and, half choking with sobs, she whispered: "You'll smoke, grandfather,
darling; your little Golden Hair'll get your pipe." Little child! she
could think of nothing else, and she must do something for the dear
grandfather; and often before, the pipe had been a great solace to him,
when the mistress had been unkind; so the little nimble feet ran for
it, and brought it to him filled, and with the red coal glowing in the
bowl.
Just then the baby cried out, and Elizabeth entered in time for her
sharp, black eyes to take in the whole scene.
Snatching the pipe angrily from the little child's hand, she threw it
against the chimney, breaking it into many pieces. "I'll teach you to
leave the baby to be playing with fire. Take that, Good-for-Nothing."
And she gave Gretchen a sharp blow upon the little golden-crowned head,
and pushed her toward the cradle, adding, "see if you can sing now!"
And Gretchen tried hard to obey, but 'twas a wail, broken with sobs,
that rose from the bursting heart of the child, through the winter cold
air of the Rhine land, to the feet of the good Lord who took little
children in his arms and blessed them.
That night when little Gretchen was sleeping, her weary head resting on
the grandfather's bosom, his troubled spirit passed alone and silently
through the dim portals of the dusky way, and, entering the pearly
gates, found perfect rest in heaven the golden.
In the early morning, Karl was awakened by a wild, piteous cry.
'Twas little Gretchen. The grandfather was cold, icy cold, and she
could not warm him, though she had rubbed him till her own little hands
were like ice, and had pressed her soft, warm cheek to his.
She could not warm him! He could not speak to her—not one word from
the dear grandfather for the poor, little, motherless child, now the
lone "Good-for-Nothing."
When Karl found that the grandfather was really dead, with the big tears
rolling down his cheek, he took the little Gretchen in his arms, and
wrapping a blanket round her, walked to and fro, trying to soothe her.
He loved the old father and the little daughter. But the poor man's lot
leaves little time for endearing cares. He must work early and late to
procure even coarse food and clothes for his family.
Little Gretchen's bitter, but uncomplaining grief brought tears to the
eyes of the kind neighbors, as they looked upon her sad, pale face, and
large eyes, so filled with the shrinking loneliness of her sensitive
nature. Even the mistress's heart was touched by the hopeless agony of
the little one, and while the grandfather lay dead in the house, she
was more gentle and kind to her than she had been before.
In a few days they buried him under the trees, by the blue Rhine River.
By Chimlein's grave, where he had so often listened to the sweet voice
of his little Golden Hair, the poor old "_Good-for-Nothing_" sleeps his
last, cold sleep.
Very wearily rolled now the years for Gretchen.
As she grew older, the household drudgery fell upon her. The mistress
seldom gave her a pleasant look or word, and no matter what went
wrong with the house or children, the burden of all fell upon the poor
"Good-for-Nothing."
The mistress had now four children, of whom Gretchen had almost the
entire charge; and, at the age of fourteen, in the frail form of a
delicate child, she bore the heart of a subdued and sorrowful woman.
She had had no opportunities for improvement, always at work in the
cottage; yet her voice, a marvel in infancy, increased wonderfully
in strength and clearness. It was a God's gift, and she sung with
matchless sweetness and taste, heaven taught.
One day, as Gretchen sat rocking the youngest child in her arms, and
singing as only she could, there came a knocking at the door. The
mistress opened it, and saw a tall, sweet-faced lady dressed in deep
mourning.
There was a fine carriage at the gate, and she knew by the lordly
coat-of-arms, her visitor was no ordinary person, so she dropped a low
courtesy and waited.
"Was it you, my good woman, I heard singing just now?" said the lady.
"Ah, no, madam, 'twas only Gretchen, the Good-for-Nothing, putting the
baby to sleep."
"But the Good-for-Nothing can sing beautifully, and I would hear her
again."
So the lady entered the cottage, to find Gretchen bending over the now
sleeping child, with the flush of shame crimsoning her cheeks, for she
had heard Elizabeth's coarse reply. But she rose and courtesied to the
lady, and, as she did so, the old broken comb fell from her hair, and a
shower of rich golden curls covered her neck and shoulders.
Poor little Gretchen! How the accident confused her. She did not
know that she looked very beautiful, and that her modesty was an
inexpressible charm.
"Sing again, my child," said the lady, kindly.
