CHRISTMAS IN THE FOREST.
"Christmas, happy Christmas,
Sweet herald of good-will,
With holy songs of glory,
Brings holy gladness still."
Summer had long passed, autumn tints had faded, and the fallen leaves
lay thick in the Forest.
For days a strong wind had blown, bending the high trees under its
influence, and here and there rooting up the dark pines and laying them
low. Through the night of which we are going to write, a heavy fall of
snow had covered all around with a thick mantle of pure white. It
weighed down the branches of the trees in the Forest, and rested on the
piles of wood which lay ready cut to be carted off to be sold for fuel
in the neighbouring towns. The roll of wheels, as the heavily-laden
wagons passed, was heard no more. The song of the birds had ceased,
though the print of their claws was to be seen on the snow. All was
quiet. The silence of nature seemed to rest on the hearts of the
dwellers in the Forest. In vain Elsie heaped on the wood; still the
stove gave out little heat. She busied herself in the little room, but a
weight seemed to be on her spirit, and she glanced from time to time
uneasily at Frida, who sat listlessly knitting beside the stove.
"Art ill, Frida?" she said at last. "All this morning hast thou sat
there with that knitting on thy lap, and scarce worked a round at it.
And your violin--why, Frida, you have not played on it for weeks, and
even Hans notices it; and Wilhelm says to me no longer ago than this
morning, 'Why, wife, what ails our woodland child? The spirit has all
left her, and she looks white and tired-like.'"
Frida, thus addressed, rose quickly from her seat, a blush, perchance of
shame, colouring her cheeks.
"O Mutter," she said, "I know I am lazy; but it is not because I am ill,
only I keep thinking and wondering and--There! I know I'm wrong, only,
Elsie dear, Mutter Elsie, I do want to know if any of my own people are
alive, and where they live. I have felt like this ever since I was at
Baden-Baden; and I have not heard from Adeline Stanford for such a long
time, and I suppose, though she was so kind, she has forgotten me; and
Miss Drechsler has left Dringenstadt for months; and, O Mutter, forgive
me, and believe that I am not ungrateful for all that you and Wilhelm
and the kind people in the Dorf have done for me. Only, only--" And the
poor girl laid her head on Elsie's shoulder and cried long and bitterly.
Elsie was much moved, she did so love the bright, fairy-like girl who
had been the means of letting in the light of the gospel to her dark
heart.
"_Armes Kind_" (poor child), she said, soothing her as tenderly as she
would have done her own blind Anna, had she been alive and in trouble,
"I understand it all, dear." (And her kind woman heart had taken it all
in.) "It is just like the little bird taken from its mother's nest, and
put into a strange one, longing to be back amongst its like again, and
content nowhere else. But, Frida, dost thou not remember that we read in
the little brown book that our Lord hath said, 'Lo, I am with you
alway'? Isn't that enough for you? No place can be very desolate, can
it, if He be there?"
In a moment after Elsie said these words, Frida raised her head and
dried her eyes.
Had she been forgetting, she asked herself, whose young servant she was?
Was it right in a child of God to be discontented with her lot, and to
forget the high privilege that God had given her in allowing her to read
His Word to the poor people in the Forest?
"I must throw off this discontented spirit," she said to herself; and
turning to Elsie she told her how sorry she was for the way in which she
had acted, adding, "But with God's help I will be better now."
Frida was no perfect character, and, truth to tell, ever since her
return from Baden-Baden, a sense of the incongruity of her circumstances
had crept upon her. The tasteful surroundings, the cultured
conversation, the musical evenings, the refinement of all around, had
enchanted the young girl, and the humble lot and homely ways of her
Forest friends had on her return to them stood out in striking
contrast. And, alas! for the time being she refused to see in all these
things the guiding hand of God. But after the day we have written of,
things went better. The girl strove to conquer her discontent, and in
God's strength she overcame, and her friends in the Forest had once more
the pleasure of seeing her bright smile and hearing her sweet voice in
song.
Johann Schmidt had fallen asleep in Jesus with the words of Holy
Scripture on his lips, blessing the "wood-cutters' pet," as he called
her, for having, through the reading of God's Word, led him to Jesus.
But though sickness had left the Forest, the severe cold and deep snow
were very trying to the health of all the dwellers in it, and the winter
nights were long and dreary.
One day in December, Wilhelm Hoerstel had business in Dringenstadt, and
on his return home he gave Frida two letters which he had found lying at
the post-office for her. They proved, to Frida's great delight, to be
from her two friends Miss Drechsler and Adeline Stanford.
Miss Drechsler's ran thus:--
"DEAR FRIDA,--I have been thinking very specially of you and
your friends in the Forest, now that the cold winter days have
come, and the snow, I doubt not, is lying thick on the trees and
ground. Knowing how interested you are, dear, in all your kind
friends there, I have thought how nice it would be for you, if
Elsie and Wilhelm consent, to have a Christmas-tree for a few
of your friends; and in order to carry this out, I enclose a
money order to the amount of L2, and leave it to you and Elsie
to spend it to the best of your power.
