Heimatlos: Two stories for children, and for those who love children

"When Wisi left us that night she was as cheerful as ever, but I could not help feeling that her happiest days were over. Then, too, I feared for Andreas, but he said nothing, although he has never been the same since. For several years he seemed to be far from well, but he did not give up work."

"Poor fellow!" exclaimed Max; "and he never married?"

"Why, no, Max!" said Mrs. Ritter, impatiently, "how could he when he is faithfulness itself?"

"How was I to know that he possessed that virtue also, dear sister? He seems to have them all. How did Wisi get along? I should be sorry to hear that her marriage proved a failure."

"I can plainly see that your sympathy is with her," replied Mrs. Ritter. "To you, Andreas's fate does not matter so much."

"Not so, sister, but those pretty eyes of hers ought never to have been spoiled with tears. Isn't she happy?"

"I fear not, Max. I have seen but little of her since her marriage. There was a coarseness in her husband's nature that repelled me, and he was always cross to her. Six children were born to them, and all but one, a frail little girl, have died. She is called Wiseli, and is about the size of our Miezchen, although she is three years older. She is the little girl whom Otto defended this evening. Her mother has suffered so much during all these years, that there is little hope of her ever being well again."

"That is too bad," said Max; "we must try to do something for her. Don't you think that we might help her?"

"I am afraid that it is too late. Wisi was much too delicate for all the work and worry that fell to her lot."

"What is the husband doing?"

"I forgot to tell you, Max. About six months ago he had an arm and a leg badly crushed in the factory, and he died a few weeks after being injured. Since then Wisi has been living alone with her little girl."

"So that is her story," mused Max. "And one child is all that she has left. What would become of her in case Wisi died? It is more likely, though, that the mother will get well, and that Andreas will yet be happy."

"No, I am sure it is too late for that," asserted Mrs. Ritter. "Although Wisi repented long ago, the wrong could not be undone, and she has suffered in silence. But we are forgetting that we must have some sleep to-night."

Colonel Ritter had fallen asleep in his chair. It was past midnight. Max roguishly went behind his sleeping brother and shook his shoulders so roughly that the colonel sprang from his chair in alarm. Max laughed and patted his shoulder by way of atonement, saying apologetically, "I only intended to give you a gentle warning that my sister says we must take to our beds."

A few moments later the house stood dark and quiet in the moonlight.

At the foot of the hill was another house where it would soon be quiet also; from a tiny window a small lamp still sent a faint glimmer into the night.

CHAPTER III

Wiseli went to the kitchen and returned carrying the lamp in one hand and a bottle of fruit juice in the other.

"What are you bringing me?" asked the mother.

"I don't know myself. I found it on the kitchen table. See how it sparkles." The mother drew the cork. "It is raspberry juice, as fragrant as the berries fresh from the garden," she said.

Wiseli poured some of the rich juice into a tumbler and diluted it with water; this the mother drank in long draughts until the tumbler was emptied. "Leave it near me, Wiseli," she said. "It seems as if I could drink it all, I am so thirsty and it is so refreshing. I wonder who was so thoughtful as to bring it to me! It must have come from Mrs. Ritter's and very likely Trina brought it over."

"Trina always comes in when she brings anything. Was she here to-day?"

"No. No one came in."

"Joiner Andreas may have left it when he was here," said Wiseli.

"Wiseli!" exclaimed the mother. "Joiner Andreas has not been here either."

"But I saw him, mother. He came out of the house just as I came in. I nearly ran into him in my hurry. Didn't you hear any one? It seems strange that he should have been so quiet."

"I do remember that I thought the kitchen door opened, and I listened for your footsteps, but you came in a few moments later, so I thought I must have been mistaken. Are you sure that it was Andreas whom you saw?"

Wiseli was certain, but to convince the mother she described him as he invariably looked. "I shouldn't wonder," she added, "if it were he who brought that large jar of honey you liked so much, and also the cakes you found that day. Don't you remember thanking Trina for them when she brought you the hot dinner, and she told you that she knew nothing about them? It must have been Joiner Andreas who did it."

Tears filled the mother's eyes as she said, "I think that probably you are right, Wiseli."

"Surely you are not going to be sorry about it, mother," said Wiseli, as she fondly stroked her mother's hair.

"No, but I want you to thank him for me sometime, Wiseli. I am afraid that I cannot do it myself. Tell him that it did me good; that I was glad he was so kind. Give me a little more, please."

Wiseli prepared the fruit juice and brought a pillow from the bed so that her mother could rest her head on the window seat. She drew a footstool to the window and made her mother comfortable. Then she sat down beside her and said, "It is time for me to say the verses you taught me.

"Remember that, Wiseli," said the mother, drowsily. "If the time ever comes when it seems as if you were not cared for, take comfort and courage from the verses you have just repeated."

The mother's regular breathing soon told Wiseli that she was asleep; but the child remained quietly by her side for fear of waking her. Thus it happened that she too fell asleep, and the lamp burned on, growing fainter and fainter until it burned itself out and left the house dark in the quiet night.

Early the following morning a neighbor passed the window on her way to the well, and, glancing in as usual, she saw Wiseli crying beside the mother, who had her head pillowed on the window seat. She ran to the child, saying, "What is it, Wiseli? I hope your mother is not worse."

Wiseli only sobbed. The neighbor bent over the mother in surprise and alarm. "Go to your uncle quickly, Wiseli," she said; "tell him to come immediately. I will wait here until you get back."

The uncle's house was about fifteen minutes' walk from the church, and Wiseli ran on obediently, although the tears would not be kept back. Her aunt answered the knock at the door; seeing the child in tears she said gruffly, "What is the matter with you?"

"I have been sent over to get my uncle; my mother is dead," answered Wiseli, for she had reasoned it out to herself that it must be so or else the mother would speak to her.