And Gretchen sang a little German song, full of pathos and beauty; and
though her voice trembled with agitation, it lost none of its pure
richness.
Tears came to the lady's eyes, and, as if speaking to herself, she
said:—
"My little Adela was about her age; these golden curls are like hers,
and she sang sweetly, but not like this child."
Then the lady drew Gretchen to her, and asked her if she would be her
little girl, and love her.
She told her how her own little daughter had died, and Gretchen told
her of the dear grandfather; then she threw her little, weary arms
around the fair lady's neck, and they wept together—the _childless
mother_ and the _motherless child_.
Elizabeth was very angry when she found the lady wanted to adopt
Gretchen. "The miserable Good-for-Nothing," after all the trouble she
had had with her, and just as she was beginning to be able to "earn her
salt." And she was to be the rich lady's child, while her own children
must remain in poverty. 'Twas too much, and she determined to prevent it.
She went out to meet Karl, and told him her querulous story.
But Karl loved his child, and when the lady told him she would make
Gretchen as her own child and love her dearly, he kissed his little
daughter, and placing her hand in the good lady's, told her he had
never been able to do for Gretchen as his heart desired, and he blessed
the good Lord that she had at last found a friend who would give her a
mother's care and love.
So they went away together, the high-born Countess and the beautiful
peasant child.
The little Good-for-Nothing grew up to be a lovely and accomplished
woman. Her matchless voice became the marvel of the gifted and
high-born, as it had once been of the village peasantry.
After she had arrived at a proper age she married the countess's
nephew, who had loved her tenderly for years, and lived to see her
children's children noble, prosperous, and happy.
In her prosperity, Gretchen did not forget her toil-burdened father,
and even Elizabeth and her children shared the favors heaped upon him
by the once despised _little Good-for-Nothing_.
CHING CHONG CHINAMAN.
In the "early days" a gallant ship left the harbor of Hong Kong, in the
land of the Celestials, bound for the port of San Francisco.
Among the emigrants was a young China boy, of the better class, whose
father and mother had both died suddenly, leaving to their son only the
memory of the happy days of the past, over which a fleeting prosperity
and paternal love had cast the halo of perpetual sunshine.
His father was a merchant, supposed to be immensely wealthy, but after
the debts of the house were paid Ching Chong found himself alone in the
world, and very destitute.
One evening as he walked out through the suburbs of the city, he met a
merchant who had been a great friend of his father. The old gentleman
stopped the boy, and kindly inquired what he was doing, and how he had
been getting along since his father's death.
Ching Chong was feeling very desolate, and at these expressions of
interest the unbidden tears began to flow down his cheeks, till, unable
to restrain himself, he bowed his face upon his hands, and sobbed as if
his heart would break.
The old man gave him time to recover himself and when the boy dashed
the tears proudly away with the back of his hand, trying to call up the
dawning manhood in his heart, he said: "I will help you, you are the
son of the friend of my youth, you shall be my son."
He took the young Ching Chong by the hand, kindly, led him home to his
own house, and provided him with the best instruction the city afforded.
At the age of fifteen, Ching Chong was as handsome and intelligent a
boy as could be found in the city of Hong Kong.
One day his benefactor called him to him, and told him of the distant
gold land. "There, my son," he said, "you shall go to seek your
fortune. I will provide you with every thing necessary for the journey,
but you must keep a strict account, and at the end of five years
return, and share the gains with me."
"If you do well in all things, I will reward you doubly, for I love you
as my own son."
Here the merchant embraced him so tenderly, that the eyes of Ching
Chong were moistened with tears of gratitude.
Then the merchant gave him much good advice, which the young Ching
Chong promised faithfully to follow.
As the dusk of evening came on, both grew thoughtful and silent; at
last the old man took the boy's hand in his, saying: "I have been
thinking of a curious legend which our fathers believed."
Then he told him how years before two Chinamen, a giant and a dwarf,
went out into the great world, far beyond the shining waters, to seek
their fortune together. How, after a weary time and great labor, they
found a cavern full of gold and precious stones, but at the entrance
sat two men guarding the treasure.
The Chinamen were very cold and hungry, and the two men gave them food
and warm blankets, but they would not allow them to touch even one of
the lustrous gems that sparkled around them.
At last the Chinamen went away quite rested, and with plenty of food in
their sacks. They had gone only a short distance down the cañon, when
in the darkest shadow the giant stopped.
