Indian’s neck; “we are going away to seek our fortune, and when I am a
man, you shall live with us. But do not follow us now, or she will see
you. We are running away from the señora,” he whispered softly.
The old Indian pressed him to her heart for a moment, and then said,
“Go! for nothing in the wild woods will hurt you so much as staying
here. I shall go to-morrow, but I must wait and see that the old witch
does not bring you back, for I believe she would kill you, only for me.”
Then the boy went softly out, and the old Indian covered her face with
her apron, and thought over her half savage thoughts, which were still
full of good faith and love to the children who had slept in her bosom
in their helpless infancy.
The little Zoie was waiting for her brother in the garden. As soon as
she saw him, she held up the basket of strawberries, saying, “This is
all we have, but, no doubt in the wide world, God will give us all we
need.”
The young boy wrapped the shawl about her, and, clasping each other’s
hands, they stole out of the garden silently, but, when the gate had
closed upon them, he told her how the old cook had given them the
tortillas.
“That is but the beginning of our good fortune,” answered the child.
As they passed the Lake of the Tuleis, the moon and stars were shining
pleasantly, casting a flood of soft golden light upon the graves of
the father and mother. Here the children stopped for a moment, and
the little maiden laid her head upon the green grave of the mother,
crying--“Oh, mamma, mamma! We loved you so dearly, and are so lonely
now. We are going out into the wide world alone, mamma! dear, sweet
mamma!”
She buried her head in the long grass, and there would have wept
herself to sleep, as she had often done before, but the brother took
her by the hand, saying, “We must hasten, sister, or the señora will
come after us.”
So they ran on as fast as they could, and every waving shrub or
tree their fear and the darkness changed into the form of the angry
step-mother.
At last they came to a thick wood, and began to feel quite safe as they
entered it. It seemed so large, and so far out into the wide world,
that they were sure the step-mother could never find them there.
The gray twilight of the morning was coming on, and, as they were very
tired and hungry, they sat down under the trees to eat their tortillas
and strawberries. In the bottom of the basket Zoie found a nut, about
the size of an almond. “This must be the talisman that makes wishing
‘having,’” said the little girl.
They wished all sorts of things, but nothing came to them, and the boy
said, “It is a poor talisman--throw it away.”
“No, brother,” answered the child; “the old woman was so kind to me,
for her sake I will keep it always, and who knows what may come of it
yet?”
So she wrapped it in a leaf, and placed it in her bosom. Then they said
their prayers, and, covering themselves with the shawl, they slept
soundly till morning.
When they awoke, the sun was shining through the leaves of a rich
banana tree, and the ripe golden fruit was hanging in thick bunches
just above their heads.
“See, brother,” said the little girl, “the good God has given us our
breakfast;” and they gathered from the ground as much of the delicious
fruit as they wished.
“I am so thirsty,” said the brother.
“I hear something that sounds like running water,” replied Zoie.
So they looked around, until they found a brook, with a clear spring of
water bubbling up in the midst of the shining stones.
“I thank the good God for this pure, clear water,” said the little
girl, drinking with much pleasure, for she, too, was beginning to be
very thirsty.
“We must go now,” said the boy.
They each took as many bananas as they could carry, and started to go,
they knew not whither.
They were light-hearted and happy in all their morning wanderings, but
by noon they began to feel tired, hungry, and thirsty.
“I am sorry we left the beautiful shady banana tree and the brook. It
is so hot, and I am very thirsty,” said the boy, sadly. So they both
looked for water, but could find none.
“God will give us some by and by,” said the little sister. “Let us sit
down and eat our dinner.”
They ate their bananas with sad hearts, and the wide world seemed very
desolate. All around them the grass was withered, and the trees and
shrubs were dying for want of water.
Though they were so much fatigued, and it was very warm, they were too
thirsty to think of rest, and all the afternoon they wandered about
looking for water and finding none.
By and by the twilight came on, then the stars and the great golden
moon shone upon the pale face of the children, glistening with tears.
“What shall we do, sister,” said the boy, weeping, and falling upon the
ground in despair; “we shall die, we can not be buried by the Lake of
the Tuleis, with the dear papa and mamma.”
