I
Long ago, in half-forgotten days, a little hut stood at the edge of a
great forest. It was rather a meek, shamefaced little hut, for the
forest was great and beautiful, and the hut was small and ugly. Still,
it had a glowing fireplace inside, and a brick chimney on top, and it
was somebody's home, which--after all--is the principal thing.
A broom-maker named Peter lived there with his wife Gertrude and their
two children, Haensel and Gretel. The broom-maker was poor, oh, very,
very poor, and that is why his home was not beautiful to see. But he was
an honest, upright man who loved his family, and had he been able, I am
sure, he would have housed them in a marble palace. Unfortunately,
however, the broom-making business had been unusually poor that year.
Indeed, on the very day that our story begins, Peter and his wife were
both away from home in quest of work, and only Haensel and Gretel were
to be seen inside the hut.
Lest you should not know, it might be well to mention that Haensel was
the boy. He was busily engaged--or, at least, he was supposed to be--in
making brooms, while Gretel, the girl, had her knitting in hand. But it
was extremely difficult to keep their thoughts or their eyes, either,
upon such stupid work. Each breeze that blew in through the open window
brought an invitation from the fascinatingly sunlit grassy spot before
the door. Even the trees in the forest beyond beckoned to them with
their tall branches.
Besides, there was another cause for rebellion on that particular
afternoon. To tell the truth, the children were hungry. Moreover, since
there seemed to be absolutely nothing in the house to eat, it was quite
likely that they would remain hungry, which was the worst part of all.
Haensel, after the manner of boys, threw his work into the farthest
corner of the room and fairly shouted:
"I just wish Mother would come home! I'm hungry, that's what I am. For a
week I've eaten nothing but bread, and little of that. Oh, Gret, it
would be such a treat if we had something good to eat!"
Now Gretel, as it happened, was every bit as hungry as he, but, after
the manner of girls, she sought to comfort him.
"Don't be an old crosspatch," she said. "If you'll stop complaining,
I'll tell you a secret. But you must smile first!"
Haensel smiled.
She went on:
"Do you see that jug over there on the table? Well--it's full of milk.
Somebody left it here. And if you're good, Mother will stew rice in it
when she comes home."
Haensel had heard such stories before.
"Don't believe it," said he. "It's too good to be true."
Nevertheless he went to see. And when his eyes assured him that what was
in the jug really looked like milk, he was overcome with the temptation
to find out whether it tasted like milk, also. First he gave a sly
glance at Gretel and then down went his forefinger into the jug!
"Haensel! aren't you ashamed, you greedy boy? Out with your finger!" For
Gretel had caught him in the act.
"Get back to your work in a hurry, for you know if Mother comes before
we've finished, there'll be trouble."
Haensel, however, was not inclined toward work that afternoon. In fact,
he was in a very rebellious mood, altogether.
"Don't let's work," suggested he. "Let's dance."
Now you must remember that Gretel was only a little girl with twinkling
feet that loved to dance and a merry voice that loved to sing. So do not
judge her too harshly, even though she quickly dropped her tiresome
knitting.
Their wooden shoes--for they were the style in those days--clattered
over the board floor; they clapped their hands, their childish voices
rang out, and they had, all in all, a most beautiful time. They forgot
their empty stomachs; they forgot their aching fingers. Gretel, who was
clever in such things, taught Haensel some new steps. And he, less
awkward than usual, learned them so quickly that Gretel praised him for
his aptness. Her words made him as proud as a peacock. He seized her
hands in both of his own. Round and round they whirled, faster and
faster, until suddenly, losing their balance, they fell, laughing
loudly, in one heap on the floor.
And then--the door opened.
"Gracious goodness!" they cried. "It's Mother!" And up they jumped in
double-quick time.
Yes, it was Mother, and an angry Mother at that.
"What does this mean?" she exclaimed, "all the noise and clatter? Where
is your work, you good-for-nothing children?"
The children, half penitent, wholly frightened, looked at each other.
Haensel blamed Gretel, Gretel blamed Haensel.
The Mother blamed them both. She scolded, she raged, she brandished a
stick, and I confess I am afraid to think of what her anger might have
led her to do next. But just at that moment, in her excitement, she gave
the milk jug a push, and down it went, breaking into a thousand pieces,
with the precious milk running in little streams all over the floor.
That was the last straw! What was there left to be cooked for supper?
The furious woman snatched a basket from a nail on the wall. She thrust
it into Gretel's hand.
"Off with you both to the wood!" she cried. "And hurry up, too! Pick
strawberries for supper! If the basket isn't full, you'll get a
whipping. Yes, that's what you'll get." She shook her fist to make the
admonition more impressive.
Scarcely had they gone, however, when the woman, completely exhausted,
sat down by the table and began to weep and moan. You see, she was
really not an ill-natured woman at all. Poverty had embittered her, and
the mere thought that her children might be starving, caused her to lose
entire control of her feelings. It had been a long, wearisome, and
disappointing day, and now, even at its end, her own irritability had
caused another calamity. Angry with herself, the world, and everything,
she rested her head on her arms and sobbed herself to sleep.
Do you know the old verse, "It is always darkest just before dawn"? Now,
if the mother had been patient only a little longer, all would have
been well. But then there would have been no story to tell.
The mother was still sleeping when the father came home. He was singing
joyfully, and he awoke her with a kiss.
"See," he cried happily, "my brooms are all sold. There was a festival
in the town to-day, and every one must needs be clean. Such a sweeping
and a dusting and a cleaning! I drove a roaring trade, I tell you. So,
here's butter and eggs and ham and sausage. And tea, too. Hurry up, good
wife, and get supper ready!"
The mother packed away the things. She lighted the fire. She hustled and
bustled about. Suddenly the father, missing the children, inquired:
"Where are Haensel and Gretel?" He went to the door to call.
"Don't call," answered the mother. "They were naughty, and I sent them
to the woods in disgrace."
"The woods!" exclaimed the father, and his voice was full of horror.
"It is growing dark," he said, "and my children are in those gloomy
woods without stars or moon to guide them! Don't you know that there is
enchantment in those woods? Don't you know that the Witch walks there?"
His voice sank to a whisper.
"Which witch?" asked the woman, thoroughly alarmed.
"The Crust Witch, the gobbling Witch! She who rides on a broomstick at
the midnight hour, when no one is abroad, over hill and vale, over moor
and dale!"
"Oh! Oh! Oh! but what does she gobble?"
"Have you never heard? All day long, she stalks around, with a
crinching, crunching, munching sound and lures little children with
gingerbread sweet. She lures little children, the poor little things,
into her oven, all red-hot; then she shuts the lid down, pop,
pop!--until they're done brown."
"Oh, horror!" cried the mother, wringing her hands. "Oh, what shall we
do?"
"Go seek them!" said the father.
And in another moment without hats, shawl, anything, they had run out of
the hut.