"Let us rest here," he said, "and talk over our plans for the future.
There is a great treasure near us, I am strong, you are active, and we
are separated from our wishes by only two men of ordinary strength."
The dwarf sighed heavily. "They have been kind to us, but for them we
must have died of hunger."
"Fool," replied the giant, "there is enough for all."
Then it was they sat talking till the stronger prevailed over the
weaker, and, at the still hour of midnight, they went back to the
cavern of gold.
The dwarf had begged hard for the lives of the men, but the cruel
giant was obdurate.
"Let them die," he said, "and the treasure will be ours."
In the darkness he struck the blow, but instead of falling upon the
men, as he had intended, he struck the stone on which their heads
had rested. A harsh ringing sound resounded through the cavern, and
suddenly a great light flashed up, and almost blinded them, so that
they covered their eyes with their hands.
When a moment after they glanced fearfully around, they saw not two
common men, but two horrid monsters. Whether immense giants or genii,
they could not tell, but the giant Chinaman before them seemed but a
boy in size.
The poor Chinamen trembled with fear, and begged the monsters to spare
their lives.
"I did not wish to kill you," said the dwarf. "Oh, dear! have pity!
have pity! and he clasped his little hands imploringly; while his teeth
chattered with the intensity of his fear.
"You would have robbed us," replied the monster, "and for this you
shall be punished."
Then he laid a spell upon them, condemning them to remain far from
their beloved China. Wandering through the gold land, and finding
treasures, but never possessing them.
To the dwarf he said, "because the good had not all gone out of your
heart, you may be permitted to aid the future gold-seekers, and they
shall be blessed by your guidance. But a curse shall follow the gifts
of the giant, and his bones shall bleach upon the mountains of the
stranger land."
"Strive by deeds of kindness, poor dwarf," he continued, "to wipe out
the stain of this present great sin of your life, so that at last, when
you die, your body may be wafted to the pleasant shore of the celestial
country."
Then he drove them out of the cave, and they began their weary
wanderings. The giant filled with angry bitterness, and the heart of
the dwarf subdued and penitent.
For some time after the merchant had finished his story, Ching Chong
sat in silence. At last he exclaimed, eagerly, "who knows but they are
now in the gold-land to which I am going."
"I had thought of that," answered the old man. "It may be all a myth,
but as you say 'who knows!' At all events there is no harm in my
saying, _beware of the giant, and look out for the dwarf_."
Just as the ship was about sailing, the merchant gave to Ching Chong
a curious black wand, saying, "this is a divining-rod, and will help
you to find the treasure. Remember all I have said to you. Especially
_beware of the giant_."
Again Ching Chong promised, and they embraced with much affection.
At last the signal was given, the anchor weighed, and the merchant
hastened on shore, to look out upon the waters, till Ching Chong,
leaning over the railing of the deck, faded from his sight.
Thus Ching Chong became a gold-seeker, and many were the gorgeous
dreams that filled the mind of the youth, as the ship sailed lazily
over the placid waters.
At last, after the usual amount of winds and calms, storms and fair
weather, the good ship sailed through the Golden Gate, and into the
pleasant harbor of San Francisco.
Ching Chong disembarked with the other passengers, a stranger in a land
of strangers, where even the language of the country fell upon his ear,
the unmeaning jargon of an unknown tongue.
Fortunately for him, he was not the only Chinaman in the country,
though at that early day they were few in number. The Queen city of the
Pacific was then a city of many sand hills, and a few poor shanties,
but it was full of energy, perseverance, and hope.
Ching Chong was a quick, active lad, and soon learned enough of English
to procure a situation, and for some time remained in San Francisco.
At night, when his work was over, he would take a look at his
divining-rod, and he often noticed it would turn in his hand, till
it pointed to the mountain country, awaking all the wild dreams, and
eager longings that in the leisure hours of the sea-voyage filled his
imagination.
At last he could resist the impulse no longer, and joined a party of
prospectors for the mining districts.
For months Ching Chong wandered over the mountains with his comrades,
till his shoes were worn out, and his trousers and blue shirt so
patched with flour-sacks, that it was impossible for the uninitiated to
distinguish the original material.
Still he found nothing, even the divining-rod seemed to have lost its
power, save when he was alone.