The aunt softened perceptibly. "He is not here just now," she said almost kindly. "I will have him come as soon as possible, so you needn't wait."

It was not long after Wiseli's return that the uncle came. He directed the neighbor to look after everything so that he might take the child away at once.

"But where shall we go?" inquired Wiseli.

"You shall go home with me, for I am all that you have left now. I will take care of you."

In spite of this assurance a great dread seized Wiseli. To go home with her uncle meant to live with the aunt of whom she was so afraid that she had always dreaded even meeting her. Then there were the three rude cousins, of whom Chappi was the oldest. The thought of how Hans and Rudi were always throwing stones at children made her shudder. How could she go there to live, and yet how dared she refuse?

All these thoughts flashed through Wiseli's mind as she stood hesitating. "You needn't be afraid," said her uncle kindly; "there are a good many of us, to be sure, but you will find that all the more interesting."

Wiseli tied a few of her things in a bundle, put a shawl over her head, and joined her uncle who was waiting near the door.

"That is a good girl," said the uncle; "now let us be off. Don't cry any more; that never helps anything."

Wiseli choked back the sobs as best she could and followed the uncle, whose stern nature had never been so touched before. Thus the little home where Wiseli had lived, loving and beloved, passed out of her life forever.

They had a glimpse of Trina, who was crossing a vacant lot with a basket on her arm, and Wiseli knew that she was going to see her mother.

Trina said to the neighbor who met her at the door; "I have something good for the sick one's dinner; I hope I am not too late. We have a visitor, and everything is late when he is there."

"It doesn't matter now, for you would have been too late even if you had come early this morning; she died in the night," said the neighbor.

"Oh, what will Mrs. Ritter say!" exclaimed Trina in alarm. "She tried so hard to have me come yesterday, but we were all so taken up with the uncle's arrival that it was put off. I am so sorry to have to tell her of this because I know how she will blame herself for neglecting her friend so long."

"Yes," said the neighbor, "we are all apt to do that. Yesterday I did not suspect that she was any worse than usual."

Trina sorrowfully returned to the Ritter home.

CHAPTER IV

The suppressed tears welled up in Wiseli's eyes, and her throat was so choked that she could scarcely breathe. She knew that she could not swallow a single crumb. "No, thank you," she managed to say; "I am not hungry."

"But you had better try," urged the uncle. "You mustn't be afraid."

Still Wiseli left the bread untouched, and the boys and their mother continued to stare at her. Presently the aunt dropped her hands from her hips and said, "If it isn't good enough for you, then let it alone." Wiseli was glad that she went out after this rebuke.

"You had better put your slice of bread in your pocket, Wiseli, for you may want it a little later," said the uncle, and then he too went out to the kitchen, closing the door after him.

Wiseli knew that her uncle meant to be good to her, and she wanted to obey him, so she tried to put the bread in her pocket. Unfortunately this was much too small, so she laid the bread back on the table.

At this point Chappi snatched the slice saying, "I will help you." He was just in the act of taking a bite when one of the brothers struck his arm so that the bread dropped to the floor. Then the other brother tried to get it, and a general scuffle ensued.

The father opened the kitchen door to ask what the trouble was. The boys answered together, "Wiseli didn't want it."

"Unless you want me to come in with a strap you had better stop that racket," threatened the father.

He had just closed the door again when one of the younger boys seized the other by the hair, with the idea of holding him at bay while he got the bread, but this only made matters worse, and the bread disappeared bite by bite as each found an opportunity to snatch it.

The aunt was washing potatoes in the kitchen. When her husband came in she said, "What do you mean by bringing the girl home with you? I should like to ask what you intend to do with her."

"The child had to go somewhere," he answered. "I am her uncle and the only relative she has. She ought to be of some help to you. I am sure she could do the kind of work you are doing now, and you could take your time for something you like better. You have always said that the boys make work, and you can surely find something for her to do."

"Oh, bosh! So far as that is concerned, she will be no better than the boys. You can hear what is going on in there now, and she has scarcely been here fifteen minutes."

"Yes," said the uncle; "but I have heard the same thing many times before she came, and I imagine she has little enough to do with it."

"Didn't you hear them all lay it upon her when you opened the door?" she asked angrily.

"They have to blame some one," the husband calmly answered; "they always do, I notice. I am of the opinion that you will have little trouble from the girl; she acts and obeys better than the boys."

"You needn't set her up as a model for the boys already," retorted his wife. "There isn't a place for her to sleep, anyway."

"Well," said the husband, "one can't plan everything at once. She has, no doubt, had a bed to sleep on, and it can easily be brought over here. I will talk with the pastor about her to-morrow. She can sleep on the bench behind the stove to-night; it will at least be warm. Later we can partition off a part of our chamber large enough for her little bed."

"I never in my life heard of any one bringing a child and a week later her bed!" sneered the aunt. "I should like to know who is going to pay the bills if we have to go to building on her account."

"If the church agrees to let us have her, they will also pay something for her keeping," explained the husband. "I will take her for less money than any one else would ask, because I am her uncle, and she will be happier with us than with strangers. I wish you would tell Chappi that I want him at the barn."

The aunt called to Chappi, but the boys were still struggling on the floor and he did not hear. She went into the room and gruffly ordered quiet. Wiseli stood crouching against the wall, scarcely daring to move.

"I wonder that you stand by and watch such a scene without trying to stop it," scolded the aunt. "Can you knit?"

Wiseli trembled as she answered, "Yes, I can knit stockings."

The aunt handed Wiseli a large brown stocking, at the same time sending Chappi to the barn. The two brothers followed him out. "Remember that it is the foot you are knitting on, and don't make it too short," cautioned the aunt, and then she returned to the kitchen.

