The Birch and the Star
and
Other Stories
The Birch and the Star
and
Other Stories
By
Gudrun Thorne-Thomsen
Editor of
East O' the Sun and West O' the Moon
Illustrations by
Frederick V. Poole
[Illustration]
Row, Peterson & Company
Evanston, Illinois
New York San Francisco Philadelphia
COPYRIGHT, 1915
BY
ROW, PETERSON & COMPANY
Foreword
The realistic stories in this book, given for the first time to
American children, were written in the Norwegian by Jörgen Moe and
in the Swedish by Zacharias Topelius. Both authors have won fame in
their native lands as writers of juvenile literature. Their works
show sincere sympathy with child life and great power to interpret it
artistically.
Children need the realistic story side by side with the purely
imaginative fairy tale, for the story true to human experience serves
to bring about a proper balance between the ideas created by a world of
fancy and those of the world of reality.
The standard of literary merit is the same for both kinds of stories.
Both must influence the child's life subtly and indirectly, not by
moralizing or preaching.
GUDRUN THORNE-THOMSEN.
CONTENTS
THE BIRCH AND THE STAR 9
VIGGO AND BEATE 31
The Doll under the Rosebush 31
Viggo 41
The Floating Island 47
Hans, the Old Soldier 62
Allarm 72
The Black Pond 84
BIKKU MATTI 97
[Illustration: ... the gentleman stopped out of his carriage (took
Bikku by the hand)]
The Birch and the Star
About two hundred years ago Finland had suffered greatly. There had
been war; cities were burned, the harvest destroyed and thousands of
people had died; some had perished by the sword, others from hunger,
many from dreadful diseases. There was nothing left but tears and want,
ashes and ruins.
Then it happened that many families became separated; some were
captured and carried away by the enemy, others fled to the forests
and desert places or far away to Sweden. A wife knew nothing about
her husband, a brother nothing about his sister, and a father and
mother did not know whether their children were living or dead. Some
fugitives came back and when they found their dear ones, there was such
joy that it seemed as if there had been no war, no sorrow. Then the
huts were raised from the ashes, the fields again turned yellow with
golden harvest. A new life began for the country.
During the time of the war a brother and sister were carried far away
to a foreign land. Here they found friendly people who took care of
them. Year after year passed and the children grew and suffered no
want. But even in their comfort and ease they could not forget their
father, mother and native country.
When the news came that there was peace in Finland, and that those
who wished might return, the children felt more and more grieved to
stay in a foreign land, and they begged permission to return home.
The strangers who had taken care of them laughed and said, "Foolish
children, you don't realize that your country lies hundreds of miles
away from here."
But the children replied, "That does not matter, we can walk home."
The people then said, "Here you have a home, clothes and food and
friends who love you; what more do you desire?"
"More than anything else we want to go home," answered the children.
"But there is nothing but poverty and want in your home. There you
would have to sleep on miserable moss beds and suffer from cold and
hunger. Probably your parents, sisters, brothers and friends are dead
long ago, and if you look for them you will find only tracks of wolves
in the snow-drifts on the lonely field where your cottage used to
stand."
"Yes," said the children, "but we must go home."
"But you have been away from your home for many years, you were only
six and seven years old when you were carried away. You have forgotten
the road you came on. You can't even remember how your parents look."
"Yes," said the children, "but we must go home."
"Who is going to show you the way?"
"God will help us," answered the boy, "and besides, I remember that
a large birch tree stands in front of my father's cottage, and many
lovely birds sing there every morning."
"And I remember that a beautiful star shines through the branches of
the birch at night," said the little girl.
"Foolish children," said the people in the foreign land, "you must
never think about this again; it will only bring you sorrow."
But still the children always thought about going home, not because
they were disobedient, but because it was impossible for them to
forget their country, impossible to cease longing for father and mother.
One moonlight night the boy could not sleep for the thoughts of home
and parents. He asked his sister if she were asleep.
"No, I can't sleep. I am thinking of our home."
"And so am I," said the boy, "come let us pack our clothes and flee.
There seems to be a voice in my heart that says, 'Go home, go home,' it
is the voice of God I know, so we are doing nothing wrong."
"Yes, let us go," said the sister. And quietly they went away.
It was a lovely night, the moon shone brightly and lit up the paths.
"But dear brother, I am afraid we never shall find our home," said the
little girl after they had walked a while.
The brother answered, "Let us always go toward the northwest, and we
shall surely reach Finland, and when we are there, the birch and the
star shall be our sign. If we see the star shining through the leaves
of the birch, we shall know that we are at home."
"But don't you think wild beasts may devour us or robbers carry us
away?" cried she.
"Remember, sister dear, the hymn which our mother taught us long
ago--'Though you suffer in a foreign land, God will lead you by the
hand.'"
"Yes," said the little girl, "God will send his angels to protect us in
the foreign land."
And they went bravely on. The boy cut a stout stick from a young oak
tree in order to protect his sister and himself, but no evil befell
them.
One day they came to a cross road where they did not know which way to
go. Then they saw two little birds that were singing in a tree by the
road on the left-hand side. "Come," said the brother, "this road is the
right one. I know it from the song of the birds. Perhaps these little
birds are sent by God to help us along."