"I am also going to write to Herr Steiger to send, addressed to
you, ten pounds of tea, which I trust you to give from me to
each of the householders--nine in number, I think--in the little
Dorf, retaining one for your friends the Hoerstels. Will you,
dear Frida, be my almoner and do my business for me? I often
think of and pray for you, and I know you do not forget me. I
fear I will not be able to return to Dringenstadt till the month
of May, as my sister is still very ill, and I feel I am of use
to her.--Your affectionate friend. M. DRECHSLER."
"Oh, isn't it good? isn't it charming?" said Frida, jumping about the
room in her glee. "Mayn't we have the tree, Mutter? And will you not
some day soon come with me to Dringenstadt and choose the things for it?
Oh, I wish Hans were here, that I might tell him all about it! See, I
have not yet opened Adeline's letter; it is so long since I heard from
her. I wonder where they are living now. Oh, the letter is from Rome."
Then in silence she read on. Elsie, who was watching her, saw that as
she read on her cheeks coloured and her eyes sparkled with some joyful
emotion.
She rose suddenly, and going up to Elsie she said, "O Mutter, _was
denken Sie?_ [what do you think?]. Sir Richard and Lady Stanford enclose
a few lines saying they would like so much that I should, with your
consent, spend some months with them at Cannes in the Riviera, as a
companion to Adeline; and if you and Miss Drechsler agree to the plan,
that I would accompany friends of theirs from Baden-Baden who propose to
go to Cannes about the middle of January. And, Mutter," continued the
girl, "they say all my expenses will be paid, and that I shall have
Adeline's masters for music and languages, and be treated as if I were
their daughter."
Elsie looked up with tears in her eyes. "Well, Frida dear," she said,
"it does seem a good thing for you, and right glad I am about it for
your sake; but, oh, we will miss you sorely. But there! the dear Lord
has told us in the book not to think only of ourselves, and I am sure
that He is directing your way. Of course I'll speak to Wilhelm about it,
for he has so much sense; but I don't believe he'll stand in your way."
Frida, overcome with excitement, and almost bewildered with the prospect
before her, had yet a heart full of sorrow at the thought of leaving the
friends who had helped her in her time of need; and in broken words she
told Elsie so, clinging to her as she spoke.
Matters were soon arranged. Elsie and Wilhelm heartily agreed that Frida
should accept Sir Richard and Lady Stanford's invitation. They only
waited till an answer could be got from Miss Drechsler regarding the
plan. And when that came, full of thankfulness for God's kindness in
thus guiding her path, a letter of acceptance was at once dispatched to
Cannes, and the child of the Forest only remained with her friends till
the new year was a fortnight old.
In the meantime, whilst snow lay thick around, Christmas-eve came on,
and Frida and Elsie were busy preparing the tree. Of the true Christmas
joy many in the Forest knew nothing, but in some hearts a glimmer at
least of its true meaning was dawning, and a few of the wood-cutters
loved to gather together and hear Frida read the story of the angelic
hosts on the plain of Bethlehem singing of peace and good-will to men,
because that night a Babe, who was Christ the Lord, was born in a
manger. How much they understood of the full significance of the story
we know not, but we _do_ know God's word never returns to Him void.
The tree was ready at last. Elsie, Frida, and Hans had worked busily at
it for days, Miss Drechsler's money had gone a long way, and now those
who had prepared it thought there never had been such a beautiful tree.
True, every child in the Forest had had on former occasions a tree of
their own at Christmas time--none so poor but some small twig was lit
up, though the lights might be few; but this one, ah, that was a
different matter--no such tree as this had ever been seen in the Forest
before.
"Look, Hans," said Frida; "is not that doll like a little queen? And
only see that little wooden cart and horse; won't that delight some of
the children in the Dorf?--And, Mutter, we must hang up that warm hood
for Frau Schenk, poor woman; and now here are the warm cuffs for the
men, and a lovely pair for Wilhelm.--And, O Hans, we will not tell you
what _you_ are to have; nor you either, Mutter. No, no, you will never
guess. I bought them myself."
And so, amid chattering and laughing, the tree got on and was finished;
and all I am going to say about it is that for long years afterwards
that particular Christmas-tree was remembered and spoken of, and in far
other scenes--in crowded drawing-rooms filled with gaily-dressed
children and grown-up people--Frida's eyes would fill as she thought of
the joy that Christmas-tree had given to the dwellers in the Forest,
both young and old. Ere that memorable night ended, Frida and Hans, who
had prepared a surprise for every one, brought out their violins, and
sang together in German a Christmas carol; and as the assembled party
went quietly home through the snow-carpeted Forest, a holy influence
seemed around them, as if the song of the angels echoed through the air,
"Peace on earth, and goodwill to men."