“Do not cry, brother,” said the little Zoie, her own eyes filling with
tears. “I am sure God will help us, and if he lets us die here, he will
send the birds to cover us with leaves, as they did the poor little
‘children in the woods.’”
She put her arms around her brother’s neck, and kissed him, saying
again, “Do not cry, dear, God _will_ help us, he is our ‘Father who art
in heaven.’”
So they started again, and very soon they saw a tiny light shining
through the trees, and as they ran forward it grew brighter, and
clearer, and they heard a very pleasant sound, the rushing of waters.
Taking heart again, they urged their little weary feet forward, till
they came to a mill, and the clear light shone from the comfortable
room, in which sat the weary miller, by a glowing fire, while his young
son prepared the supper.
They knocked timidly at the door, and a rough kind voice said, “Come
in.”
They entered, and saw the miller sitting by the fire, and his handsome
young son spreading the table.
The old man spoke to them, but they could not understand him, for he
spoke in English, and they were Spanish children; but the boy said, in
the soft Spanish tongue, “My friends, who are you? and where did you
come from?”
The little girl answered, “We are poor children, whose papa and mamma
are dead, and God takes care of us. We are very hungry and thirsty, and
he showed us the light shining from your window, so we are here!”
Then the boy gave them milk to drink, and put two more plates on the
table, while he told the father what the children said.
“Bless her innocent heart,” said the old man, “God’s little ones are
welcome.”
He took the child in his arms, and she nestled her head down in his
rough neck, and whispered, “I love you, you seem like the dear papa.”
A tear came into the old man’s eye, he only understood the word papa,
but there was affection in the little arms that twined around his neck,
and he kissed her, and said again, “Bless her little heart.”
Her winning ways touched his affectionate nature, they made him think
of a lonely grave, and his own lost darling.
Meanwhile the boys talked pleasantly till supper was ready, then they
sat down together to a bountiful table, and the hungry children ate
heartily, and drank the pure sweet milk, which after their long thirst
seemed delicious.
After supper they went to sleep on a nice deer-skin, spread upon the
floor, but some how that night the old man could not sleep.
He got up two or three times to look at the children, with the tears
standing in his eyes.
He was living over the past. “Bless her little heart,” he said,
smoothing with his rough hand the soft wavy hair of the little girl.
In the morning the children woke much refreshed. At first they did
not know where they were, but they saw the face of the old man turned
kindly toward them, and remembered all.
At breakfast the brother told their story to the boy, and he
interpreted it to the father.
“They shall stay with us,” said the old man, with great satisfaction,
for he had dreaded parting with the child that had so won his love.
After breakfast they went into the mill, and the handsome boy told the
orphans his story, in return.
“Some years ago,” he said, “my father and mother came to this country,
bringing my little sister and myself.
“Mother and sister died very soon after we arrived, and father and I
have lived here alone for many years.
“You can’t tell how lonely it was at first,” he continued, “and how I
used to cry myself to sleep, and poor father was very sad. I am so glad
you are going to stay with us.”
“God sent us,” said the little girl, smiling. And the children were
very contented and happy together.
Thus they lived for many years at the old mill.
The little Zoie grew to be a beautiful maiden, as good as fair.
To the old father she was a great blessing, making his home always neat
and pleasant.
The two boys were handsome, strong young men, full of energy and life.
Every day they roamed over the mountains, prospecting for gold. The old
mill was falling to decay, and promised but little in the future.
One evening, when they had returned after a hard day’s work, weary
and out of heart, they sat down on the stone steps of the old mill to
rest themselves. The waters were flowing on with their usual pleasant
music, and they were thinking and hoping for the future. When the
household work was done Zoie came out and sat by them. To amuse them
she told over the old story of the strawberries and the talisman that
should make “wishing having.”
“Let me see the nut,” said the miller’s son, and Zoie gave it to him.
Placing it upon the stone door-step, he pressed his heel upon it, and
the shell burst open, showing a silken cap of bright crimson, trimmed
with cord, and tassel of gold.
They were all greatly surprised, and the miller’s son placed it upon
Zoie’s shining hair.
“How pretty it is,” said she. “I wish I had a rose-bush filled with
roses of the same color.”
She had hardly spoken, before a rose-bush, covered with beautiful
crimson flowers, sprang up at their feet.