The children went on, and the birds flew from branch to branch, but not
faster than the little ones could follow them. The children ate nuts
and berries in the woods, drank water from the clear brooks, and slept
at night on soft beds of moss. They seemed to be cared for in a most
wonderful way. They always had enough to eat, and they always found a
place where they could spend the night. They could not tell why, but
whenever they saw the little birds, they said, "See, there are God's
angels, who are helping us." And so they walked on.
But at last the little girl grew very tired from wandering about so
long, and said to her brother, "When shall we begin to look for our
birch?"
And he answered, "Not until we hear people speak the language which our
father and mother spoke."
Again they walked towards the north and west. Summer was gone, the days
in the forests began to grow cold and again the little sister asked
about the birch, but her brother begged her to be patient.
The country through which they now wandered gradually began to change.
The land which they had left and through which they had walked for
weeks and months was a level land, now they had come into a country
with mountains, rivers and lakes. The little sister asked, "Tell me
brother how shall we get over the steep mountains?"
Her brother answered, "I shall carry you," and he carried her.
Again the little girl asked, "How shall we cross the rapid rivers and
the great lakes?"
[Illustration: ... and he rowed across the rivers and lakes]
The boy answered, "We shall row across," and he rowed across the rivers
and lakes; for wherever they came, they found boats, which seemed to be
there just for their sakes. Sometimes the brother swam with his little
sister across the rivers and they floated easily on the waves. At their
side flew the two little birds. One evening when they were very tired,
the children came upon the ruins of burned down buildings. Close by
stood a large new farm house. Outside the kitchen door stood a girl
peeling vegetables. "Will you give us something to eat?" asked the boy.
"Yes, come," answered the child, "mother is in the kitchen, she will
give you supper, if you are hungry."
Then the brother threw his arms about his sister's neck. "Do you hear,
sister? This girl speaks the language that our father and mother
spoke. Now we may begin to look for the birch and the star." The
children then went into the kitchen where they were received with much
friendliness, and were asked where they came from. They answered, "We
come from a foreign land and are looking for our home. We have no other
mark than this--a large birch tree grows in the yard in front of the
house. In the morning birds sing in its branches, and in the evening a
large star shines through its leaves."
"Poor children," said the people, full of pity, "thousands of birches
grow in this country, thousands of birds sing in the tree tops, and
thousands of stars shine in the sky. How will you find your birch and
your star?"
The boy and girl answered, "God will help us. His angels have led us to
our own country. Now we are almost at home."
"Finland is great," said the people, shaking their heads.
"But God is greater!" answered the boy. And they thanked the good
people for their kindness and went on their way.
It was fortunate for the children that they did not need to sleep in
the woods any longer, but could go from farm to farm. Though there were
wide plains between the human dwellings and great poverty everywhere,
the children were given food and shelter; all felt sorry for them.
But their birch and star they did not find. From farm to farm they
looked; there were so many birches and so many stars, but not the right
ones.
"Finland is so large, and we are so small," sighed the little girl, "I
don't think we will ever find our home."
The boy said, "Do you believe in God?"
"Yes, you know I do," she answered.
"Remember then," continued the brother, "that greater miracles have
been performed. When the three wise men journeyed to Bethlehem, a star
went before them to show them the way. God will show us the way too."
"Yes, he will," answered the little girl. She always agreed with her
brother. And bravely they trudged on.
One evening at the end of the month of May, they came to a lonely farm.
This was in the second year of their wanderings. As they approached
the house, they saw a large birch tree which stood in front of it.
The light green leaves looked lovely in the bright summer evening and
through the leaves shone the bright evening star. "That's our birch!"
cried the boy.
"That is our star," whispered the little girl.
Each clasped the neck of the other and praised the good Lord with
joyful hearts. "Here is the barn where father's horses stood," began
the boy.
"I am sure this is the well where mother raised water for the cattle,"
answered the girl.
"Here are two small crosses under the birch. I wonder what that means,"
said the boy.
"I am afraid to go in," said the girl. "What if Father and Mother are
not living, or think if they don't know us. You go in first, brother."
In the sitting-room sat an old man and his wife--well, they were really
not old, but suffering and sorrow had aged them before their time. The
man said to his wife, "Now spring has come again, birds are singing,
flowers are peeping up everywhere, but there is no new hope of joy in
our hearts. We have lost all our children, two are resting under the
birch, and far sadder--two are in the land of the enemy, and we shall
never see them on earth. It is hard to be alone when one grows old."
The wife answered, "I have not given up hope. God is mighty, he led the
people of Israel out of their imprisonment. If he so wills he has the
power to give us back our children."
"Oh, what a blessing that would be," answered the man.
While he was still talking, the door opened. In stepped a boy and a
girl who asked for something to eat. "Come nearer children," said the
man, "stay with us tonight." And to each other the old people said,
"Our children would have been just their ages if we had been allowed
to keep them, and they would have been just as beautiful," thought the
parents, and they wept.
