Nothing could have been pleasanter to the triplets than to live over again those hours of sight-seeing, and all three helped tell of their visit.
"Now listen to this," said the landlord, who had picked up a Frankfort paper:
"An Englishman lost his pocketbook on Saturday evening in the grounds of the Forest-house, in the suburbs of Frankfort. It contained valuable papers and money, and was found by a young man named Pixy from the Odenwald country, and delivered to the owner."
The landlord and his wife laughed at the mistake of the reporter until tears stood in their eyes; and then the three boys repeated the story again, and told of the English cousin, and of Uncle Braun, and ended by saying that they felt that they knew everybody and every place in Frankfort.
When they put on their knapsacks to depart, each took out his purse to pay their bill.
"Oh, no, boys," said the landlord, "I cannot take pay for your very plain dinner. You were our guests and were not the least trouble."
"Oh, thank you! thank you!" they said in concert, and Paul voiced the opinion of all, when he said that had they ordered it, they could not have gotten anything they would have enjoyed more.
The three then took generous tips from their purses, and put the money in the hand of their host.
"Will you please give this to Letta and Peter?" they asked.
"Certainly, certainly! and I thank you in their names for it. And now, boys, you will have to walk several miles to reach the little village where Fritz's father said you would stay over night on your way home."
"Did you see father?" asked the boy in surprise.
"Certainly! He would not think of going to Frankfort without stopping to see me."
They shook hands with the innkeeper and his wife, who invited them to come to see them the next time they went to Frankfort, and then took their departure for the Odenwald.
CHAPTER XI
IN THE DESERTED CABIN
They walked along chatting until they were several miles from Umstadt, when Pixy stopped and looked intently toward a thicket of tall grass, giving one of his low growls, a sign of warning. The boys halted, for at that moment three rough heads were raised from the grass and three pairs of eyes were gazing intently at the travelers from three faces, which were not only dark but not entirely clean. The three were about seventeen years of age, and were apprentices of mechanics out upon a week's vacation. One was learning to be a butcher, another a blacksmith, and the third a basket maker. They had been walking all the morning and had lain down in the cool, tall grass to rest and sleep. They were rough-looking boys, and the triplets were rather sorry that Pixy's growl had caused them to rise and look about them.
"So you are three school boys out on your slide!" exclaimed the blacksmith, eyeing them curiously.
"Slide!" echoed Paul. "How can we slide when it is summer and no ice?"
"Oh, you greenhorns," laughed the boy. "You do not know that 'slide' means a holiday."
"We have been on our holiday, and are on our way home to go to school."
"School! I should run away from that instead of running to it," remarked the blacksmith, "no one there learns how to use the hammer and anvil to make a horse-shoe."
"But he learns other useful things," said Paul.
"What are you going to be when you grow up?"
"A teacher, like my father."
"Bah, a teacher! I suppose it is a great pleasure to cudgel some boy every day. Oh, what I have endured from teachers is more than I can tell."
"A good teacher knows how to manage a bad boy without using the cudgel.
It is a weak teacher who knows no other way."
"Oh, just hear our wise one! Let me tell you that your father, great as you appear to think him, could not manage me."
"No, not now, but if you were a boy under his care you would see that he would manage you."
"What are you going to be?" he asked of Fritz.
"A clothing merchant, like my father."
"And cheat buyers by selling poor cloth."
"My father is no swindler," cried Fritz.
Franz had stood back; he did not like the looks of the group, but the roughest looking of the three now put the same question to him.
"A forest-keeper, like my father."
"Then it would be well for you to learn to be a butcher, as I am doing, so you could kill wild animals and dress them."
"Dress them!" exclaimed the boys in surprise.
"Yes, cut them up for packing, as we do cattle. Do you see this butcher knife?" and he held it up to view.
The triplets did not like the look of the butcher and his knife. They were anxious to move on and let the three strangers finish their sleep in the grass, but this was not the wish of their new acquaintances.
"I will tell you what we will do," said the butcher after the three had talked a moment in a low tone. "We are not far from a village where we intend begging food. We will each take one of you boys to help, and when we reach the end of the village we will divide what we have begged."
"No, we have never done that," cried Fritz. "We will not go from door to door holding out our hands."
"No, we cannot do that, but we will each give you a nickel," said Paul quickly, for he noticed frowns upon the faces of the strangers.
