There was once a girl, and her name was Beate. On her birthday her
father had given her a beautiful straw hat. 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 face
and dark brown curls.
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. It 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
present.
It was in the early Spring. There was a green spot 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 yellow
down, and they can swim in the water.
Now, Big Beate and Little Beate soon agreed that they would pick
goslings from the tree and throw them into the well, so that these
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 little white apron, and when she counted them she said
that now they had enough, and Little Beate thought so too.
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!
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 eye-brow, 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. She leaned out
over the wall 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--splash! Down she fell 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 whether Little
Beate screamed, but I'm sure she did.
When Beate's head came up 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.
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.
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. 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."