Then the children could keep still no longer, but embraced their father
and mother, crying, "We are your children whom God in a wonderful way
has led back from the foreign land."
[Illustration: In stepped a boy and a girl]
The parents pressed the children to their hearts and all praised God,
who on this lovely spring evening had brought the warmth of joy to them.
And now the children had to tell everything that had happened to them,
and though there was much sorrow and many dark days to tell of, now
the sorrow was changed to joy. The father felt of the arms of his son
and rejoiced to find him so manly and strong. The mother kissed the
rosy cheeks of her daughter and said, "I knew something beautiful would
happen to-day, because two little strange birds sang so sweetly in the
top of the birch this morning."
"We know those birds," said the little girl. "They are angels disguised
which have flown before us all the way to lead us home. They sang
because they were glad that we had found our home."
"Come, let us go and see the birch," said the boy. "Look, sister, here
lie our little brother and sister."
"Yes," said the mother, "but they are now angels with God."
"I know, I know," cried the little girl, "the angels in bird form who
have flown before us all the way and who sang of our coming, are our
brother and sister. It was they who always seemed to say to us 'Go home
to Father and Mother.' It was they who cared for us, so that we did
not starve or freeze to death. It was they who sent us boats so that
we were not drowned in the rapid rivers. It was also they who said to
us, 'That is the right birch, this is the right star.' God sent them to
keep us safe."
"See," said the boy, "the star is shining more brightly than ever
through the leaves. It is bidding us welcome. Now we have found our
home--now our wanderings are ended."
--_From the Swedish by Zacharias Topelius._
Viggo and Beate
Part One
The Doll under the Briar Rosebush
There was once a little girl, and her name was Beate. She was only five
years old, but a bright and good little girl she was.
On her birthday her father had given her a beautiful straw hat. There
were red ribbons around it, I can't tell you how pretty it was. Her
mother had given her a pair of yellow shoes and the daintiest white
dress. But her old aunt had given her the very best present of all; it
was a doll, with a sweet pretty face and dark brown curls. She was a
perfect beauty in every respect. There was nothing the matter with her
except that the left eyebrow was painted a tiny bit too high up.
"It looks as if she were frowning a little. I wonder if she is not
quite pleased?" asked Beate, when she held her in her arms.
"Oh, yes," answered her aunt, "but she doesn't know you yet. It is a
habit she has of always lifting her eyebrow a little when she looks
closely at anyone. She only wants to find out if you are a good little
girl."
"Yes, yes, and now she knows, for now that eyebrow is just like the
other one," said Beate.
Oh, how Beate grew to love that doll, almost more than she loved Marie
and Louise, and they were her best friends.
One day Beate was walking in the yard with her doll in her arms. The
doll had a name now, and they had become fast friends. She had called
her Beate, her own name, and the name of her old aunt who had given
her the doll.
It was in the early spring. There was a beautiful green spot, with
fine, soft grass in one corner of the yard around the old well. There
stood a big willow tree with a low trunk, and it was covered with the
little yellow blossoms that children call goslings.
They look like goslings too, for each little tassel has soft, soft
yellow down, and they can swim in the water, but walk?--no, that they
cannot do.
Now Big Beate--she wasn't more than five years old, but she was ever so
much bigger than the other one--and Little Beate, soon agreed that they
would pick goslings from the tree and throw them into the well, so that
they might have just as good a time as the big geese and goslings that
were swimming about in the pond. It was really Big Beate who thought
of this first, but Little Beate agreed immediately; you can't imagine
how good she always was.
Now Big Beate climbed up into the willow and picked many pretty yellow
goslings into her white apron, and when she counted them and had
counted to twenty, twice, she said that now they had enough, and Little
Beate thought so too.
So she began to climb down, but that was not easy for she had to hold
her apron together with one hand and climb with the other. She thought
Little Beate called up to her to throw the goslings down first, but
she didn't dare to do that; she was afraid they might fall and hurt
themselves.
Now both of them ran over to the well, and Big Beate helped her little
friend to get her legs firmly fixed between the logs that were around
the well, so that she might sit in comfort and watch the little
goslings swim about on the water. Then gosling after gosling was
dropped down, and as soon as each one reached the water it seemed to
become alive and it moved about. Oh, what fun! Big Beate clapped her
hands to the pretty little downy birds, and when she helped Little
Beate a bit, she too could clap her hands.
But after awhile the little goslings would not swim any longer but lay
quite still. That was no fun at all, so Big Beate asked her namesake
if she didn't think she might lean a little over the edge of the well
and blow on them, for then she thought they might come to life again.
Little Beate didn't answer, but she raised her left eyebrow a good deal
and moved her right arm in the air as if she were saying, "Please don't
do that, dear Big Beate! Don't you remember Mother has told us how dark
it is down there in the well? Think, if you should fall in!"
"Oh, nonsense; just see how easy it is," said Big Beate, for she
thought the goslings were stupid when they didn't want to swim about.
She leaned out over the well and blew on the nearest ones--Yes, it
helped--the goslings began to swim again. But those that were farthest
away didn't move at all.