One night he sat apart from the others, feeling very sad, and wishing
he had never left China. The homesick longing to see his native land
growing continually in his heart, oppressed him greatly.
The thought of the kind old merchant who had been as a father to
him, pursued him, but deeper down in his heart was cherished the
memory of the merchant's daughter. The gentle Ah Zore maiden with the
almond-shaped eyes, and tiny feet.
Just as he was yielding himself to tender dreams, his wand rested upon
his bosom, and there he felt his secret talisman, the divining-rod.
Rising up hastily, he resolved to go off alone, and yield to the
impulse of the wand. Hoping he might be more successful than in the
weary months he had passed with his companions.
With this resolve, the pressure of the rod became greater, awaking
joyous hopes that had long been strangers to him.
He thought of the curious legend the merchant had told him, and
whispering softly to himself, he said: "Where the wand leads I will
go—on to fortune, or death; any thing is better than the weariness of
my present life."
It was a beautiful, balmy night. The silvery moonlight and the stars
brightened even the dim cavern, and flooded the mountains with a
luminous beauty.
Ching Chong went silently up the mountain path until he came to a ledge
the miners had been prospecting that day.
Still the divining-rod urged him on, till he had gone miles farther
into the mountains than ever before.
About twelve o'clock, he began to be hungry and weary, for it was the
early evening when he started, and after a hard day's work.
Suddenly the divining-rod changed, and pointed downward, and as Ching
Chong looked, he saw what appeared to be the entrance of a cavern, but
a huge stone was rolled against it.
He perceived a small opening which the stone left uncovered, through
which he might have crept, but the darkness within was so dense that he
dare not enter.
He threw himself down upon the ground quite overcome with hunger and
fatigue, and taking a piece of hard bread from his pocket, began
eating, and thinking almost hopelessly of the future.
He was aroused by a harsh voice, and looking up, saw, just before him,
the immense form of a giant Chinaman.
"What are you doing here, countryman," said the giant, opening his huge
mouth, and glaring with his ugly eyes upon the startled boy.
"I am thinking of home," replied Ching Chong, sadly, "and fearing I
shall never see that dearest spot again."
"Thank God, the bodies of all true Chinamen are carried back to repose
in death in the bosom of their mother-land."
"Do you mean to insult me, minion," cried the giant, while his face
grew livid with rage, and he would have killed Ching Chong with one
blow of his heavy club, but the boy sprang lightly out of his way.
"Foiled again," he muttered, between his teeth. "Come here, boy," he
added, "I will not hurt you, silly fool."
"I was only joking, just to see you jump out of the way;" and he gave a
loud laugh that made the mountains echo.
The rod in his bosom urging him on, Ching Chong drew cautiously near
the giant.
"Sit down, and tell me of your wanderings," said the monster, with a
rough voice, into which he tried to throw the semblance of kindness.
Ching Chong told him all, only omitting the merchant's story and his
secret of the wand.
"Never mind, boy," said the giant, "you shall win the prize, and go
back to China a rich man. See, the morning sun is rising. Now we will
enter the cavern, and you shall have as much gold and precious stones
as you can carry away."
Ching Chong felt a momentary thrill of joy in his heart, which was
saddened by the memory of the merchant's last words, "beware of the
giant."
"I have wandered in this cold, stranger land for three long years, and
found nothing until now.
"Wealth is within my grasp; if I do not seize it, I may never have
another chance! To be poor forever! No! no! I will take the risk." Then
he spoke aloud, in a resolute voice, "Lead on, I will follow."
The giant gave the great stone a push with his foot, and rolled it away
as though it had been a pebble.
As they entered he struck a torch, then, before proceeding, rolled back
the stone and closed up the opening.
When Ching Chong saw himself shut into the cave with the giant, he
trembled with fear, for he saw there was no way of escape. He felt now,
he had only to follow where the monster at will might lead him.
They went through a long, narrow passage, then down many steps, until
at last they entered a hall, which was lighted by a large lamp,
suspended from the dome of the cavern.
Ching Chong was almost blinded by the reflection of the luminous
crystals that, with curious prismatic effect, flooded the hall with a
hundred glowing tints.
Great masses of gold lay scattered about, and huge seams ran through
the rugged sides of the cavern.
"Is this rich enough for you?" said the giant, laughingly.
"Help yourself, lad, you remember I told you you should have all you
could carry away."
