THE WOODMEN'S PET.
"Lord, make me like the gentle dew,
That other hearts may prove,
E'en through Thy feeblest messenger,
Thy ministry of love."
Pastor Langen, ere leaving Dringenstadt, visited the hut in the Black
Forest where Frida had found a home.
His congregation, with two or three exceptions, was a poor one, and
his own means were small; yet he had contrived to collect a small
sum for Frida's maintenance, which he had put into the hands of the
Buergermeister, who undertook to pay the interest of it quarterly to the
Hoerstels on behalf of the child. True, the sum was small, but it was
sufficient to be a help; and a kind lady of the congregation, Fraeulein
Drechsler, said she would supply her from time to time with dress, and
when she could have her now and then with herself, instruct her in the
Protestant faith and the elements of education. Frida could already
read, and had begun to write, taught by her father. Every effort was
being made to discover if the child had any relations alive. The
Buergermeister had put advertisements in many papers, German and
English, but as yet no answer had come, and many of the wood-cutters
still held the opinion that the child was the offspring of some woodland
spirit. But in spite of any such belief, Frida had a warm welcome in
every hut in the Dorf, and a kindly word from every man and woman in it.
The "woodland child" they called her, and as such cherished and
protected her. Many a "bite and sup" she got from them. Many a warm pair
of stockings, or a knitted petticoat done by skilful hands, did the
inmates of the Dorf present to her. They did what they could, these poor
people, for the orphan child, just out of the fullness of their kind
hearts, little thinking of the blessing that through her was to descend
on them. The day of Pastor Langen's visit to the hut, some time after
her father's funeral, Frida was playing beside the door, and on seeing
him coming up the path she rose from the spot where she was sitting and
ran eagerly to meet him.
But though unseen by her, he had been standing near for some time
spell-bound by the music which, child though she was, she was bringing
out of her father's violin, in the playing of which she was amusing
herself.
From a very early age her father, himself a skilled violinist, had
taught her to handle the bow, and had early discovered the wonderful
talent for music which she possessed.
The day of which we write was the first one since her father's death
that Frida had played on the violin, so neither Wilhelm nor Elsie was
aware that she could do so at all. The pastor was approaching the
cottage when the sound of music reached his ears, and having a good
knowledge of that art himself, he stood still to listen. A few minutes
convinced him that though the playing was that of a child, still the
performer had the true soul of music, and only needed full instruction
to develop into a musician of no ordinary talent. As he drew nearer his
surprise was great to see that the player was none other than the
beautiful child found in the Black Forest. Attracted by the sound of
steps, Frida had turned round, and seeing her friend had, as we have
written, bounded off to meet him. Hearing that Elsie had taken her babe
and gone a message to the Dorf, he seated himself on a knoll with the
child and began to talk to her.
"How old are you?" he asked her.
"Seven years and more," she replied; "because I remember my birthday was
only a little while before Muetterchen (I always called her that) died,
and that that day she took the locket she used to wear off her neck and
gave it to me, telling me always to keep it."
"And have you that locket still?" queried the pastor.
"Yes; Elsie has it carefully put away. There is a picture of Muetterchen
on the one side, and of my father on the other."
"And did your mother ever speak to you of your relations either in
Germany or England?"
"Yes, she did sometimes. She spoke of grandmamma in England and
grandpapa also, and she said they lived in a beautiful house; but she
never told me their name, nor where their house was. Father, of course,
knew, for he said he was going to take me there, and he used to speak of
a brother of his whom he said he dearly loved."
"But tell me," asked the pastor, "where did you live with your parents
in Germany?"
"Oh, in a number of different places, but never long at the same place.
Father played at concerts just to make money, and we never remained long
anywhere--we were always moving about."
"And your parents were Protestants?"
"I don't know what that means," said the child. "But they were often
called 'Ketzers' by the people where he lodged. And they would not pray
to the Virgin Mary, as many did, but taught me to pray to God in the
name of Jesus Christ. And Muetterchen gave me a little 'brown Bible' for
my very own, which she said her mother had given to her. Oh, I must show
it to you, sir!" and, darting off, the child ran into the house,
returning with the treasured book in her hand. The pastor examined it
and read the inscription written on the fly-leaf--"To my dear Hilda,
from her loving mother, on her eighteenth birthday." That was all, but
he felt sure from the many underlined passages that the book had been
well studied. He found that Frida could read quite easily, and that she
had been instructed in Scripture truth.
Ere he bade her farewell he asked her to promise him to read often from
her little Bible to Wilhelm, Elsie, and Hans. "For who knows, little
Frida, that the Lord may not have chosen you to be a child missionary to
the wood-cutters, and to read to them out of His holy Word."
Frida thought over these words, though she hardly took in their full
meaning; but she loved her Bible, and wished that the people who were so
kind to her loved it also.
On his way home the pastor met Elsie with her babe in her arms, and told
her of his farewell visit to Frida, and of his delight with the child's
musical talent, and advised her to encourage her as much as possible to
play on the violin.
Elsie's face brightened as he spoke, for she and her husband, like many
of the German peasants, dearly loved music.
"O sir," she said, "have you heard her sing? It is just beautiful and
wonderful to hear her; she beats the very birds themselves."
Thanking her once more for her care of the orphan child, and commending
her to God, the pastor went on his way, musing much on the future of the
gifted child, and wondering what could be done as regarded her
education.
In the meantime Elsie went home, and entrusting her babe to the care of
Frida, who loved the little helpless infant, she made ready for her
husband's return from his work. Hans had gone that day to help his
father in the wood, which he loved much to do, so Elsie and Frida were
alone.
"Mutter," said the child (for she had adopted Hans's way of addressing
Elsie), "the pastor was here to-day, and he played to me--oh so
beautifully--on my violin, it reminded me of father, and made me cry. O
Mutter, I wish some one could teach me to play on it as father did. You
see I was just beginning to learn a little how to do it, and I do love
it so;" and as she spoke, the child joined her hands together and looked
pleadingly at Elsie.
"_Ach_, poor child," replied Elsie, "how canst thou be taught here?"
And that night when Elsie repeated to Wilhelm Frida's desire for lessons
on the violin, the worthy couple grieved that they could do nothing to
gratify her wish.
Day after day and week after week passed, and still no answer came to
any of the advertisements about the child; and save for her own sake
none of the dwellers in the wood wished it otherwise, for the "woodland
child," as they called her, had won her way into every heart.