Wiseli was glad to be alone. She sat down on the bench behind the stove so that she might hold her work in her lap, for the stocking was so heavy that she could not otherwise manage the needles.

She had just begun her knitting when the aunt returned to say, "You had better come to the kitchen now, so that you can learn how I do the work, for I want you to do it next time."

Wiseli followed to the kitchen, where she tried to help, but there seemed to be little that she dared to do. She kept thinking how gladly she would have done any number of tasks for her mother, because she would have been kind. The comparison brought the tears, so she desperately fought against thinking about herself.

"Now pay attention!" cautioned the aunt, as she walked about doing the work while Wiseli stood by the stove; "I want you to know how to do it the next time."

They were still there when the father and sons came up the walk from the barn, stamping the snow from their heavy boots.

"They are coming; run, Wiseli, and open the door," said the aunt.

Then the woman drained a large kettle of potatoes, which she took from the stove, ran to the living room and dumped them in the middle of the warped dining table. Next she brought a large pan of sour milk, and said to Wiseli, "The knives and forks are in the table drawer; you can put them on."

Wiseli found five knives and five forks in the drawer and put them on the table; then supper was ready. The father and the boys took their places on the bench behind the table next the window. There was a chair at one end of the table, and one at the side next the kitchen, which the aunt took. The uncle motioned Wiseli to take the other chair, saying to his wife, "She can sit there, I suppose?"

"Of course," snapped the aunt, and then went out to the kitchen on pretense of being busy. She kept coming back for only a moment at a time. The uncle, understanding her, said impatiently, "I wish you would sit still and eat your supper."

"I don't find the time to sit still," she retorted; "I should like to know who is going to look after things out there if I don't." Just at that moment she noticed that Wiseli was not eating her supper.

"Why are you sitting with your hands in your lap?" she demanded.

"She hasn't anything to eat with," replied Rudi, who had already solved the problem to his own satisfaction, for he could not understand how anybody could help eating so long as there was anything on the table.

"So that is it," said the aunt. "How was I to know that all of a sudden we must have six knives and forks when we have always needed but five. I suppose we must get an extra spoon, too. Why couldn't you have said something?" she went on, turning to Wiseli. "You must know that one has to have a spoon to eat with."

Wiseli timidly answered, "It didn't matter, because I am not hungry."

"But why not?" snapped the aunt. "Are you used to something better? I haven't any notion of making a change on your account."

"I think you had better let the child alone," interrupted the husband. "I don't want you to frighten her. She will get along well enough after a while."

Wiseli sat quietly while the rest finished their meal. Then the father said that Speck, the goat, was ailing at the barn, so he would go back. He put on his fur cap, took the lantern, and went out.

Wiseli watched her aunt brush the potato peelings from the table into the empty milk pan with her hands; then she wiped the table, after which the other things were soon washed and put away. When all was finished she said, "Now you have seen how I do up the supper work, Wiseli; you can do it hereafter."

When they came into the living room, Chappi was seated at the table with his number book and pencil, as if he intended writing his sums on the table; he now began to stare at Wiseli. She had picked up the stocking on the bench by the stove, but had not dared to go near the light on the table.

"You ought to be working examples yourself," he said to Wiseli; "you aren't the smartest one in school by any means."

Wiseli did not know what to say. She had not been in school that day, and did not know what examples had been given out. In fact, she seemed to be out of harmony with everything.

"If I have to do sums, you have to," continued Chappi.

Wiseli said nothing, and did not stir.

"All right," said Chappi, "I'll not do one single example more," and he threw down his pencil.

"Goody!" exclaimed Hans; "then I don't need to either," and he put his multiplication table back in his book sack. Study was the most unpleasant thing he ever had to do.

"I shall tell the teacher who is to blame for all this laziness," said Chappi, threateningly; "you will find out what he will do to you."

This might have been carried on indefinitely had not the father returned from the barn. He brought two large mill sacks and asked Chappi to take his things from the table; then he spread out the sacks, folded them neatly, and laid them on the bench behind the stove.

"There," he said, "that is all right. Where is your bundle, little one?"

Wiseli brought it from the corner, where she had put it, and was surprised to see her uncle place it at one end of the sacks and press it flat with his hands.

"There!" he repeated as he gave the bundle a last pat. Then turning to Wiseli, he added: "You may go to sleep now; the bundle will be your pillow and the stove will keep you from getting cold. You three boys must be off to bed!"

He took the lamp and followed the boys out, but he returned presently and said: "I hope you will sleep well, Wiseli. Try hard not to think about what has happened to-day. It will all come right later." Then he left her to herself.

A moment later the aunt came, carrying a small lamp, and wished to see the bed. "Can you sleep that way?" she asked, almost kindly. "It will be nice and warm for you. Some people haven't any bed and are cold besides. It may happen to be the case with you yet, so you better be thankful that you have a roof over your head. Good night."

"Good night," answered Wiseli, but the door closed too quickly for the aunt to hear.

Wiseli was glad to know that she was to be alone for the night. The moon dimly lighted the room. She had been in such constant dread of those about her that she had scarcely dared to think of herself. Now she lifted up her heart in prayer, simply saying, "Help me, Heavenly Father, for I am afraid, and mother is not with me now."

She felt comforted after a time because she had the assurance, from her mother's teaching, that her prayer would be answered. She remembered that it was only the evening before that her mother had told her to take comfort and courage from the verses she had repeated. The real meaning came to her now as she said the lines over.

The load she had been carrying all day seemed lifted. A quiet peace filled her trusting heart, and she resolved in her new-found strength never to fear her cousins and the aunt again. She was soon sound asleep.

