FRIDA'S FATHER.
"And though we sorrow for the dead,
Let not our grief be loud,
That we may hear Thy loving voice
Within the light-lined cloud."
Early in the morning, ere wife or children were awake, and long before
the October sun had arisen, Wilhelm Hoerstel arose, and putting a hunch
of black bread and goat-milk cheese into his pocket, he shouldered his
axe and saw and went out into the Forest.
The dawn was beginning to break, and there was light enough for the
practised eye of the wood-cutter to distinguish the path which he wished
to take through the Forest.
Great stillness reigned around; even the twittering of the birds had
hardly begun--they were for the most part awaiting the rising of the
sun, though here and there an early bird might be heard chirping as it
flew off, no doubt in search of food. Even the frogs in the Forest ponds
had not yet resumed their croaking, and only the bubbling of a brooklet
or the falling of a tiny cascade from the rocks (which abound in some
parts of the Forest) was heard. The very silence which pervaded, calmed,
and to a Christian mind would have raised the thoughts Godward. But it
had no such influence on the heart, the kindly heart, of the young
wood-cutter as he walked on, bent only on reaching the small hamlet or
"Dorf" where stood the hut of the man with whom he sought to hold
counsel as to how a search could be instituted in the Forest for the
father of little Frida.
As he reached the door, and just as the sun was rising above the
hill-tops, and throwing here and there its golden beams through the
autumn-tinted trees, he saw not one but several wood-cutters and
charcoal-burners going into the house of his friend Johann Schmidt.
Somewhat wondering he hastened his steps, and entered along with them,
putting as he did so the question, "_Was gibt's?_" (What is the matter?)
His friend, who came forward to greet him, answered the question by
saying, "Come and help us, Wilhelm; a strange thing has happened here
during the night.
"Soon after Gretchen and I had fallen asleep, we were awakened by the
noise of some heavy weight falling at the door; and on going to see what
it was, there, to our amazement, lay a man, evidently in a faint. We got
him into our hut, and after a while he became conscious, looked around
him, and said 'Frida!' Gretchen tried to find out who it was he wished,
but could only make out it was a child whom he had left in the Forest;
but whether he was still delirious none could tell. He pressed his hand
on his heart and said he was very ill, and again muttering the word,
'Frida, Armseliger Frida,' he again fainted away.
"We did what we could for him, and he rallied a little; and then an hour
ago, Gretchen stooping over him heard him say, 'Herr Jesu. Ob ich schon
wandelte im finstern Thal fuerchete ich kein Unglueck: denn Du bist bei
mir' ('Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will
fear no evil: for thou art with me'); and giving one deep breath his
spirit fled."
As their mate said these words, exclamations of sorrow were heard
around. "_Ach_, poor man!" said one. "Thinkest thou the child he spoke
of can be in the Forest?" "And the words he said about fearing no evil,
what did they mean?" said another. "Well," said one who looked like a
chief man amongst them, "I believe he was _ein Ketzer_, and if that be
so we had better send to Dringenstadt, where there is a _ketzer Pfarrer_
[heretic pastor], and get his advice. I heard the other day that a new
one had come whom they called Herr Langen."
Then as a momentary pause came, Wilhelm Hoerstel stepped forward and told
the tale of the child he had found in the Forest the night before, who
called herself Frida. The men listened with amazement, but with one
breath they all declared she must be the child of whom the dead man had
spoken.
"Ay," said Wilhelm, "and I am sure she is the child of a _Ketzer_
[heretic]; for what think ye a child like that did ere she went to bed?
She prayed, and my wife says never a word said she to the Virgin, but
spoke just straight to God."
"_Ach_, poor _Maedchen_!" said another of the men; "does she think the
Lord would listen to the prayer of a child like her? The blessed Virgin
have pity on her;" and as he spoke he crossed himself.
"If these things be so," said the chief man, by name Jacob Heine, "then
it is plain one of us must go off to Dringenstadt, see the _Pfarrer_,
and settle about the funeral."
His proposal was at once agreed to, and as he was overseer of the
wood-cutters, and could not leave his work, Johann Schmidt, in whose hut
the man had died, was chosen as the best man to go; whilst Wilhelm
should return to his home, and then take the child to see her dead
father.
"Yes, bring the _Maedchen_" (little maid), said all, "and let us see her
also; seems as if she belongs to us all, found in the Forest as she
was."
There was no time to be lost, for the sun was already well up, and the
men should have been at work long ago.
So they dispersed, some going to their work deeper in the Forest,
Wilhelm retracing his way home, and Johann taking the path which led
through the wood to the little town of Dringenstadt.
As Wilhelm approached his door, the little Frida darted to him, saying,
"Have you found my fader? Oh, take me to him! Frida must go to her
fader." Tears rose to the wood-cutter's eyes, as lifting the child in
his arms he entered the hut, and leaving Frida there with Hans, he
beckoned his wife to speak to him outside; and there he told her the
story of the man who had died in Johann's cottage.
"Ah, then," said Elsie, "the little Frida is indeed an orphan, poor
lambie. How shall we tell her, Wilhelm? Her little heart will break.
Ever since she woke she has prattled on about him; ay" (and the woman's
voice lowered as she spoke), "and of a Father who she says lives in
heaven and cares both for her earthly father and herself. And, Wilhelm,
she's been reading aloud to Hans and me about the Virgin's Son of whom
my mother used to speak."
"Well, never mind about all that, wife, but let us tell the child; for I
and my mates think she should be taken to see the body, and so make sure
that the man was really her father."
* * * * *
"Fader dead!" said the child, as she sat on Wilhelm's knee and heard the
sad story. "Dead! Shall Frida never see him again, nor walk with him,
nor talk with him? Oh! dear, dear fader, why did you die and leave Frida
all alone? I want you, I want you!" and the child burst into a flood of
tears.
They let her cry on, those kind-hearted people--nay, they wept with her;
but after some minutes had passed, Wilhelm raised her head, and asked
her if she would not like to see her father once more, though he could
not speak to her now.
"Yes, oh yes! take me to see him!" she exclaimed. "Oh, take me!" Then
looking eagerly up she said, "Perhaps Jesus can make him live again,
like he did Lazarus, you know. Can't he?" But alas! of the story of
Lazarus being raised from the dead these two people knew nothing; and
when they asked her what she meant, and she said her father had read to
her about it out of her little brown book, they only shook their heads,
and Wilhelm said, "I feared there was something wrong about that little
book. How could any one be raised from the dead?"
Frida's passionate exclamations of love and grief when she saw the dead
body of the man who lay in Johann Schmidt's hut removed all doubt from
the minds of those who heard her as to the relationship between them;
and the manner in which the child turned from a crucifix which Gretchen
brought forward to her, thinking it would comfort her, convinced them
more firmly that the poor man had indeed been a heretic.
No! father never prayed to that, nor would he let _her_ do so, she
said--just to Jesus, dear Jesus in heaven; and though several of those
who heard her words crossed themselves as she spoke, and prayed the
Virgin to forgive, all were much taken with and deeply sorry for the
orphan child; and when Wilhelm raised her in his arms to take her back
to his hut and to the care of Elsie, more than one of the inhabitants of
the Dorf brought some little gift from their small store to be taken
with him to help in the maintenance of the little one so strangely
brought among them. Ere they left the Dorf, Johann Schmidt had returned
from executing his message to Dringenstadt. He had seen the _Pfarrer_,
and he had promised to come along presently and arrange about the
funeral.