Then they knew that the pretty silken toy was a wonderful wishing-cap,
and that any thing they might desire, could be had for the wishing.
In the morning, when the young men went out, Zoie put on the cap, and
wished they might find a mine of great richness.
“Though we could now live without the trouble of working,” she said to
the father, “a rich mine would help hundreds of poor people, who would
find employment in it. So it would be a real blessing.”
While they sat talking, the brother rushed in, bringing a great nugget
of gold, telling how at last, they had found a mine of fabulous
richness.
Thus, they had every thing they desired, till one day, the miller’s son
put on the cap, and told Zoie, that above every thing in the world, he
wished that she might love him, and consent to be his wife.
The young maiden blushed, and begged for the cap. “It was not quite
fair,” she said, “in wishing that!” So they talked, as young people
will, but it ended in her placing her hand in his, and promising to be
his bride.
“And this,” as the father said, “was the best wish of all.”
The brother was greatly pleased, and said, “Zoie shall be married in
the old home.” So they all went together to the pleasant adobe house
from which they had fled so long ago.
The step-mother was greatly surprised so see them. She had so often
reported them dead, that she really began to believe it herself.
She was obliged to give up everything to the true heirs. Thus she and
her children became very poor again. Though the brothers and sisters
gave her a comfortable house, and provided for her, she was very
ungrateful.
She was a disappointed woman, unhappy herself and making others so
around her.
It was a glorious day when the young people were married, and Zoie in
her snow-white robes and rich lace veil, was as fair a bride as the sun
could shine upon.
All the old friends of the family were invited to the wedding feast,
and the old servants taken home again.
Every one was rejoiced to see the orphans enjoying their own--but of
them all--no one was so happy as the old miller, and when he kissed the
bride after the ceremony, he whispered, “bless your little heart, I
could not live without my child.” The young bride looked into his face,
with beaming eyes, and answered only “my father.”
Thus they were all happy, and, through the changing scenes of life,
the goodness and faith of the wife and mother, never failed. Like the
little maid, Zoie, in the dark night, she trusted, and God always took
care of them.
CRIMSON TUFT.
In the early days, many strange things happened. It was the mystical
age of romance in the Gold Land, and people seemed to live years in
months, or even weeks. Thus a great deal has been forgotten.
In the old countries it was not so, and it may be that some are
living even now at “dear Bingen on the Rhine,” who remember tenderly
the handsome young couple who left their home to seek the alluring
treasures of the Gold Land in “the early days.”
They were honest peasants in the Father land, but over the waters had
floated the marvelous story, how, in the glorious El Dorado, any one
might become a lord of the soil or a rich miner prince.
This it was that fired the heart of the father; and as the mother
looked upon their boy, she too was ready to go out into the great
world, though her heart lay fondly to the beloved Fatherland.
They had little money, but the thrifty good-man managed to work for one
and another on the passage, till, when he arrived at the young city of
tents within the Golden Gate, he had cash enough to make a beginning in
life.
They were soon domesticated in a little shanty, and in a short time
had prepared a fine garden, which became the good-man’s pride. Every
morning dame Waltenburger went to the market, where she had a stall,
and sold fruit and vegetables for gold dust, for that was the currency
of the country in “the early days.”
The little son was ten years old, and a real delight to the mother’s
heart.
He was well formed, with fine features, golden brown hair, and
wonderfully expressive eyes. When he was calm and happy they were of a
soft looming blue, but if excited or angry, they grew dark and fierce,
flashing like balls of fire.
It pleased him above all things, to assist the dear mother at the
market, and very soon he displayed great taste in the arrangements of
the fruits and vegetables.
With maternal pride, the mother often told the neighbors “it would be
impossible to do without Paul,” for really he was the greatest help to
her.
When the flowers were in blossom, the boy always made them into
bouquets and garlands, while his pretty ways brought many a purchaser.
Sometimes he used to carry home parcels for ladies who had made large
purchases, and very often he received presents from them. With the
regular customers the handsome little fellow was a great favorite.
One day, as Paul and the mother sat in the stall together, talking of
the dear Fatherland so far away, they saw a very queer-looking Spanish
woman approaching. She seemed bowed down with age and infirmities, and
leaned heavily upon her staff as she hobbled along with the greatest
difficulty.