"Agreed!" said the three in a breath, and, rising to their feet, they held out their hands.
Paul and Franz gave out their share immediately, but Fritz fingered so long that the gold-piece fell out, and was seen by the three pairs of eyes. Fritz picked it up quickly and replaced it in his purse, and the three nickels were in the grimy hands of the strangers, who set out for the village.
"You should not have let that butcher boy see your gold-piece," said Paul. "We are traveling the same way, and we don't know what they are planning. The thief in Frankfort got your money out of your pocket with smooth words, but this butcher boy might take a shorter way."
"Let us lose no time in getting out of their path," advised Franz. "I believe the better plan would be to take a train home."
"Oh, no!" objected Fritz; "the Trojans would never get done laughing at us. It is bad enough that we have ridden part of the way, when we boasted so much of taking the whole trip on foot."
"But Paul is right about that butcher boy. I believe that he would stick a boy as willingly as he would a calf."
"I will tell you my plan," said Paul. "Those three tramps have taken the main road; we will take the forest, and walk along where we can see them, and they cannot see us. Then if they strike off in another direction we will come out in the road again."
"That is a first-rate plan," said Fritz; "and it will be so cool and pleasant in the woods."
The boys now took a long look at the apprentices, fearing they would turn and see them enter the woods; but no, they were passing along quietly, and the three darted in, and felt that they had escaped a great misfortune. For a long time they kept the road in sight, then, without them knowing how, it disappeared from view, although they believed that they had been keeping a straight course. It seemed to have grown suddenly dark, and there was the low rumbling of thunder.
"That is the reason that it is growing dark; a storm is coming up," remarked Paul. "We must have a place of shelter. Let us hurry to the road, and it may be that we will see a house or barn."
It was raining fast by this time. It had not occurred to them to take their rain-coats from their knapsacks, but trudged along in the downpour, the woods now so dark that they could scarcely see each other.
"I wish I had something to eat," said Fritz. "I am as hungry as a wolf."
"And I," seconded Franz.
"And I," agreed Paul.
"Follow me, and we will soon be out of this dark woods," commanded
Fritz.
The others obeyed, stumbling over stones, tripping over roots, and running against stumps and briars; but they kept along cheerfully, believing that they would soon reach the road where it would not be so dark.
"I wish I had a piece of that cake that Uncle Braun bought for us the day we went to the tower," remarked Fritz.
"Oh, don't speak of it! It makes me hungrier than ever," said Paul.
"Oh, boys, I see a light, a dim one, but it may be in a house, and the people will give us something to eat. I told you I would lead you right if you would follow me."
"If it is a house, and they will give us some straw to sleep on, we will not try to reach the village where we were to stay all night, for I believe it is growing late," suggested Paul.
"Oh, we have come to a swamp," cried Fritz. "Halt! my shoes are full of water. Now one of them has come off, and is sticking in the mud."
"Here it is," said Paul as he pulled it out, "take it and put it on."
"But I can't stand and put it on. What shall I do?"
"You cannot sit down in the swamp, that is certain. Here, Franz, do you get on one side of him and I on the other and we will hold him up while he puts it on. Now, Fritz, hurry."
Fritz took his shoe, shook out the water, and tried his best to make it go on, but without success. His comrades on either side put out a helping hand, but lost their balance, and all three sat down suddenly in the swamp.
"Now we are wet in the only place we were dry," exclaimed Paul.
"Yes," comforted Fritz, "but my shoe is on, so it is well that we did sit down."
"But there was no need for us all to sit down. If you had taken a seat at first, we could have kept dry."
"But see! the light is still there. Let us hurry. Oh, how glad I am to know that we will see people."
They soon reached a small, dark cabin, old and dilapidated, yet it was shelter; and they rejoiced that they had found it. As they neared it, they smelled the welcome odor of frying sausage.
The only light that came through the one little window was from the small fire on the hearth and in this dim light the boys saw two figures bending over the fire, and one by the door, which stood slightly ajar.
Only a few more steps and they were up to the door, and there stood the butcher-boy with knife in hand. Fritz felt that the knife was already at his throat. He fell back upon Franz, and Franz upon Paul, and they were about to flee.