"What stupid little things!" said Beate, and she leaned far, far out
over the edge of the well. Then her little hands slipped on the smooth
log and--splash! in she fell deep down into the water. It was so cold,
so icy cold, and it closed over her head and took the straw hat, which
she had got on her birthday, off her hair. She hadn't time to hear if
Little Beate screamed, but I'm sure she did.
When Beate's head came over the water again she grasped the round log
with both her hands but the hands were too small and the log too wide
and slippery, she couldn't hold on. Then she saw her dear friend,
Little Beate, standing stiff and dumb with fright, staring at her and
with her right arm stretched out to her. Big Beate hurriedly caught
hold of her and Little Beate made herself as stiff as she could, and
stiffer still, and stood there between the logs holding her dear friend
out of the water.
[Illustration: ... and stood there between the logs holding her dear
friend out of the water]
Now Beate screamed so loudly that her father and mother heard her and
came running as fast as they could, pale and frightened, and pulled
her out. She was dripping wet and so scared and cold that her teeth
chattered.
The father ran to the house with her, but she begged him for heaven's
sake not to leave Little Beate, for she might fall into the well, "And
it's she who has saved me."
Now they put Beate to bed and Little Beate had to sleep with her.
When she had said her prayers she hugged her little friend and said,
"Never, never can I thank you enough, because you saved me from that
horrible deep well, dear Little Beate. Of course, I know that our Lord
helped you to stand firm between the logs, and to make yourself so
strong and stiff, but it was you, and no one else who stretched your
hand out to me, so that I was not drowned. And therefore you shall
be my very best friend, always, and when I grow up you shall be the
godmother to my first daughter, and I shall call her Little Beate for
you." Then she kissed the little one and slept.
Part Two
Viggo
Now Big Beate had a brother who was bigger still than she. He was eight
years old, and he was a wild, mischievous boy. His name was really only
Viggo, but he had read an old story about a terrible, bearded viking
by the same name, who sailed from land to land killing and robbing and
bringing with him on his ship all the gold and silver which he found
and all the pretty girls. So Viggo got a hatchet, just such a one as
he had read that the old Viking had, and he told his sister that after
this she must call him Viggo the Viking, for a Viking he would be when
he grew up. In the yard he ran after the chickens and the ducks; he
wanted to try his strength and the ax on their heads. They cackled and
screamed and flew away from him and this only made the little viking
the braver. But when he came to the geese, with uplifted ax, shouting
his wild war cry, the old gander got angry, bent his long neck and
pinched Viggo the Viking's leg so that he threw his ax down and ran
screaming and howling away. The old gander knew well enough the code of
the vikings, that vikings are not allowed to rob and kill in their own
country, no not even on the other side of the goose pond.
One day Viggo the Viking came up to his sister. He looked wild, wore a
big paper helmet on his head and frowned angrily.
"Now I am going to carry away the pretty girls in this land, that is
what I have come for," said he. "You are too big, but Little Beate is
surely going to be mine. I'll carry her far, far away, at least to the
pine woods and perhaps even to the pasture, and you shall never see
her any more, in all your life."
"You are a naughty boy, and give us nothing but trouble, that is what
Mother said too, the other day," said Beate. "Little Beate has done you
no harm, she hasn't even said a word to you."
"Has not done anything to me?" said the viking. "Didn't she stand on
the flower pot yesterday under the big geranium, when I came and put my
horse there? Don't you think I saw that she pushed my horse so that he
fell down and broke his left hind leg? If I did what she deserves, I
should cut her head off," said the viking, and he tried the edge of his
little ax with his fingers.
"Oh! you are a terrible boy," said Beate, "but I know well how to hide
Little Beate, so that you shall never touch her."
Then she went straight to her little friend and told her sorrowfully
what a naughty boy Viggo was, that he intended to kill her, and that
she, Big Beate, didn't dare to have her inside the house. "But I know
a place where I shall hide you well so that he shall never find you,"
said she.
Then she took her little friend and went with her behind the barn to
a high stone fence. Close up against it stood a briar rose bush laden
with blossoms, the pale pink roses hanging down on all sides. It made a
little fragrant bower and there Little Beate should stay in its shade
and shelter and sit on a grass bench. When night came, and it grew damp
and cold, she should not be uncomfortable for she had her warm cape
there, and raisin cookies she had on a platter by her side, and all
about her the roses bloomed so prettily.
Then Big Beate kissed her good-bye and good-night, and begged her to be
patient, and by no means to go out so that Viggo the Viking should see
her. Big Beate promised surely to see her the next morning and find out
how she had slept, and then she went quietly away.
Beate had hardly time to wash her face the next morning before she
ran to her little friend. She was afraid that Little Beate might have
been scared in the dark, because she was all alone in the little bower
during the night. Beate ran as fast as she could and came out of breath
to the briar rose bush. But you can't imagine her sorrow. Little Beate
was not there, her cape and hat lay on the ground, but her little
friend was gone. Nowhere was she to be found. Beate searched and called
her name, but no answer came. It was Viggo the Viking who had carried
her away, she knew. As sorrowful as she now was, Big Beate had never
been before in all her life. She burst into tears and turned home
slowly with a broken heart.
