Mrs.

Ritter and Otto and Pussy followed his retreating form, and noticed that

he changed the red cock from one hand to another, and had evidently

forgotten his fears. Mrs. Ritter had not visited Andrew during three

days. There was so much going on all the time, that she had not

perceived how the time passed; and then she no longer felt the least

anxiety about him. He was well cared for,--of that she was certain,--and

was on the best road towards health and strength.

As soon as Colonel Ritter could go, he took the news of the arrest and

imprisonment of Andrew's brother to the good carpenter, who listened to

the story quietly, and said, after a while,--

"It was his will. It would have been far better for him to have asked me

for a little money. I should have given it to him, but his way was ever

a blow rather than a kind word."

Mrs. Ritter went down the mountain one cold, frosty morning, and went

smiling to herself all the way; for she had pleasant plans and projects

in her heart. Just as she opened the door of Andrew's cottage, Wiseli

came out of the sitting-room. Her eyes were swollen and red. She had

been crying. She gave Mrs. Ritter her hand very shyly, and ran into the

kitchen, and shut the door. Mrs. Ritter had never seen Wiseli look in

this way. What could have happened? She went into the sitting-room.

There sat Andrew by the window. He, too, looked as if a bad piece of

news had been brought to him.

"What has happened?" asked Mrs. Ritter; and forgot to say

"good-morning," in her anxiety.

"Oh, oh!" sighed Andrew. "I wish that the child had never entered

my house."

"Wiseli!" exclaimed his visitor. "Is it possible that Wiseli can have

displeased you in any way?"

"Not that, by any means, good lady," Andrew hastened to answer. "No; she

has made my home a paradise for me, and now she is going away; and it

will seem so empty and lonely without her, I cannot bear it. You never

could think, Mrs. Ritter, how I love that child. I cannot bear it, if

they take her away. And the cousin Gotti has sent his boy twice to say

that she is wanted at his house; and, since then, Wiseli has been so

quiet, and cries in secret. It breaks my heart; for I see that she does

not want to go there, though she says nothing, and to-morrow is the last

day. I do not exaggerate, Mrs. Ritter; but I assure you I would prefer

to give all that I have earned and saved for thirty years to her cousin

Gotti, than have him take the child away."

"I would not think of doing that. In your place, Andrew, I would go to

work another way," said Mrs. Ritter, when Andrew had finished his

excited talk.

He questioned her with his eyes in silence.

"I mean in this way. All your worldly goods you will leave to some one

who is very dear to you. You will take Wiseli as your adopted child;

will be a father to her; she shall henceforth live in your house as your

own daughter. You would like that, Andrew, would you not?"

He had listened with all his might, and his eyes grew bigger and bigger.

Presently he grasped Mrs. Ritter's hand, and pressed it almost

painfully. He leaned forward.

"Can that be done? Can I obtain the right to say that Wiseli is really

my own child,--all my own, so that nobody will be able to take her from

me again?"

"You can do all that, Andrew. And, once Wiseli is recognized as your

child, no one will have the least right to her. You will be her father.

And, to tell the truth, Andrew, I hoped that you might wish to do this;

and therefore have kept my husband at home, in case you want to go into

the city to take the necessary steps towards the adoption. You know you

cannot walk, Andrew."

Andrew fairly lost his head over all this. He ran this way and that,

looking for his Sunday coat; and kept asking all the time,

"Can it be true? Is it possible? To-day, did you say? May I go to-day?"

"At once," she said; and gave her hand to Andrew as she left him, to

tell the colonel that all was ready for the visit to the town. "It will

be better not to tell Wiseli until the evening, when every thing is

settled, and you are quietly together here," she said, as she stepped

out of the door. "Do not you agree with me?"

"Yes, certainly," was the answer. "I could not tell her now."

While Andrew was waiting until Colonel Ritter came for him to drive to

the town, he sat trembling in every limb, and thought he could scarcely

stand up, he was so happy and so excited. In about half an hour Wiseli

saw, to her great surprise, the colonel's wagon drive up, stop at

Andrew's door, the servant get down, come to the steps, take Andrew

under the arm, and help him to get into the carriage. The child looked

at it, as it passed away from the house down the road, and could not

understand it at all; for the carpenter had not said any thing to

her,--not even that he was going to drive. He had remained seated where

he was, after Mrs. Ritter's departure, until the colonel's servant came

for him; and the child had kept herself hidden all the time.

After his departure, she went into the sitting-room, and looked out of

the window where Andrew always sat, and kept saying to herself, "To-day

is the last day. To-morrow I must go to cousin Gotti."

Towards noon the child went into the kitchen, put every thing in order,

and arranged Andrew's dinner; but he did not come, and she did not like

to remove the things until he did. So she went back into the

sitting-room; but the sad thought of the coming separation made her

almost ill, and she said to herself, over and over, "To-morrow I must go

to cousin Gotti;" and did not see, in her sadness, that the sunset was

very beautiful, and betokened a still more beautiful morrow.

The child sprang to her feet when presently she heard the door

opened. Andrew the carpenter stood before her with happy eyes, and

with a look that Wiseli had never seen on his face. He sunk into a

chair. He was overcome, but not with fatigue. At last he cried out,

in a triumphant tone,--

"It is true, Wiseli! It is all really true! All the gentlemen said

'Yes,'--every one. You belong to me. I am your father. Call me

'father,' Wiseli."