"Here are the three stubborn little tramps that would not beg, but are willing to eat what we begged. But come in, boys, and keep quiet, or some prying forester will come along and drive us out in the rain."
The boys drew back, for they were startled and distressed at having run directly into the lion's claws.
"Come in, you simpletons! Are you afraid that I will kill you?"
"No wonder they are afraid when you are flourishing that big knife," said the basket-maker. "Come in, boys. He has it only to cut our meat and bread. He would not use it on a person because he knows he would have to suffer for it."
The boys were afraid of them all, but night was coming on, it was raining, and there seemed nothing else to do, so they stepped in, followed by Pixy, who had sniffed the odor of sausage.
"Now you can set the table. The sausage is done," said the blacksmith, and while the butcher shut the door, the basket-maker hung his coat across the little window to hide the light from outside, and more fuel was piled on the fire, which soon blazed up and brightened the dingy place.
A newspaper was placed in the centre of the floor and a large paper bag was emptied of its contents upon it, a motley mess of bread, brown and white, scraps of meat, cheese and other things they had begged.
"Now fall to, yellow bills," said the butcher to the triplets. "Your money bought this sausage, and you have a right to share it," and he gave them a liberal supply on slices of brown bread.
The boys were hungry and ate heartily, though realizing that they were beggars and were being entertained by beggars.
"Your dog must have his supper," said the butcher-boy when they had finished and, putting scraps of bread, meat and other things into the pan in which the sausage had been fried, he stirred it about and poured it upon a piece of paper, and Pixy devoured it greedily.
As soon as the supper was finished, the travelers prepared for sleep.
"Let us put on our rain-coats," suggested Paul. "They will help dry our clothes and keep us warm."
"Why didn't you put them on before it rained?" asked the basket-maker.
"That is like locking the stable after the horse is stolen."
"We never thought of it," responded Fritz. They took the rain-coats from their knap sacks, put them on and felt immediate comfort; then all lay down with their feet toward the fire, Pixy close to Fritz.
"I am tired, and could sleep if I were not so thirsty," murmured Paul.
"Well, donkey, there is nothing to hinder you from getting a drink," said the rough voice of the butcher-boy. "Go quietly out the door, turn to the left and there is a spring of good water, which you can scoop up in your hands. Hurry in and shut the door, or some one of the forest-keepers will ferret us out."
The boys arose quickly and went out, followed by Pixy. It had stopped raining, but the woods looked very dark and gloomy.
"Let us run away and leave our knapsacks," said Fritz. "I don't like to be in the company of such people."
"Nor do I," agreed the other two, and there was a pause for reflection.
"Where could we go?" asked Paul. "We would only get lost again in the woods."
"But I am afraid of that butcher with his knife," said Fritz.
"That basket-maker would not let him hurt us."
"Are you coming in or not?" asked the rough voice of the butcher-boy at the door, so they hurried in, and closed the door.
The boys lay near each other for company, and Pixy crept close to Fritz, who rejoiced that he was with them.
After a time the butcher-boy raised his head and whispered, "Boys, are you asleep?"
"No," replied Fritz, with a thrill of alarm which almost deprived him of speech.
"Now keep your mouths shut," was the next whisper. "I hear something outside."
The boys obeyed, though they longed to cry out, "Come, whoever you are, and take us out of this miserable place."
There was one of the party who resolved not to obey the command, and that was Pixy. He, too, heard the noise outside, and sprang against the door, barking shrilly.
"I will kill that dog if he don't keep quiet," said the butcher-boy in an angry but subdued tone.
Fritz groped his way to his pet and put his hand over his mouth, but it was too late. The forest-keeper outside had heard the barking, and striking his musket upon the door, he asked, "Who's there?"
It was now no use to keep silent and Fritz took it upon himself to answer.
"Good friend, we are three boys on our holiday journey. We have been to
Frankfort, and are on our way home to Michelstadt."
"Who is in there with you?"
"Three working people who allowed us to take shelter here from the rain."
The forest-keeper opened the door, struck a light in his lantern and stepped in.
"What brought you in here?" he asked of the three grown travelers.
"There is no need to ask. You know that it has been raining," replied the butcher-boy doggedly.
"Yes, but it is not raining now. Go out of here! You might set the cabin on fire, and then the woods would be ablaze."
The triplets were ready in a moment's time, and eager to go, but not so the others.