Wiseli dreamed that she saw a path before her which was beautiful with roses and carnations on either side, and that the sun was shining pleasantly overhead. She was so happy that she danced for joy. Beside her stood the mother, holding her by the hand. She pointed down the path and said: "See, Wiseli, God is giving that to you. Didn't I tell you he would find the place?

Wiseli had forgotten all her sorrow and fear, and slept as well with her head on the bundle on the hard bench as if she had been dreaming in the softest bed.

CHAPTER V

"Of Chappi. Think of the mean things that he can do to her now that she has to live in the same house with him. It is unjust and ought not to be allowed. I'll attend to him if I find out that—"

Just then Otto's voice was nearly drowned by a loud stamping behind the stove, and he paused to say, "What are you making such an outlandish noise for, you Miez behind the stove?"

Miezi came out in sight of the others, her cheeks flaming red from the heat of the stove combined with her exertions in trying to get her feet into a pair of wet shoes which Trina had but a short time before taken off with the greatest difficulty.

She continued her efforts, but managed to say, "You can see that I have to do it; no one on earth could put on these things without stamping."

"Why must they be put on, when I have just taken the pains to get you out of them?" asked Trina.

"I am going to Beechgreen to get Wiseli; she can have my bed," replied Miezi, with a finality that seemed to admit of no interference.

Her operations were nevertheless cut short by Trina, who picked her up in her arms and carried her to a chair.

"That is nice of you, Miezchen," she said, "but I had better do that errand for you. There is no reason why you should wear out your shoes getting ready. You can let Wiseli have your bed and you can go to the attic to sleep. There is plenty of room up there."

This, however, was not in harmony with Miezi's plans; she had solved the sleeping problem to her own as well as to Wiseli's advantage, for nothing else would suit her so well as never to have to go to bed. So long as she could remember, she had always been sent to bed when she wanted very much to be up.

It soon became evident to Miezi, not only that Trina was keeping her from going to Wiseli, but that she had no intention of going in her place. When Trina frankly refused to go, Miezi cried so bitterly that Otto put his hands over his ears, and the mother came to make terms of peace. She promised to talk the matter over with papa just as soon as he and Uncle Max returned from a long-contemplated visit at a friend's house some distance away.

It was four days later when the colonel and Uncle Max returned. The children brought the subject of Wiseli's coming to live with them before the father at once, and he promised to investigate the conditions the next morning.

At noon the following day the colonel came home with the information that he was too late to get Wiseli. "You know, children," he said, "her uncle Gotti really wants to help the girl. He is a highly respected man and he offered to take the child for very little money. Wiseli's mother left her scarcely anything, so somebody had to offer her a home, and it seemed natural that her uncle should do so. Everybody feels satisfied that she has been well placed. I believe it is the best arrangement that could be made, for she is much too young to go out to work. We cannot take all the homeless children unless we put up an orphanage."

"I had only hoped," said Mrs. Ritter, "that we might help to find a place more suited to the child. She has a sensitive nature as well as a frail body, and she ought to be somewhere else. She will hear a great deal that is coarse and rude where she is, and will have to work much too hard for her delicate constitution. We shall have to accept the situation, but I am sorry that we cannot help her in some way."

Miezi cried, and Otto struck the table with his clenched fist to emphasize how he would deal with Chappi if he were unkind to Wiseli. It was only a few days, however, before the children grew accustomed to thinking of the little girl in her new surroundings, and the weeks sped on as rapidly as ever.

In the meantime Wiseli was becoming reconciled to her new home. Her bed had been brought over as her uncle had planned, and it was put in a box-like apartment partitioned off from the aunt's sleeping room. This was barely large enough for the bed and the small trunk which had been brought over with the remainder of the little girl's things. Wiseli had to stand either on the bed or on the trunk when she dressed, and she had to climb over the trunk to get into bed. She had to go to the well out of doors to wash her hands and face. When it was so cold that the water would freeze, the aunt told her to let it go altogether. "I am sure," she said, "that you can wash yourself enough when it gets warmer." Since this advice was not in accordance with her mother's teaching, Wiseli did not accept it.

The life in Wiseli's present surroundings was so different in every way from that to which she had been accustomed, that the comparison often produced severe homesickness, although she was never again so unhappy as on the first evening at her uncle's house. She remembered her beautiful dream and she did not doubt that a better place would be found for her, since she had prayed for it. "My mother will not let God forget me," was the assurance that held up hope before her during those trying days, and the thought of the verses was constantly with her.

The winter had passed and a promising spring was at hand. The trees put forth their green leaves and the meadow was dotted with primroses and anemones. In the woods the birds were merry, and the warm sunshine changed the barren waste of winter to a living beauty that made all hearts rejoice.

Probably no one enjoyed the balmy days more than Wiseli, and she felt quite happy as she walked to and from school. At other times there was scarcely a moment to spare, not even to notice the pretty flowers, for not only did she have to work every moment, but she had to work hard. She helped with the garden, and, since the aunt worked in the field on the farm, she had to get the meals and wash dishes as well. She did the patching for the whole family, made the gruel for the little pigs, and carried it to them besides; in short, she did everything about the house, so that she often had to stay away from school in order to finish her duties.

Going to school was Wiseli's greatest pleasure. It rested her tired body and, best of all, she heard there kind and friendly words. During recess and after school hours Otto was sure to speak to her in a cordial way, and it did much to relieve the lonely feeling. Sometimes a message came from Mrs. Ritter inviting Wiseli to spend the following Sunday with her children. Wiseli was never allowed to accept these invitations to The Hill, for the aunt would say, "It is the only day that you don't have to go to school, and I can't spare you every day."

Wiseli worked all day Sunday, but it was pleasant to know that the Ritter family had invited her, and there was always the hope that some day she might be allowed to go.