Who should after this be her best friend, who always was willing to do
what she wanted? And who should be godmother to her first daughter when
she grew up?
Part Three
The Floating Island
Beate was now a year older. During that year she had never forgotten
Little Beate. She had looked for her in the orchard and far away in the
pasture.
When Mother had asked Viggo about Little Beate he answered that the
country was full of vikings and wild beasts, and that he did not know
anything about the doll.
Big Beate had many dolls given to her, but not one was like Little
Beate. No one was so sweet and good natured, no one so pretty and
graceful.
Either the dolls had cheeks that were too red or they could not be
dressed right--stiff and clumsy they all were when they tried to move
their arms and legs, and it was no use at all to talk to them.
Beate had a beautiful play house with a table and chairs and a bureau
in one corner.
It was a Saturday, and the next day, Sunday, she expected her friends,
Marie and Louise, on a visit, for it was her birthday; therefore she
wanted to decorate her doll house as prettily as she could. All the
furniture was placed just right, and she had strewn fresh leaves on the
floor, but she needed some pretty little ornaments for her bureau.
Beate knew what to do. On the hillside by the Black Pond she remembered
that she had seen the prettiest little snail shells anyone might wish
for, round and fluted with yellow and brown markings. They would be
just the thing for the bureau, if she could only find empty ones. She
ran off to search for them, slipping in and out through the hazel
bushes, and creeping in under the mountain ashes and junipers on the
steep hillside, and picking empty snail shells by the dozen.
But all of a sudden she heard a bird cry such a weird cry from the
lake. She peeped out between the green branches and saw a big, big bird
swimming about down there; it had a long blue neck and a white breast,
but its back was shining black. It swam over the lake so fast that you
could see a streak in the water behind it, and then suddenly it dived
and was gone.
Beate stood there and stared at the water, waiting to see it come up
again, but she waited and she waited and no bird came. She began to be
frightened, thinking the poor bird was drowned, when she saw it shoot
up again far away almost in the middle of the lake.
It flapped its wings, making round rings about itself, which spread
farther and farther over the dark surface of the water. Then it began
to swim again very slowly towards a tiny green island which lay there.
When it came to the island it stretched its neck and looked carefully
around to all sides. Then it crept up into the high weeds and grasses
which hung out over the water.
Beate could not get tired of looking at the pretty little island.
It was so pretty and so little, not bigger than one-quarter of the
parlor floor, and oblong, with here and there tiny bays and points.
Willow bushes grew out of the grass in some places and in one end grew
a little white-barked birch tree. Beate thought she had never seen
anything half so lovely as the little green island on the black water.
It seemed just like a strange little land, all by itself. She kept
watching it through the bushes hoping all the time the bird would come
again, but it stayed on the island.
At last the evening breeze began to ruffle the surface of the water a
little and Beate remembered that she must hurry home. She bent down to
pick a few more snail shells which she might give to Marie and Louise.
Again she looked up and peeped through the leaves and branches to say
good-night to the island, when--think of it! The little green island
was gone.
Beate wouldn't believe her own eyes, she thought she must have moved
without knowing it, so that the bushes hid the island from her, but no,
she was sitting exactly in the same spot.
She thought of goblins and fairies and ran up the path to the top of
the hill as fast as she could. But when she got there she had to look
again. And she became more astonished than ever for now she saw the
little green island again but far from the place where she first saw
it. It was sailing slowly towards the southern end of the lake and the
silver birch was its sail.
As soon as Beate reached home she found Anne, the nurse, and told her
what she had seen.
Anne knew all about the floating island, it had been on the lake for
many years, she said. But there were many strange things about it.
Every time there was to be a fine year for the farmers the island
was green all summer, but if there was to be a bad year the grass on
it grew yellow and brown and there were but few leaves on the little
birch. Yes, old Anne would not be surprised if there appeared blood red
spots on the island in years of warfare and trouble.
Every year there was a loon's nest there, and Anne had her own opinions
both of the loon and the island; but when Beate wanted to know more,
old Anne only shook her head, for she was not the kind that told
everything she knew.
But one thing she would tell and that was, that if anyone stood on the
floating island and took a loon's egg out of the nest and wished for
something, that wish would come true, if the egg was put safely back
into the nest again. If you wished to become the Princess of England
your wish would indeed be fulfilled, said old Anne. But there was one
more thing to notice; you must not talk about it to a living soul.
"Not even to Father and Mother?" asked Beate.
"No," said Anne, "not to a living soul."
Beate could think of nothing but the island all that evening, and when
she had closed her eyes she could dream of nothing else all night.
Now it was covered with blood-red spots--now it was green; then she
thought that the loon cried "I am the Princess of England, but I have
been bewitched and must stay a loon."
Just as soon as Beate got up in the morning she begged her father to
row her and Marie and Louise out to the floating island, when they came
to visit her in the afternoon, and that he promised.
But he also asked how she had happened to think of that and what she
wanted there. Beate thought first that she would tell him everything,
but then she remembered Anne's words and only said that she wished to
go out there because the little green island was so pretty, and she
wished to look at it more closely.