After the Spanish fashion her head was covered with a shawl, from which
peered her thin sharp face, quite furrowed with wrinkles. Her bleared
eyes were red, and her long hooked nose nearly met her pointed chin.
Altogether she was very unpleasant in her appearance.
All the time she kept her toothless mouth moving as she mumbled
indistinctly to herself.
She came directly up to dame Waltenburger’s stall, and entering it,
threw herself down upon the bench, exclaiming: “This is what comes of
growing old, nothing but weariness, care, and aching of bones,” and she
began rubbing her knees and muttering to herself.
Little Paul stood looking at her, his eyes dilated with wonder, and the
compassion of his heart made them blue as the cloudless sky.
“Ah!” exclaimed the old woman, looking into his innocent face with
a hideous grimace, “what are you staring at, with your great round
owl-eyes? Do you think it is a fine thing to be old, and lame, and
poor? You will have to come to it. Ah! yes, there is a comfort in that.”
“Old Father Time will take care of you. Yes! yes! yes!” And she shook
her long bony fingers, and chuckled in such a horrible way, that the
child retreated behind the mother’s chair, and hid his face upon her
protecting shoulder.
“Go quickly, boy, and bring me some fresh water,” said the old woman,
“I am very thirsty,” she added, looking at the mother.
Little Paul took a glass and ran away to the well and drew a bucket of
water, so clear and sparkling that it glistened in the sunlight like
the dew of the morning.
As he carried it along, he thought how the professor had told him of
shining nectar that Hebe used to bear in the golden cup to Jupiter and
all the gods of Olympus.
“That was in the olden time,” he said, “but no nectar could be more
beautiful and pure than the water the loving God in heaven gives to us
all.”
Offering it to the old woman, his open rosy face beaming with smiles,
he said “it is nectar fit for the gods, and I am your cup-bearer.”
Then he bowed so prettily that the mother laughed, saying, “did one
ever see such a child? oh! you mischief,” and she shook her fingers in
the cunning old way that all mothers do.
The old woman took the glass, but managed to spill half its contents
over the child’s clean clothes, then she chuckled with delight at his
discomfiture, saying “see what it is to be old, my little cup-bearer.”
While the mother wiped off the water with her handkerchief the woman
began picking over the vegetables and fruit with her thin hooked
fingers, and smelling every bouquet of flowers, till little Paul’s eyes
grew dark and flashed like living flames.
“Just see her, mother,” he whispered, “who will buy them after she has
handled every thing with her dirty hands, and snuffed all the sweetness
and beauty out of the flowers with her ugly, crooked nose?”
“Oh, you little viper,” cried the old woman, springing forward, “I’ll
teach you to mock at old age.”
Paul was too quick for her, and had it not been for the mother she
would have fallen, in her eagerness to catch him.
“Never mind the child, my good woman,” said dame Waltenburger, gently,
“we were all children once, now how can I serve you?”
“To be sure! we were all children once. Ah! me!
“Oh, no! I don’t mind the child, my little cup-bearer,” and the old
woman drew her wizen face into a hundred wrinkles, and began selecting
a large quantity of fruits, vegetables and herbs, far more than she
could carry.
“Is it far you have to go?” said the mother.
[Illustration: _Crimson Tuft._]
“No, no! not far,” replied the woman.
So the mother called Paul to help her. He was very reluctant to go;
but, when the mother kissed him, and promised to make him a beautiful
ball, and cover it with red morocco, he came forward and took the
basket readily.
“And I,” said the old woman, “will give him a beautiful crimson tuft;
he will be gay as a lark, my little cup-bearer.”
This seemed delightful to Paul, and he followed after the old woman,
thinking--“I can play soldier with the crimson tuft, and the professor
in the next house will hear me, and call me Charlemagne. It will be
glorious to be the soldier with the crimson tuft.”
Little Paul walked on in quite a lordly way, with his great martial
thoughts echoing in all the chambers of his boyish heart, “It will be
glorious--the soldier of the crimson tuft!”
On, on they went, far out into the sand hills, in an opposite direction
from his own home.