There was another reason why Wiseli liked to go to school. The road went by the home of Joiner Andreas. She had not forgotten that she had the message from her mother to deliver to him. She was too timid to go to the house and ask for him, but she watched for the opportunity to see him in his garden or near his home. She never passed his place without looking over the garden fence to see if he was there. She had not yet seen him, although the garden was in the best of trim and indicated that he spent many hours there.

May and June had passed, and now the long hot summer days had come, bringing increased work on the farm. Wiseli had to go to the haymaking. She was expected either to rake the hay together or to use the fork in spreading it in the sun, working all day long until her arms ached so wretchedly that she could not sleep. This, however, was not what made her unhappy, for it did not occur to her that she ought not to work as she did. Her great trouble was that she had to miss school, except on rainy days, or occasionally when the aunt said that she might go. Chappi often said in the evening, when he was doing his examples, "Why don't you get your lessons, Wiseli? You never know anything, and you seem to think that you can live without working."

It was this that hurt Wiseli, for she could rarely go to school two days in succession, and so she was not able to keep up with the class. One day, when she failed to give a correct answer, the teacher said, "I did not expect that of you, Wiseli; you used to be a good scholar." How it shamed the child, and how she cried all the way home that night, no one but herself realized! It seemed to her that day that no one cared for her after all, and when she got into her little bed at night, she felt too miserable even to pray. But she could not sleep until she had repeated her usual prayer, although it was said almost hopelessly.

This happened in July. The following morning Wiseli was standing at the table when the boys went off to school, and she was wondering whether or not she should be allowed to go. The aunt said nothing, and the uncle was not in the room.

The aunt had a large washing on hand for that day. Would she be asked to carry it to the trough and help?

Yes, she heard her aunt calling, and she was just about to answer when her uncle came in, saying, "Hurry, Wiseli, the boys have gone already. The hay is safe in the barn, and you shall go to school now. You may tell the teacher that you will not be kept out any more for a while, and explain to him that it was because we had so much work on our hands that you had to stay away."

Wiseli felt as free as a bird that morning. She knew that she might go to school every day that week, and it was something worth living for. How beautiful the morning was! The birds warbled their care-free notes in the tree tops, the sunlight sparkled on the dewy grass, and the air was fragrant with the perfume of the wild flowers. Wiseli had no time to stop, but she noticed all this beauty as she ran along.

That afternoon, just as the school children were about to rush out to their freedom, the teacher asked, "Whose turn is it to care for the schoolroom this week?"

"It is Otto's; it is Otto's!" cried the children, and the next moment they were gone.

"Otto," said the teacher sternly, "you didn't do your duty here last night. I will overlook it this time, but I want you to see that it does not happen again, or I shall be obliged to enforce the penalty upon you."

Otto glanced around the room and saw the nutshells, apple parings, and bits of paper that he was supposed to clean up; then he looked at the children playing out of doors, and the first thing he knew he was among them. The teacher had already left the room.

Later, when the children were all gone, Otto stood for a moment watching the golden glow of the evening sky and thought, "If I could only go home now! I would pick my cap full of cherries and take a ride out to the meadow with the hired man; now I have to go to that stuffy room and sweep and dust it."

Otto's patience forsook him as he started for the schoolroom. "I shouldn't care," he said, "if a cyclone came along and shattered the old house into a thousand pieces." There was no alternative, however; he must either take his turn at cleaning the schoolroom, or he must stay in at recess to-morrow. He had no sooner entered the room than he noticed, to his great surprise, that the work was done. Not a speck of dust was to be seen, and the windows had been opened wide, letting the air enter freely, so that the room seemed as fresh as out of doors.

Just at this moment the teacher entered hastily and looked in astonishment at the staring Otto. Then he noticed the clean room and said kindly, "You may be satisfied with your work to-night. I did not expect you to do so well, although you are always good at your lessons. Good night."

Now that Otto was convinced that what he saw was real, he seized his cap and, clearing the steps in two jumps, ran all the way up the hill. It did not occur to him to seek for an explanation of what had happened, until he told his mother about it when he reached home.

"You may be sure that no one did it for you by mistake," said his mother. "You must have some good friend who has willingly sacrificed himself for you. Perhaps you can think of some one who may have done it."

"I know who it was," said Miezi, who had been listening.

"Who?" asked Otto.

"Henry, because you gave him an apple about a year ago," said Miezi, emphatically.

"Yes, or William Tell, because I didn't take his away from him about a year ago; that would be just as sensible, you little Miezi," said Otto, as he playfully stroked her cheek. Just then he saw an opportunity to ride out to the hayfields, so the subject was dropped.

In the meantime Wiseli was tripping down the hill happier than she had been for many a day. She passed Joiner Andreas's house, but retraced her steps in order to get a good view of the carnation bed.

"It is a little late," she thought, "but I shall get home before the boys, anyway, for they are probably playing somewhere."

Just as she was admiring the flowers, the joiner came out of the house and walked directly toward her. "Wouldn't you like to have a few carnations, Wiseli?" he said.

"Yes, very much," she answered. "My mother wanted me to tell you something, too."

"Your mother!" he gasped, and the carnations he had just picked fell unheeded to the ground. Wiseli darted through the gate and picked them up. "When my mother was sick and didn't eat anything any more, she drank that nice fruit juice you put in the kitchen, and it made her feel better. She told me to thank you for bringing it, and for all that you did for her. She said you were very kind."

Wiseli was surprised to see the tears in the good man's eyes. He tried to say something, but he could not. He took Wiseli's hand in both of his, patted it gently, and returned to the house without another word.

Wiseli was amazed. Nobody else had shed any tears for her mother, and she had not allowed herself to do so when anybody could see her; yet here was a man so moved that he could not speak of her. How she loved him for it! She started homeward for fear of being later than the boys, and it was well she did so, for they had just turned in at the gate when she got there.