"Yes, indeed, it is pretty and you shall see a loon's nest too," said
the father stroking Beate's brown hair.
Then Beate's face grew red and the tears came to her eyes, for she knew
well enough about the loon's nest and about the eggs.
In the afternoon the father took the three little girls down to the
lake. Viggo was along too, but there was no boat, only a raft, not
large enough to carry all of them, so he had to stay behind. And he was
perfectly willing for he was now older and had grown more thoughtful
than when we last heard of him. Now he helped the little girls on the
raft.
The water was like a mirror, black and shining. The big pine forest
on one shore and the green hillside on the other stood on their heads
and looked at themselves in the smooth surface. Round about, close
to the water's edge, stood the tall grasses high and straight, like
regiments of soldiers guarding the quiet little lake. And here and
there lay broad green leaves and large snowy water-lilies swimming on
the dark water. Beate's friends thought this was the loveliest thing
they had ever seen, and they begged the father to stop and get some of
the pretty water-lilies for them. But Beate alone was longing for the
floating island.
It lay in the middle of the lake, and when they drew near, it looked as
if there were two little islands, one on top of the water and one below
its surface, and the latter was almost prettier than the former. The
father rowed close up to the island and around it, and when he came to
the other side the loon plunged out of the reeds into the water and was
gone.
"There is the loon's nest," said the father and landed the raft.
The little girls leaned over the edge while the father held them, first
one, then the other. What joy! The loon's nest lay on the very edge of
the little tiny island hidden among the grasses, and in the nest lay
two big grayish-brown eggs, with black spots, larger than any goose
eggs.
Marie and Louise shouted and laughed, but Beate felt strangely
frightened and was very quiet. She begged her father to let her stand
on the island, only a minute, and would he let her take one of the eggs
in her hand?
The father would not deny her that, but lifted her up onto the floating
island. But he told her she must be very careful, just lift the egg
gently between her two fingers for if the bird noticed that the egg had
been touched she would not hatch it.
And now Beate stood on the green floating island. She grew quite pale,
she was so excited when she bent down to pick up the grayish-brown egg.
She lifted it carefully between her two fingers. Now she might wish
for anything in the wide, wide world. And what do you think she wished
for? To become the Princess of England? Oh, no, she knew something
far better than that. Then her lips moved softly and she whispered to
herself, "And now I wish that Little Beate was with me once more and
would never, never leave me."
Carefully and with trembling hand, she put the egg back into the nest.
What was the pink something her eye caught sight of among the tall
reeds close to the nest? It was her doll. Beate gave one shriek of
joy--"Little Beate, my own Little Beate," she sobbed when she had her
own dearest friend in her arms again. She covered her with tears and
kisses, she held her tight in her arms as if she would never in the
world let her go.
Her father, Marie, and Louise stood by without saying a word. At last
the father stroked Beate's hair, kissed his little girl, and lifted her
on to the raft again.
Such a birthday party as Beate had now she never had before nor since.
What did it matter that a year's rains and snows had faded the pink
of Little Beate's cheeks and bleached her brown curls? She was the
guest of honor and sat on the prettiest chair. She had all the cookies
and chocolate that she wanted. She was petted and loved, and at night,
tired and happy Big Beate slept with her little friend in her arms.
[Illustration: "Little Beate, my own little Beate"]
Part Four
Hans, the Old Soldier
Viggo was ten years old now. He no longer cared to become a viking
when he grew up. To be an officer in the army was his one thought now;
he would prefer to become a general of course, but if he couldn't be
that at once, he would be satisfied to be a captain; he might become
a general later. From whom do you suppose he had learned such things?
From Hans, the old Grenadier.
Hans was Viggo's dearest friend, though he was cross and curt to other
people. The servants on the farm often called the old Grenadier "Hans
the Watchdog," for they said when he talked to anyone it sounded like a
dog barking, and he looked as though he were ready to bite. But Viggo
had once said that the Grenadier's voice sounded like the rattle of a
drum, and the old soldier thought that was well said. It was really
from that time on that Viggo and Hans were such good friends.
Hans the Grenadier was six feet-two, and a little more. He was broad
shouldered and straight as a stick. His hair was long and snowy white,
and it hung in a braid down his red soldier's coat.
When he came walking up to the farm from his little cottage he always
carried the ax on the left shoulder, like a gun, and marched stiff and
straight turning the toes well out, and kept step as if the sergeant
was marching right at his heels, commanding "Left, right! Left, right!"
Hans wore yellow leather trousers, but suspenders he never used, so
there was always a gap of three or four inches between the coat and the
trousers where his shirt showed through, winter as well as summer. His
hat was worn to a reddish-brown. It was wide at the crown and narrow
at the brim, and there was a deep hollow in the top which filled with
water when it rained. He always wore his hat a little on one ear. When
Hans turned his toes out more than usual and put his hat too much on
one side, the servants would say, "Both Hans the Watchdog and his goose
pond are pretty well filled up to-day." And however much he disliked
to, Viggo had to admit that this was a bad sign, for Hans had the sad
fault of sometimes drinking a drop too much. But Viggo always knew
that at such times Old Hans was most willing to tell about the time he
served in the army, both in '88 and '89. Then he told of the battles
at Kvistrum and at Lier, and first and last about the "Prince of
Gustenberg"--it was Prince Christian of Augustenburg he meant.