The delighted Ching Chong began to gather up the gold and precious
stones into his sack, and when he had secured all he could carry,
throwing the sack over his shoulder, he thanked the giant, and begged
him to let him go out of the cave.
"Go on!" replied the giant, with a mocking laugh. "You're welcome to
the treasure, but I'm thinking you'll find it hard work to move that
stone from the mouth of the cave."
Then Ching Chong threw down the treasure at his feet, crying, with
tears in his eyes, "Take back your riches, and let me go out into the
sunshine! the beautiful sunshine! Oh! good giant, take back your gold,
and give me my poverty, and my liberty!"
"What a pretty actor! go on! go on!" said the delighted giant, and when
Ching Chong threw himself on his knees before him, wringing his hands
in silent despair, he laughed till the mountain cavern rung.
"Do you think I will let you go? You are my slave now! and the
sunshine! the beautiful sunshine! you shall never see again."
Ching Chong saw there was no help for him then.
He spurned the bag of gold and precious stones, pushing it with his
foot, as he followed the giant into the inner cave.
The giant ordered him to build a fire, and prepare supper, and, after
the master was served, he was permitted to eat and go to sleep upon
the rough but warm skin of a grizzly bear.
Weeks passed by! Still he was a prisoner in the cavern, serving the
grim old giant, who was very capricious, and hard to please.
One evening he came home in great good humor, and, while he ate his
supper, he talked and laughed with Ching Chong very pleasantly.
He told how that day he had given a quantity of gold to some miners.
"Great luck it will bring them," he added.
"Already they are quarreling over it," and a malicious grin disfigured
his monstrous face.
"'Tis such fools as you, boy, who make things lively. Ha! ha! You may
have all the gold you can carry away!
"Why don't you move the stone? Ah! boy, if you had the famous
divining-rod, you would only have to touch the rock, and it would obey
your wish, but you might as well hope to wake up in your beloved China,
as to obtain it."
How strangely the words of the giant thrilled the heart of Ching Chong,
and, pressing his hand against his bosom, the famous divining-rod
awakened the hopes that in his heart lay sleeping.
In the excess of his emotion he was obliged to hide his face from the
giant, lest he should see his secret written there.
That night after the loud snoring of the giant announced that he was
sleeping soundly, Ching Chong rose carefully, and lighting the torch,
crept softly out of the large cave, and through the narrow passage that
led to the entrance.
He took nothing with him. "The treasure of the giant is cursed," he
said.
When he came to the rock he took the divining-rod from his bosom, and,
pressing it lightly against the rock, said: "Giant rock remove quickly
at the spell of the divining-rod."
Quick as thought the rock moved from its place, and the silver
moonlight poured in at the entrance of the cave, and lighted up the
face of Ching Chong, beaming with the bliss of recovered liberty.
Once more he touched the rock, saying: "Move back giant rock at the
spell of the the divining-rod, and remain forever so firmly fixed that
even the giant's powerful hand cannot remove you."
The great stone rolled back, striking the ledge with such force that
the whole mountain shook, and the mighty echo was reverberated from all
the neighboring heights.
This great commotion aroused the sleeping giant, and he called loudly
for Ching Chong, and, when he received no answer, he was very much
enraged, and searched the whole cavern in every nook and corner. At
last he rushed to the entrance, and pushed his broad shoulder against
the rock, but he could not move it one inch from its place; then he
became so furious that his voice sounded like the roar of a wild beast,
but with all his efforts he could not move the rock. Ching Chong sat
without in the calm moonlight, now and then calling to the giant to
come on, and that he was welcome to all the treasure he could bring
with him.
After a time the giant became so exhausted that he ceased his efforts
to move the rock, and begged Ching Chong to touch it again with his
magic wand, and let him out, promising him all the treasures of the
cave; but the boy only replied: "Your turn has come now, keep your
treasure, you are welcome to it, and to your underground castle."
"Good-by, kind master, good-by! Come out when you can, and you may have
all the treasure you can carry."
With this Ching Chong started for his old cabin, but for miles the deep
howlings of the giant were wafted to his ears.
He reached the cabin at sunrise, just five weeks after he left it.
When he entered he found his old companions just eating breakfast. They
were greatly surprised to see him, for they supposed he had been killed
by the grizzly bears with which that district abounded.