Wiseli felt so much better when she went to bed that night that she wondered how she could have been so discouraged the evening before. She resolved to keep herself cheerful in the future, if it were possible. The good, kind face of Joiner Andreas was the last thing she thought of before going to sleep.

The following day (it was Wednesday) Otto had a repetition of his strange experience. It had not occurred to him that the good fairy would again appear, and, as usual, he was not able to keep from rushing out with the others and frolicking until the children left the playground. When he returned to do his work, the room was again in the best of order.

He began to be really curious as to whom he had to thank for this favor. He decided to play the spy the next night and solve the mystery. Accordingly, after the school had been dismissed the following afternoon, Otto waited a moment at his seat, wondering how he could get to a hiding place unseen, when the boys began to shout, "Come on, Otto, come on; we want to play robber and you must lead."

"I have to clean up this week, so I won't play to-night," he said.

"What difference will fifteen minutes make? Come on."

He gave up his scheme of playing spy and went with the boys. Instead of the game's lasting fifteen minutes, it was half an hour before it was over, and Otto felt anxious as to whether he must still do his work. He ran panting to the schoolroom and gave the door such a vigorous kick that the teacher came in to see what had happened.

"What do you want, Otto?" he asked.

"Just to see if I did everything," stammered Otto.

"Very well done," commented the teacher, as he looked about. "Your zeal is praiseworthy, Otto, but you needn't be so boisterous when you come to the door again."

Otto went out more curious than ever. He determined to find out the next night without fail, for, with the exception of Saturday morning, it would be his last opportunity.

"Otto," called the teacher as soon as he had dismissed school the next day, "I wish you would take this note to the pastor's for me and wait for an answer; you can be back in five or ten minutes to do your cleaning."

Otto was not in the least pleased to do the teacher's errand, but he dared not refuse, so he started off at a run, hoping to be back in time to capture the good fairy, if she appeared to do his work. When he got to the parsonage, he was admitted at once, and told that the pastor would see him directly. Then the minister's wife called him to the garden to chat a moment, and it seemed an age to him before he could free himself courteously, for she asked not only about himself and his health, but that of his mother, father, Uncle Max, Miezi, and apparently all the relatives in Germany.

Finally the opportunity came to present the note to the pastor, and it was but a moment later when he was speeding back to the schoolhouse with the written answer in his hand. He fairly stumbled into the schoolroom in his eagerness to see if any one was there, but, as before, the room was in the best of order and not a soul to be seen.

"Not once this week have I had to do that disagreeable task," he thought. "Since there is some one who is doing such work without needing to, I am at least going to find out who it is."

The school closed at eleven o'clock on Saturday. Otto let all the children pass out; when they had gone, he went outside, locked the door, and stood with his back against it waiting to see who would come back to do the work. He stood there waiting until half past eleven, and still no one came.

Otto remembered that the family at home were to have lunch promptly at twelve, for an afternoon's outing had been planned and he had promised to get home as early as possible. It became evident that he was going to have to do the work himself, and he dared wait no longer. Greatly disappointed, he unlocked the door and entered the room, but—Otto could scarcely believe his eyes—the work was finished as usual.

How very strange it seemed! For a moment a superstitious fear possessed him, and he tiptoed to the door and went out, taking pains to lock it securely behind him.

Just at that moment Wiseli came quietly out of the teacher's kitchen door; she listened intently for a moment, but hearing no one, started on her way home, which led her by the schoolhouse door. The next moment she and Otto were face to face. Each was startled at the other's presence, and Wiseli blushed deeply, as if she had been caught doing something very wrong. This partly betrayed her to Otto, who said: "Surely, Wiseli, you have not been doing all that work for me this week? How could any one who didn't have to?"

"It has given me a great deal of pleasure," said Wiseli.

"Oh, no, don't say that!" exclaimed Otto. "To do such work couldn't give anybody any pleasure."

"But it did, really, Otto. I was always glad when night came and I could do it again. I was all the time thinking how glad and surprised you would be to find the task finished."

"What made you do it for me, Wiseli?"

"I knew that you didn't like to do it, and I have many a time wished for an opportunity to do something for you."

"I am sure you have done a great deal more for me than I did for you, and I shall not forget it, Wiseli." Otto had taken Wiseli's hand in his and she was very happy.

"I waited to-day until everybody had gone, and even now I cannot see how you got into that room," said Otto.

"I never went out," she replied. "I hid behind my seat, for I expected you to go out as usual."

"How have you always before managed to get away without my seeing you?" asked Otto.

"You don't notice much when you are playing," said Wiseli. "Yesterday and to-day, when I was not sure where you were, I went through the teacher's room and asked his wife if she had an errand she would like to have me do on the way home. I have several times done things for her. I was behind the kitchen door yesterday when you stormed into the schoolroom."

Both children laughed heartily at the remembrance. Otto impulsively pressed Wiseli's hand and said, "I am truly grateful to you. Good-by." After they had gone their separate ways, they both rejoiced that they had discovered each other.

CHAPTER VI

"You will not suffer from overpoliteness at least," remarked Otto. He started for the large pasture near the woods. Just then he noticed some people under a pear tree near at hand, and soon he saw Wiseli gathering pears into a basket. Hans had thrown himself face upward across a filled basket and was rocking himself in a way which threatened the overturn of the pears. Chappi was perched up in the tree laughing at his brother's antics. When Wiseli saw Otto coming, her face broke into happy smiles.

"I have come to see how you are, Wiseli," said Otto, as he took her hand. "Why have you been out of school so long?"

"There was so much to be done that I couldn't go, Otto. See what a lot of pears there are! I have to pick pears from morning until night."