"That was a man!" said Hans. "Such a face you never saw on any man.
When he looked at you it was as if he would eat you in one bite.
And such a nose between the eyes! You are looking at me, well, for
a common soldier I have been specially well favored. But the Prince
of Gustenberg he had a nose that shouted 'Get out of my way.' And
therefore they did get out of his way too, wherever he showed himself.
Such another man we've never had in Norway, neither before nor since
his time. God bless him where he lies, and God punish those who laid
him there!"
"Aren't you ashamed? The Prince of Augustenburg never swore, I'm sure,"
said Viggo.
"You think so, you little cub? But it is true, he never did," said
Hans. "But that is because a general does not need to, it does not
become him, but for the common man it is just as necessary as to drink
whiskey."
This did not prove anything to Viggo, on the contrary he said it was a
shame to do either.
"A shame?" said the Grenadier. "Do you know what the Prince of
Gustenberg said when he spoke in front of the troops? 'One thing is
a shame,' said he, 'and that is to turn your back before retreat is
called.' And now you know what is a shame, my boy!"
Viggo understood well enough that it was no use to discuss such a
matter with the old Grenadier, so he sat silent a little while.
"Have you never known a little boy to become a general?" he asked
at last. "No, I haven't but I have known a drummer boy who became
a sergeant. He was not much bigger than you; but that was a lively
youngster! He could do everything you can think of. He could beat the
drum equally well standing on his head or on his legs. There was one
thing though that was very hard for him to do and that was to beat
'Retreat.' On the drill ground he knew it as well as his A-B-C's, but
when he smelled the enemy's powder he seemed to forget all about it.
The captain had to give him a rap or two before he could remember it
again. But 'Forward March' he knew how to drum, he never forgot that,
and sometimes he beat that instead of 'Retreat,' and when the captain
got angry he made the excuse that he did not hear, the guns made so
much noise about him, he said. Usually he wasn't punished either,
because he had once saved the captain's life with a snowball."
"With a snowball?" said Viggo.
"Yes, I said snowball, you little cub, he did not use greater means.
We were rushing up a hill with the enemy in front of us. It was in
winter, with deep snow and thawing too. The captain and the drummer
boy led the march, eight or ten steps in front of us. But as soon as
they came to the top of the hill there stood the enemy in line. 'Aim!'
commanded the enemy's officer and all the guns pointed right at the
captain. Quick as lightning the drummer boy grabbed a handful of snow
and made a snowball and, just as the blue-jacketed donkey opened his
mouth to say 'Fire!' the drummer boy threw the snowball straight into
the open mouth. He was speechless for a moment and stood there mouth
wide open. Well then the rest of us arrived and we had a hot fight."
"Then was he made a sergeant?" asked Viggo.
"Yes, a while afterwards, when the Prince had heard of it. He was given
the rank of a sergeant, and something better even than that. The
Prince called him 'my son.' The Prince rode to the front. 'My son,' he
said to the drummer boy, 'I understand you know how to stop the mouth
of the enemy when he is about to talk too loudly. We will try what more
you can do,' said he, and then the drummer became sergeant."
"It was too bad that they didn't make him a general," said Viggo. He
stood there polishing his coat button, then he added half aloud, "Do
you think I might become a general, Hans?"
"Well, well, listen to the spring chicken!" said Hans. "So it is
general you want to be, cub that you are? Never mind, don't blush for
that, it wasn't a bad question. But it is very difficult, for then you
must learn much, oh very much."
"Mathematics, you mean?" said Viggo. "I have learned some of that
already, and languages too."
"Yes, that is well enough, but you must learn much more, you must learn
the commands and what is more, boy! you must learn to drill so that
you don't make a mistake in a single movement; the gun must dance in
your hands, and when you strike it it must sing like the dean in church
when he sings 'Amen.' And you must march so stiff and straight that the
balls fly past you, as soon as they see you."
Viggo did not know when he should learn all this, but Old Hans said
that those things one learned in war.
"But if only war broke out again," said Viggo.
"Yes, you are right, my boy, if only war broke out! that was well
said," agreed the Grenadier.
"Then do you think I might become a general?" continued Viggo.
"Who knows? But it is difficult. The eyes are not bad, you have the
right expression. But the nose, no it has not the correct shape. But
of course it may grow and curve in time," said Old Hans.
And that Viggo hoped too, and in that hope he learned to drill and
march from his old friend, but he often looked in the mirror and wished
with all his heart that the nose would curve a little more.
Part Five
Allarm
One afternoon Viggo was walking home from school with a bag of books on
his back. He marched straight as a stick with a soldierly step, for he
was thinking of the time when he should change this bag for one full of
cartridges. Old Hans was standing outside the cottage waiting for him,
and when Viggo halted and saluted, the old man asked if he could guess
what present there was for him at the house.
"How does it look?" asked Viggo.