"The fire is out. What is the use of moving on until daylight?"
"Because it is against orders to allow anyone to stay in this cabin.
Wake up your comrade, and all of you leave."
This was a hard task, for the blacksmith was a sound sleeper, but by dint of calling and pushing they got him partly awake.
"What is it you want?" he said, looking sleepily at the forest-keeper.
"Go out of here. There is no room for you."
"Nor for you! Up, up, and out!"
"Out in the rain? No. I will not go," and he lay down again.
The other two drew him to his feet, and told him that it was the forest-keeper who was commanding them to leave the cabin.
"But where are we to go?" he asked. "We cannot sleep out in the rain."
"No, you are all to follow me to my house. I can have an eye over you there, and it will be less of an anxiety than to leave you to yourselves in this cabin."
They all passed out, the triplets with Pixy keeping close to the forester and his lantern.
CHAPTER XII
A WELL-SPRING OF PLEASURE
They walked what seemed to the boys a long distance through the forest. The rain had ceased, and the moon was trying to shed its rays through thin clouds, but in the dense shade the only light was the little circle upon the moist earth, given by the small lantern.
After a time a voice cried, "Who goes there?"
"Hans Hartman, my good friend," replied the forest-keeper.
"All right!" and another forest-keeper stood before them, much surprised to see seven instead of one.
"Have you captured poachers?"
"No, the older ones are gypsies," for in the dim light of the cabin he was quite sure that they belonged to that army of rovers.
"Are we then so dark?" asked the basket-maker, amused at the mistake.
"All animals look dark at night."
"Except a white cow," suggested the butcher.
"But, Hartman, you have three boys with you," continued the forest-keeper. "So young and yet night-strollers!"
"No, these boys are all right. They have been passing their holiday in Frankfort, and are on their way home. They got lost in the forest, the rain came up and they took shelter in the abandoned cabin. One of them tells me that he is the son of Forest-keeper Krupp."
The forester said good-night, and they walked on for some distance and at length came to a clearing in the forest. Looking up, they could see the unchangeable stars, the same that looked down upon Mother Earth when she was fresh from the hands of her Creator. A tinkling brook lay across their path, which the forester cleared at a bound, and the three apprentices followed. The triplets halted to view the situation, but Pixy sprang across, then looked back as if to say, "It is nothing. Just give a spring and you are on this side," and they ran back, gave a long jump and were over.
A short distance beyond was the forest-keeper's cottage, a comfortable place for weary travelers on a wet night.
"I cannot give you all a sleeping place in my house," he said, "but can make room for the three smaller boys. You larger ones can go to the straw shed. You will find plenty of clean, dry straw, and there you can sleep until morning and shall have a good breakfast before you leave. But before we part for the night, you must turn your pockets inside out that I may see that you have no matches or anything else that will strike a spark."
They agreed willingly, and he then led the way to the shed, took from a feed box a number of coarse sacks for covering and said good-night.
"We are thankful to you for giving us this comfortable place to sleep," said the blacksmith. "We thought it harsh treatment to make us leave the cabin, but you have given us better quarters and we are truly obliged to you. You are certainly good to us."
"Yes, I try to be good to everybody, especially to hard-working boys out on their holiday, when I find that they are not common tramps who do not wish to work."
He left the shed and the boys followed him to his dwelling, and to a room adjoining the living-room.
"There are two straw-beds on this bedstead," he said. "One can be taken off and put on the floor, and one of you can sleep upon it, while the other two can have the one on the bedstead."
"I will take the one on the floor. Then Pixy can sleep with me," said
Fritz.
"Suit yourselves about that, only take off your wet clothes, shoes and stockings, and my wife will put them about the kitchen fire, and they will be dry by morning."
The boys hurriedly disrobed, and the forest-keeper bade them good-night, and left the room.
Paul and Franz crept jubilantly under the coverings of the bed, and Fritz was equally glad for the piece of carpet which the forest-keeper had given him in lieu of a quilt, and with Pixy close to him, he was happier than many a king.
"Oh, it was good luck for us that Mr. Hartman came and took us away from that miserable place," exclaimed Paul the moment the door closed.
"I never was gladder in my life," affirmed Franz. "Now we feel safe, and are dry and warm and in good beds where we can sleep well."