"Your shoes and stockings are soaked," remarked Otto. "Ugh, it is cold here. Doesn't it make you sick to get so wet?"

"Yes, sometimes; but the work usually keeps me warm."

Just then Hans gave such a violent lurch that the basket went over and the pears scattered in every direction.

"Oh," cried Wiseli, "that is too bad! Now we must gather them all over again."

"And that one too," cried Chappi, and he laughed as the pear that he threw hit Wiseli on the forehead hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.

It had scarcely happened, however, before Otto had pulled Chappi from the tree and had taken a firm grip on his throat.

"Stop, you're choking me," gurgled Chappi. He was not laughing any more.

"I will teach you that you are responsible to me when you treat Wiseli in that way," said Otto, his voice strained in his anger. He tightened his grip as he added, "Is this enough to make you remember what I told you?"

"Yes," gasped Chappi, whose face was turning purple.

"I will let you go," said Otto, "but I want you to keep in mind that I will give you such a choking as you will remember to your dying day if you ever hurt Wiseli again. Good-by, Wiseli." Then Otto was gone.

He went straight to his mother and indignantly protested against the necessity of Wiseli's having to live with those boys at her uncle's home. He declared his intention of going over to ask the pastor if complaint might be entered against the whole family, so that Wiseli might be taken from them.

"My dear son," said Mrs. Ritter; "there is no lawful way of taking Wiseli from them, and a complaint of that character would only lead the whole family to treat her more unkindly than they do now. So long as the uncle means well by her there is nothing we can do. I realize fully what a hard time Wiseli is having, and I don't want you to think that I have not taken the matter to heart, Otto. I am looking earnestly for an opening to do something for her, and I hope that in the meantime you will protect her as much as possible, without being rude and rough yourself."

Otto tried to help his mother think of a way to free Wiseli, but each plan proposed proved impracticable, if not impossible. The children had a custom of writing their Christmas wishes upon a slate, and Otto wrote, "I wish Santa Claus would set Wiseli free."

January had come and again brought to the children the great pleasure of the year by providing them with snow for the coasting. One beautiful moonlight night the idea came to Otto that it would be great sport to coast by moonlight, and the next day he accordingly suggested to the children that they assemble at seven o'clock for a moonlight ride. The suggestion was enthusiastically received. When they broke up that evening, there were cries of "All hands back at seven!" "Hurrah for moonlight!" "Good-by till seven!"

The Ritter children did not tell their mother of this plan until they came home from school toward evening. Much to their surprise she was not at all enthusiastic over what they considered such a capital idea. She spoke of the intense cold of the evening, the danger, especially to Miezi, in the uncertain light, and the likelihood of the younger ones being frightened in the shadows. In spite of these objections they wished to carry out their plan, and Otto promised not to let Miezi out of his sight if she might go with him. Their request was finally granted, and they started off as happy as birds on the wing.

It was great sport. The track had been worn as smooth as ice, and the fear of the timid ones in the dark places gave zest to the undertaking. Nearly all the children from the neighborhood were there, and the best of humor prevailed. Otto let them all precede him with their sleds, permitting only Miezi to follow him, so that there would be no danger of any one's running into her from behind, and he looked back every moment to see that she was coming safely.

After several rides in this fashion some one proposed that they ride "tandem fashion," that is, with all the sleds tied together. The idea was immediately accepted, and they began tying their sleds together in joyful anticipation. Otto, however, considered the sport too dangerous for Miezi, as the sleds sometimes became tangled and the whole company was piled up in a mass. He tied his sled last, letting his sister follow with hers untied. In this way it was expected that they would go as usual, except that Otto would not be free to stop in case Miezi did not keep up with them. Soon the children were off and went down the slippery hill with the speed of the wind.

They had gone but halfway down, when Otto heard a scream behind him in which he recognized his sister's voice, but he was powerless to stop, and he was going too fast to dare to roll himself from his sled until their speed diminished near the foot of the hill. He found Miezi halfway down the hill crying with all her might. Almost breathless, Otto gathered her in his arms, saying, "What happened, Miezchen? Tell me, what is the matter?"

"He wanted to—he wanted to—he was going to—" sobbed Miezi.

"What did he want to do? Who? Where?" asked Otto.

"The big man over there, he wanted to—he was going to kill me—and he said things."

"Never mind, Miezchen; be quiet now; he didn't kill you. Did he even hit you?" asked Otto, somewhat puzzled by the occurrence, for he knew Miezi to be a rather fearless child.

"No," sobbed Miezi, "but he had a big stick and he raised it like this and was going to strike and he said, 'You look out!' and he called me dreadful names."

"So he really didn't hurt you at all," said Otto, much relieved to find it true, although Miezi was of a different opinion.

"Yes, he did—he was going to—and you were all gone ahead and I was all alone," and from sheer self-pity came a fresh burst of tears.

"Hush now, Miezchen," coaxed Otto. "I shall never leave you like that again, so the man shall never get you. If you will be a happy little girl now, just as soon as we get home I will give you the red candy rooster I had on the Christmas tree."

This promise restored Miezi to her normal self in a moment. She wiped the tears away, but did not let go of Otto's hand for the rest of the evening. The other children had joined them and as they climbed the hill they discussed what had happened. Several of the children had noticed a large man turn out of the road to let them pass, and it was Otto's opinion that it must have made the man angry to have to step into the snow, and he had threatened Miezi because she was the only one within reach. This seemed a likely explanation to the children, and the subject was dropped. The party broke up after the next ride, as most of them had promised to be at home by eight o'clock.

"Now, Miezchen," said Otto on the way home, "if you tell mamma about your being so frightened, you may be sure that she will never let you go with me again. No harm was done, and I think we had better not say anything about it."