Wiseli became white as a sheet. She stood staring at Andrew, but did not

speak nor move.

"Oh! of course, of course," said the carpenter. "You can't understand

me, I tell you all so confusedly. Now I will begin at the beginning.

I have just written in the record book in the town, and you are my

child now, and I am your father; and you will always stay here with

me, and not go back to your cousin Gotti again. This is your

home,--here with me."

Wiseli understood now. She sprang into Andrew's arms, clung round his

neck, and cried, "Father, father!" They neither could speak a word after

this for a long time,--too many things were crowding upon them. After a

little, Wiseli felt a sudden light that seemed to break in upon her

thoughts; and she exclaimed, looking up at Andrew,--

"O father! I know how it has all happened, and who has helped us."

"Who may it be, Wiseli?" asked Andrew.

"My mother."

"Your mother, child,--who do you mean? Your mother?"

And Wiseli related her dream about the beautiful garden with the red

carnations, and a rose-bush on the other side, where the sun shone; and

told him how her mother had taken her by the hand and showed her the

garden, and said that her way led through that. And Wiseli was sure that

her mother had not ceased to pray God to let her child's way be through

that garden,--which was Andrew's garden, and the happiest place in the

world for Wiseli.

"Do not you believe it too, father, now that you know that in my dream

my mother showed me my road to your garden?"

Andrew could not answer. Big tears rolled down his face, but he smiled

all the time that he wept. When, at last, he opened his mouth to speak,

there came such a terrible knocking at the door, that nothing else could

be heard. Open flew the door, and Otto was in the middle of the room

with one leap; then he jumped over a chair, and shouted, "Hurrah! we

have won, and Wiseli is delivered." Pussy came in behind him, ran at

once to her friend, and said, pointing towards the door,--

"Now, Andrew, you will see what is coming for you, to celebrate your

recovery."

Scarcely had she spoken, than the baker's boy came struggling through

the doorway with a big tray upon his head that could scarcely come

through. A good push from behind, however, helped him along, and he put

the tray down on the table. Otto and Pussy had ordered the biggest cake,

to be made at the baker's, that was ever known; and as it would not have

been very large if it were round, they ordered it square, and it quite

filled the oven when it was baked. Old Trine stood behind the baker's

boy, and her big basket was at her feet. She had brought, among other

delicacies, a bottle of good wine; for Mrs. Ritter declared that Andrew

had, in all probability, not eaten a morsel since breakfast, and Wiseli

was probably fasting also; and the child remembered the fact, now that

she saw the feast that Trine spread upon the table. They all took their

places, and a merry company they were. To be sure, the grand cake had to

be cut in halves, and part put away, for otherwise there was not room on

the table for the rest of the supper; but after that they were all more

merry than ever feasters were before.

But the time went by, and Trine stood there waiting to take the children

home,--it was late. Andrew said, at leave-taking,--

"To-day you have prepared a feast for me, and I thank you with all my

heart; but I invite you to come here again on Sunday, and I will give

you a feast,--the feast to celebrate my daughter's adoption."

And so they parted, all rejoicing over the fact of Wiseli being so

happily at home with Andrew, and the children promising to come to the

Sunday celebration. At the door Wiseli gave Otto her hand again, and

said, "I thank you a thousand times for all your kindness to me, Otto.

Cheppi never was so rude to me again after you frightened him that day.

He was afraid to throw things at me. I owe it to your kindness."

"And I owe you something, Wiseli," replied Otto. "I have never had to

sweep out the schoolhouse since the time you know of."

"And I thank you, too, Wiseli," said Pussy; for she would not be behind

the others in her thanks.

Now every thing was quiet in the little room, and the moonlight streamed

in through the window where Andrew took his seat, while Wiseli put all

the supper dishes away, and made every thing neat again; then she came

to him, and stood before him with folded hands.

"Father," she said, "let me say my mother's hymn aloud to you. I

have always said it softly to myself; but I shall never forget it

now, I am sure."

Andrew was glad to listen; and the child, raising her eyes to the stars,

said, with the very deepest feeling thrilling through her heart,--

"To God you must confide

Your sorrow and your pain;

He will true care provide,

And show you heaven again.

"For clouds and air and wind

He points the path and way;

Your road He'll also find,

Nor let your footsteps stray."

From this day forward the happiest cottage in the whole village was that

of Andrew the carpenter, with its sunny garden. Wherever Wiseli showed

herself, she received the very kindest notice from all the neighbors,

much to the child's surprise. Formerly no one had noticed her

particularly, but now even her cousin Gotti and his wife never passed

the cottage without coming in to take her by the hand, and invite her to

visit them.

This gave the child keen satisfaction, for she had always feared

secretly her cousin's feelings about her adoption; so this kindness on

his part freed her from all anxiety, and she could go her way

peacefully. But these thoughts often rose within her, and she repeated

to herself,--

"Otto and his family have always shown me kindness when I was alone

in the wide world and friendless: these others are only kind to me

since I am happy and have a father. I know well enough who are really

my friends."

THE END.