"And whom have we to thank for it but the young gentleman from Odenwald—my Pixy," reminded Fritz. "If he had not barked, the forest-keeper would not have known we were there. Oh, we are so comfortable here, aren't we, Pixy? And we have you to thank for it."
Early the next morning the forester's wife went to the kitchen to make the wood fire on the hearth brighter, that the boys' garments might be thoroughly dry; for she had planned that they should sleep as long as they wished, and she would give the three apprentices their breakfast first that they might continue their journey. She made coffee and warm bread, and was putting them upon the table when she saw them come up from the brook, where they had washed hands and faces and combed their hair. Refreshed by rest and sleep, they looked much better than when the triplets first saw them.
The forest-keeper, who had risen early to attend to matters about the place, came in just as they finished their breakfast.
"I hope you slept well and have enjoyed your coffee," he said kindly.
"We enjoyed both heartily, Forest-master, and thank you for your goodness to us."
"Forest-master, you say? I am not that but only one of the keepers."
"We would do you honor, which is our reason for calling you by that name."
"But you do not honor one by giving him a higher title than he is entitled to. Instead it humiliates him, or he thinks you are making sport of him."
"We did not mean it in either way, Mr. Hartman."
"I believe you, so we will not say anything more about it."
"Then, good-bye, Mr. Forester, and we thank you and your wife for your goodness to us. We will long remember that coffee. Tell the boys good-bye for us. They were afraid of us, but we meant them no harm. Good-bye! Good-bye!"
The forester's wife now prepared breakfast for her husband and herself. The blazing fire upon the hearth was doing its duty in bringing the boys' clothing to the state desired while they were sleeping the sleep of tired boyhood. They did not waken until near noon, but this would allow them to reach home before night; and they enjoyed their first meal of the day, arrayed in their dry and neatly-brushed garments, and refreshed by bathing their hands, faces and feet in the brook.
The day was bright and delightfully cool after the rain, and in fine spirits they bade the forest-keeper's wife good-bye as they set out for home.
"Their parents will be rejoiced to see them," she said to herself as she watched them out of sight, "for no doubt they have felt somewhat anxious about them, for they are young to be allowed to take a journey. How helpless are our children! A young chicken will search for food while part of its shell is clinging to it, and the young of animals are upon their feet and helping themselves in a few weeks; but not so our children. They must be under the tender care of father and mother until past childhood, and it is best so, for it binds parents and children in the ties of family life and love. May the dear boys reach home safely and find all well."
The triplets had in the meantime nearly reached the main road to which they had been carefully directed by Mrs. Hartman, her husband having gone to his duties in the forest hours before. They were singing one of their school songs, when it occurred to Paul that something had been omitted.
"Oh, boys," he said, "we have forgotten to thank the lady for her goodness to us. She dried and brushed our clothes and gave us a good breakfast, and tried to restore our hats to good shape after they had been soaked with rain, and we came away and never thanked her!"
This was indeed an oversight which boys so well-bred felt must be rectified, and they turned their faces again toward the cottage. But they had not gone far when the forest-keeper, who had heard them singing, joined them; and they told him their trouble.
"Oh, I will make that all right!" he said. "You need not go back. I will tell her all that you wished to say."
"Tell her that we are very much obliged to her for her kindness to us," said Fritz, "and tell her our breakfast was first-class and we enjoyed it."
"And tell her," said Paul, "that she made our clothes dry and clean and it is not her fault that our hats could not be straightened to look like they did before it rained."
"Nor," added Franz, "was it her fault that they are stained by the color coming out of the bands and running into the straw. Please tell her we are obliged, just the same."
"I will tell her all," replied Hartman, making a laudable effort to keep from smiling, "and now good-bye, and a safe journey home."
The boys touched their hats, and turned their faces again toward the road, when Paul halted and looked back. "There now!" he said, "we forgot to thank the forest-keeper for his goodness to us, and we would have had to sleep in our wet clothes and had no good beds or breakfast, had it not been for him. Let us run back and thank him."
It seemed that Mr. Hartman had a presentiment that the triplets would have something more to say, for he had halted and was looking after them.
"We forgot to thank you for your goodness to us," they exclaimed when within speaking distance; "and we ran back to tell you."
"That is all right," he answered heartily. "We were glad to entertain you, and hope that you will come to see us again."