"It is brown," said Hans. "Now guess."
"Oh, I suppose it is nothing but a lump of brown sugar from Aunt Beate.
She never remembers that I have outgrown such sweet stuff," said Viggo.
"Try again!" said Hans, and grinned. "It is dark brown, man, it walks
on four feet and laps milk."
"Are you mad? Is it the puppy the Captain has promised me? Is it?"
cried Viggo, and forgot all about standing straight and stiff before
the Grenadier.
"Right about, you cheater! Of course that's what it is," said Hans the
Grenadier.
But Viggo turned a somersault instead of "Right about" and ran to the
house. On a piece of carpet close by the fireplace lay the little
puppy, and he was beautiful. Viggo could not get tired of looking at
him. The body was dark brown, but the nose and paws were light brown,
and he had a light brown spot over each eye. He was almost as broad
as he was long, and when Viggo sat down on the floor beside him and
stroked and patted the soft fur he bent his short, stubby neck and
smelled, and then licked Viggo's hand. Soon they had become acquainted
and from that time on Viggo watched carefully to see if the puppy grew,
almost as carefully as he watched his own nose, to see if it had the
proper curve so that he might become a general.
But it went much faster with the puppy. And as he grew Viggo loved him
more and more; they were inseparable. In the night Allarm lay by his
bed, and in the daytime he sat beside Viggo when he was studying his
lessons. The puppy looked at him with his big brown eyes, just as if he
would help him when he came to difficult passages, and then he followed
him wherever Viggo went or stood. He was not allowed to go along to
school, but he met him every afternoon more than half way and barked
with joy and wagged his tail when he saw Viggo.
One winter morning Hans the Grenadier and some of the farm hands were
going to the woods to haul lumber. Viggo had a holiday that day so he
was allowed to go along. He put his rubber boots on and whistled for
Allarm. The puppy jumped and barked when he noticed that they were
off for the woods, for Allarm's father was a hound, so Allarm wanted
to hunt too. But Viggo's father said it would be best to leave Allarm
at home, for there were packs of wolves in the woods and their tracks
had been seen even in the field close to the farm. Viggo did not like
to leave Allarm behind, but when his father said so of course he must
do it. He took the strap and tied Allarm to the leg of the sofa. Then
he put his old coat on the floor beside the dog, so that he might
rest more softly and be comfortable. But you can't imagine how Allarm
whined and howled when he understood that he was to be left tied up
instead of being allowed to go along to the woods.
He lay flat on the floor and dragged his body to Viggo's feet as far as
the strap reached--just as if he begged for freedom and permission to
go with him, and he looked at Viggo with sad eyes which seemed to say,
"Have you really the heart to go to the woods to have a good time, and
to leave me behind, tied up and alone?" No, Viggo had not the heart to
do that. He told his father that he could not stand to have Allarm so
sad, happen what would, and he begged that he might take him along.
The father smiled and said he was afraid it might be the death of his
dog, but if Viggo wanted to risk it and take him along he must take
good care of him and not let him out of his sight. Then they untied
him, and you may imagine Allarm's joy; he jumped and barked so that
the mother had to put her fingers in her ears.
How beautiful the forest was! First they drove for awhile along the
main road where there was good driving. The seven horses went in a
line, one after the other and Hans the Grenadier and Viggo and Allarm
walked behind the first one. On both sides of the road stood tall pines
with their yellow trunks reaching out of the snow. Here and there
between them stood an old fir with its branches hanging down to the
ground. The needles couldn't be seen at all as it was white with snow
from top to bottom--there you could see its dark brown leg. And all the
young trees on both sides stood bent to the ground under the weight of
the snow. It looked as if they had dressed in heavy white robes against
the cold and stood there bowing to all who went past. But they made no
loud greetings. No, the forest was so still, so still you could not
hear the least sound except the horses' hoofs crunching in the snow.
Here and there Viggo saw the foot-prints of a wolf beside the road.
Then he always told Allarm to keep close by him, and that he did.
But after awhile they left the road and turned into the thick forest.
Hans the Grenadier waded in front and the snow came to his knees, then
came the horses and the boys, one after the other, and at last Viggo.
It was a fine tramp. The snow came sifting down from twigs and boughs,
so the men were white like snowmen, and the steam rose in clouds from
the horses because the snow melted on them.
After a while they came to the logs and began to hitch them to the
horses. Then suddenly Viggo remembered Allarm; he had forgotten all
about the dog since they turned away from the road. He looked around
him, and just then he heard Allarm whine and howl somewhere in the
depths of the forest.
As quick as lightning he grabbed an ax which Old Hans had hewed into
the stump of a tree and rushed in through the trees in the direction
from which the howling came. It was not easy, he ran over the wild
fields, and the snow reached far above his knees, but he noticed
nothing, he only feared he would be too late. Once he had to stop a
little to draw breath, then again he heard the pitiful wail of the dog,
but now it sounded fainter. Off Viggo rushed again, and at last he
spied something between the trees. He did not see his dog, but three
wolves stood in a circle, heads turned toward the center, the fourth
one lay inside the ring and bit something in the snow.