Miezi promised to say nothing. All traces of tears had been removed by the expectation of receiving the candy rooster, which Otto did not fail to give to her as soon as they reached home, and the children went happily to bed.

They had been in bed and asleep for some time when a loud rapping at the door startled the parents, who were sitting at the table in the living room, talking about their children. Trina had gone upstairs, but she leaned out of her window and called, "What is it you want?"

"Something dreadful has happened," came the answer from the man below. "Joiner Andreas has been killed, and we want the colonel to come over at once."

The messenger departed without waiting. Through the open window Colonel and Mrs. Ritter had heard what he said. The colonel threw his cloak over his shoulder and hurried to Andreas's home. A number of people had assembled there when he arrived. The police and the pastor had been summoned, and others, hearing of the misfortune, had come to see what could be done. Colonel Ritter worked his way into the crowd to where the joiner lay.

"Where is the doctor?" was his first question.

"What is the use of getting a doctor when the man is dead?" some one answered.

"He may not be dead," said the colonel, impatiently. "Some one must go for a doctor immediately; tell him I said that he must hurry. This call should be answered before all others."

Some one reluctantly started, then, with the help of others, the colonel lifted the apparently lifeless body and carried it to the bed.

The miller's son explained to the colonel that he had passed the house about half an hour earlier, that he had noticed a light and the open door and had decided to stop a moment to see the joiner, when, to his horror, he saw that he was dead; that Meadow Joggi was standing in the room, holding a gold piece in his hand; and that Joggi had laughed as he looked at the gold.

Meadow Joggi, so called because he lived in the meadow, was a man who had lost his reason, but whom people had always regarded as perfectly harmless. The neighborhood supported him, and he often helped them with simple work, which he managed to do fairly well. The miller's son had told him to stay where he was until some one came, and he had obeyed, still clutching his gold piece and smiling, not in the least concerned about himself.

The physician came at last and hastened to examine the body.

"He was struck on the back of his head; it is a bad wound," said the doctor.

"Do you think that he is dead, doctor?" asked Colonel Ritter.

"No; he is not dead, but he is very near it. Bring me sponges, bandages, and some water." The men searched the house in vain for the things that were needed.

"I wish there were a woman here to find things!" exclaimed the exasperated physician. "A woman knows intuitively what a sick person needs and where to find it."

"Trina can come," said the colonel. "Will some one please run over to my house and tell Mrs. Ritter to send her at once."

"I am afraid your wife will not thank you, Colonel," said the doctor, "for whoever comes must stay at least three days, and perhaps longer."

"You need not worry about that," replied the colonel. "Mrs. Ritter will gladly do more than give Trina's time if it will save the joiner."

Trina appeared sooner than they had thought it possible for her to get there, and she brought with her a basket of necessary supplies which she and Mrs. Ritter had in readiness for an emergency.

The doctor was much pleased. "Now, Colonel," he said, "please dismiss every one, and lock up the house for the night."

The policemen decided to put Joggi in jail until they could investigate matters. He walked along with them willingly, opening his hand occasionally and laughing at his gold piece.

Early the following morning Mrs. Ritter went to the home of the joiner to inquire after him. Trina met her at the door and said that toward morning the patient had recovered partial consciousness. The doctor had just left, she said, and had expressed his opinion that the man was doing better than he had dared to hope. "I have had to promise him," she added, "that I would let no one come into the room, not even my dear mistress."

"I am sure he is right about it," said Mrs. Ritter smiling. "I am glad to know that Andreas is in safe hands, and I will hurry home, so that my husband may know that he is doing well."

So eight days passed. Mrs. Ritter never failed to come every morning to inquire. She supplied Trina with whatever she needed. No one had yet been allowed in the sick room, and Trina was kept at her post.

Several days later the doctor gave his permission to have the colonel question Andreas in regard to the accident, as the police were anxious to know if he could give them any information.

The joiner received the colonel warmly; he realized how much he was indebted to him. The sick man could tell nothing about his injury except that some one had entered his room as he sat counting his money. "I was evidently struck senseless before I had time to look around to see who it was," he added.

This proved to the officers that Andreas had been injured for the sake of his gold. They wondered what had become of the rest of the money, if Joggi had committed the deed. This was the first that Andreas had heard about Joggi's being suspected.

"I want you to release Joggi immediately," he said. "I am positive that he did not do it. Why, Joggi wouldn't kill a fly if he could help it."

"A stranger might have done it," suggested the doctor; "the windows are low, and seeing them open and the pile of money at hand, he might have felt a sudden desire to possess it."

"That is very likely," replied the joiner. "I have never thought about being careful, and my house has always been unlocked."

"Well," said the colonel, "it is a good thing that you have enough saved for a rainy day, so you will not suffer from the loss of the money. The best of it all is that you yourself were saved."

"Yes, colonel," said the joiner, as he gave his hand in farewell, "I have enough to be thankful for. I shall never use all I have, anyway."

"I am sure you are more at peace with yourself than the man that robbed you," remarked the doctor.

A sad story was being told about the neighborhood concerning Joggi. He had been so reluctant to give up his gold piece, that the police had taken it from him by force after conducting him to the prison. The policeman's son was supposed to have said to him: "You just wait, Joggi; you will get your pay for this night's work. You'll see what you will get after a while."

This had so thoroughly frightened Joggi that he had moaned constantly ever since; he would not eat or sleep, but sat crouched in a corner, fearing that they would come to kill him.

The police came to see him a few days after his imprisonment, and promised him their protection if he would confess the truth to them. He said that he had looked in at the window and had seen the joiner lying on the floor. He went in, he said, and touched him with his foot and saw that he was dead. Then he saw the gold piece on the floor and picked it up a moment before the miller's son came in; other people soon came after that. This was his simple story, and every one was inclined to believe it, but Joggi did not get over his fright.