"Thank you; we will if we can," replied Paul, then all said good-bye, touched their hats and set out again for the road.
Presently Mr. Hartman saw their heads together in earnest conversation, and waited, believing that they had something more to say, and he was not mistaken, for they ran back, and Franz this time was spokesman.
"We forgot to invite you to come to see us," he said earnestly. "Fritz and Paul said that you would not care to visit boys not yet twelve years of age, but I said that my father is a forest-keeper like you, and I would invite you to visit him; so I do invite you and hope you will come."
"I thank you heartily and would be glad to make his acquaintance."
"And when you visit Franz's father, you can visit mine," suggested
Fritz.
"And mine," echoed Paul.
"If it should suit me at any time to visit Michelstadt, I would certainly be pleased to make the acquaintance of the fathers of such gentlemanly boys."
The triplets smiled, touched their hats, started off again and were soon out of sight.
The journey that beautiful afternoon was truly charming, the sun shining brightly and all nature refreshed from its bath the evening before, and birds singing jubilantly in the trees by the roadside, but best of all, they were going home, would see all their loved ones before sunset, and would hear of the many, many things that had transpired during their absence.
"When we come in sight of the village, we will be as quiet as mice," remarked Fritz. "I would not have the Trojans see us for anything."
"Why?" asked Paul.
"Because we look so shabby with our battered hats and our rusty shoes."
"I will tell you what we can do," suggested Franz. "Our house comes first, and although it is only on the edge of the forest, it is easy for you two to go through the woods back of it, and come out at your own houses, and not a person in the village will know that we are at home until we choose to show ourselves."
This stroke of policy was such a comfort that the spirits of the boys grew so jubilant that they laughed, chatted and sang, and even organized a parade in which Franz was drummer and Fritz and Paul fifers.
They were going along merrily, when they were startled by hearing "Hurrah!" shouted from behind a clump of bushes on the edge of the forest, and two of the Trojans came from behind it and stood grinning and pointing their fingers at the hats and shoes of the Grecian heroes. They were followed by a whole troop of their schoolmates, many of them Trojans, and accompanied by the Director, and Paul's father. They had been to a tournament and had made a short cut through the forest on their way to the village. The two teachers shook their heads and smiled at the appearance of the triplets, and the Trojans indulged in shouts and laughter.
"Let us stick a spray of laurel in their hats in token that they came back victors," and the Trojan who suggested it ran off to the bushes, followed by the others.
"I am glad that they have come back with whole shins," said Professor
Roth as he embraced his son tenderly, and shook hands with Fritz and
Franz.
"But we might not, if Pixy had not been there to defend us," said Fritz. "He saved us from an attack by street boys, and he earned five hundred marks, and found an English cousin of father's and Aunt Steiner's," and then followed the whole story.
The Trojans had come back with the sprays of laurel, but were so interested in the narrative that they paused to listen, and the Director made a sign to them to throw the branches away, and they knew better than to disobey orders.
"I am going on home now," said Franz. As Paul's father intended halting at the school building, Paul and Fritz walked on with Franz to the forest-house.
"Oh, boys!" cried Fritz when they neared the garden belonging to the forest-house, "there are our spears sticking in the corn-rows, and on them are kitchen aprons and other old rags, and there are our helmets on the top of the poles. Who did it?"
"Katharine, our old cook, is the one who did it," laughed the forest-keeper. "She was so angry at the birds for picking out her sweet corn that she made scare-crows to frighten them away, and she found nothing which served her purpose so well as did your spears and helmets."
"Made scare-crows of our weapons!" said Fritz. "It is certainly a shame!"
"No," said Paul, "it makes no difference. We found that they would be of no use to us on our travels or at Frankfort."
Franz embraced his father, then ran in the house, where he was joyously welcomed, as were Paul and Fritz when they hurried on to their homes.
Two days after, Mr. Heil returned and brought with him the satchel and also the bird cage in which was a fine singer, for he had visited the bird store and paid the difference between its cost and that of the mute one which Fritz had bought. The grater and tin trumpet were also appreciated by the recipients and the next morning Fritz was awakened from a sound sleep by a blast from the trumpet in the hands of his little brother.
The three went cheerfully to school that day, and their visit to
Frankfort long remained a well-spring of pleasure.