Paul’s arm began to ache very much, carrying the heavy basket, but he
was feeling so manly, that he did not like to complain; but at last he
became so tired, that it was no use--he could not bear it any longer,
and great tears filled his eyes and covered his rosy cheeks.
All the way the old woman had been muttering to herself in Spanish, but
Paul could not understand that.
“I am so tired,” he said, resting the basket upon the ground.
“Oh, it is not far! not far! and I will give you the bright crimson
tuft--think of that,” replied the old woman.
So Paul took up the basket, and again they went on a long, long way,
and turned so many corners, he feared he could never find his way back,
but still the thought of the crimson tuft allured him.
“I must have it,” he said; “that would be a real pleasure.”
At last, when he was just ready to fall down with fatigue, they came to
a great iron-barred gate, and the old woman rung the bell very loudly.
In a moment a great rough voice called, in Spanish, as through a
trumpet, “Who rings at the gate?”
Very soon the gate was opened by a curious-looking dwarf, who started
and grinned fearfully when he saw Paul.
The child offered him the basket, but he only shook his head, pointing
after the old woman, who gave him her staff, and walked along with as
much ease as little Paul himself.
Now the child was really frightened, and would have run away, but he
was already within the gate, and, with a great clang, it closed. The
dwarf put up the iron bars, and replaced the bolts. Nothing could be
more secure, for all around rose an immense high fence, topped with
sharp spikes. It was impossible to escape--no one could get in or out.
A long avenue led to a pleasant-looking house, built in the Spanish
fashion. It was shaded with beautiful trees, that had been brought from
the southern country. How they waved their long fan-like leaves in the
sunshine! It was a picture engraven upon the child’s mind never to be
effaced.
Under the shadow of the trees walked the old woman toward the house,
and Paul followed with the basket, trembling like the light leaves of
the tamarind. Just behind him came the dwarf. He could hear his heavy
tread.
“It is no use! no use!” thought the child; but he would gladly have
given the tempting crimson tuft, the red morocco ball, all, all his
pretty treasures, to have been once more by the mother’s side, selling
vegetables in the market.
They entered a large, pleasant drawing-room, with doors opening upon
the front piazza and upon the verandah of the inner court, so that,
though it was very warm, a delicious breeze swept through the room, and
made it delightfully cool.
The old woman threw herself upon a couch, and, pointing to a silver
bell, told Paul to ring it, adding, “My little cup-bearer, you must be
tired, and I will order something to refresh you before you return to
your good mother.”
“I am not so very tired,” said Paul; “let me go--the mother will need
me;” and he looked imploringly into the pitiless face that he was
beginning to fear above all things.
“Ring the bell, boy,” was the only answer.
So he rang the bell, and the dwarf, who had left them on the piazza,
entered.
The woman addressed him in Spanish, which Paul did not understand, but,
as he went to and from a large closet, and began spreading the table,
he would turn his curious squinting eyes upon the child with looks of
compassion.
In a short time all was ready; and what a delicious lunch it might
have been to the child, but for the great fear that overshadowed him!
Delicate cakes and confections, cold chicken, eggs, and all kinds of
fruits that children are so fond of, with many nice-looking things
that Paul had never seen before.
There was a great pyramid of ice-cream. “How I should like to eat it
with the dear mother!” thought Paul.
Oh! that _was_ a delicious lunch, to be sure!
“Come, let us sit down,” said the old woman.
“I am not hungry,” answered Paul, timidly; for he longed so greatly to
be at home, that even these unaccustomed delicacies, and the promised
crimson tuft, were as nothing compared with the sweet comfort at the
dear mother’s side.
“You silly child! You have walked all this distance, carrying that
great basket, and are not hungry? Well, you are thirsty, and for your
nectar of the gods, I will return you the sherbet of an eastern prince.”
The woman filled a glass with a clear, rosy liquid, that bubbled up
and sparkled so temptingly, that little Paul, who was quite overcome
with fatigue and thirst, grasped it eagerly, and did not take the glass
from his lips till he had drained it to the bottom.
Then he wished to start for home, but he felt so drowsy that he could
not move. He thought of the mother, but felt no emotion, and looked at
the hideous old woman, who was grinning horribly, without fear. In a
few moments he sunk down upon the couch, in a heavy sleep.