Gritli's Children by Johanna Spyri

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GRITLI'S CHILDREN

by

JOHANNA SPYRI
Author of "Heidi" & "Cornelli"

Translated by LOUISE BROOKS

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers New York

[Illustration: Gritli's Children]

CONTENTS

VOLUME I

CHAPTER

I. AT THE COUNTRY-HOUSE ON THE RHINE

II. IN THE DOCTOR'S HOUSE AT BUCHBERG

III. IN THE VILLAGE AND IN THE SCHOOL

IV. FARTHER PROCEEDINGS AT BUCHBERG

V. ON OAK-RIDGE

VI. AUNTY IS IN DEMAND AGAIN

VII. WHAT OSCAR FOUNDED AND WHAT EMMA PLANNED

VIII. AT SUNSET

IX. A LAST JOURNEY AND A FIRST

VOLUME II

I. THE NEW HOME

II. A JOURNEY

III. ON THE BEAUTIFUL RHINE

IV. IN THE FISHERMAN'S HUT

V. GREAT PREPARATIONS

VI. ANXIETY AT ROSEMOUNT

VII. AN UNEXPECTED TERMINATION

VIII. THE HAPPY END

VOLUME ONE

CHAPTER I.

AT THE COUNTRY-HOUSE ON THE RHINE.

The golden sunshine of a glorious June morning flooded the roses of the
beautiful garden that surrounded a handsome stone villa on the banks of
the Rhine. A thousand sweet perfumes borne upon the gentle breeze
mounted like incense to the open windows, and sought entrance there.
From a great basin in the middle of the garden, a slender shaft of water
rose straight up into the blue sky, and then fell plashing back,
sprinkling the flowers and the grass with sparkling moisture. Gay
butterflies fluttered hither and thither, sipping sweets from the
honey-laden flowers. Under the trees stood marble statues gleaming white
through the shadows; and seats in sheltered nooks invited the loiterer
to rest and listen to the concert of the myriad birds that made their
happy homes in this paradise of summer beauty.

At the closed window of one of the upper rooms of this delightful house
sat a little maiden, pressing her pale face against the wide, clear
glass, as she peered out with longing eyes over the roses, toward the
wavering fountain, and into the depths of the trees, whose graceful
branches stirred in the light breeze. Her gaze passed over the shining
flowers and the green terraces of the sunny garden, and rested far away
on the glistening waves of the fast-flowing Rhine, that ran past the
foot of the garden, bathing caressingly the long over-hanging branches
of the old linden trees as it passed along. The rich foliage of the
trees by the river-side was visible from the windows of the house; but
not the stone bench which stood in the cool shade, so close to the water
that one could look from it directly down into the eddying waves, and
watch the drooping branches dip and rise again and again, as if in pure
delight. What a spot for summer dreaming and castle-building! The pale
child at the window knew the place well; and as her eyes turned in that
direction, the expression of longing grew more and more painful as she
gazed.

"Oh, mamma!" she cried presently, with tears in her voice, "may I not go
out soon into the garden, and down to the seat under the lindens by the
river?"

An hour before, the mother had brought her suffering little girl into
this room, and placed her in her favorite resting-place in the
window-seat, and her anxious gaze had scarcely left the pale little
face, with its big eyes full of pain, that looked so longingly into the
beautiful garden, which the poor child could not enjoy in any other way.

"Dear child," she said now, in a voice which trembled with anxiety and
affection, "you know that you are too tired to go out in the morning;
but this afternoon, perhaps, we will go down to the river. Will not that
be better, my darling?"

"Oh, yes, I suppose so," sighed the child; but though she said no more,
she did not turn her eyes away from the blooming roses and the waving
leaves below her.

"Oh, it is so beautiful down there! Do let me go out, mamma!" she
exclaimed again a little while afterwards. "Do let me go!" and her
mother could not resist the beseeching tones. She arose, and at that
moment an elderly woman entered the room--a woman who looked so
exquisitely neat that one would have thought that she had no other
business in life than that of keeping in perfect order her gray hair,
with its snow-white cap, and her simple, spotless dress; but, on the
contrary, she was the house-keeper, and had the whole charge of the big
house, with all its complicated domestic arrangements. Both mother and
daughter exclaimed on seeing her, "Oh, Clarissa, how glad I am that
you've come!" And both began to ask her opinion as to the visit to the
garden, which the invalid so longed for, but which her mother hesitated
to grant.

Clarissa was a person of rare character, and a tower of strength in this
household, where, from the lady of the house down to the lowest servant,
her word was followed as law and obeyed with affection; and one took
into the clear depths of her honest, loving eyes explained the secret of
her power: they were "Mother's eyes."

"Say 'yes,' Clarissa, and let us go," begged the child, pathetically.

"The air is soft, all the birds are singing and calling us: why should
we not try it to-day, dear Mrs. Stanhope?" said Clarissa.

"Yes; if you think best, we will," answered the mother. And Frederic,
the tall footman, was summoned to carry the little girl down the long
staircase and out of the house. Then, once out-of-doors, the two women,
supporting the child tenderly between them, led her through the sunny
garden.

"Nora, are you happy now?" asked the mother, tenderly.

"Yes; it is beautiful here," replied the child; "but I should like to go
down to the stone bench by the river-side, where the branches dip into
the water."

So they went on over the green terraces to the water-side, down to the
seat almost hidden under the lindens, among the clusters of whose
pendent, sweet-smelling blossoms the bees were busy, mingling their deep
murmur with the song which the Rhine sang in passing. Nora's eyes
followed the dancing waves that seemed like living, happy sprites.

"Oh! how I wish that I could leap and dance so, mamma! away! away! but I
am so tired; I am always tired. I long to hop about as the birds do up
in the trees there, and sing and be merry; but I am always so tired."

"My darling, when you are stronger you will dance," replied her mother,
in a cheerful tone; but her looks belied her voice, for she was far from
feeling the confidence which she tried to give.

"The doctor is coming to-day, and we will ask him what we can do this
summer to make you stronger. Now we must go back to the house, Nora; you
look pale and ill, my child. Is anything more than usual the matter with
you?"

Nora assured her mother that she was only tired. After any unusual
exertion, her face always grew paler and her expression more suffering.
She reached the house with difficulty, and, when Frederic had carried
her up to her bed-room, she lay on the sofa a long time without moving,
thoroughly exhausted.

The doctor came towards noon, and declared that a complete change of air
would be the best thing for the little Nora, who certainly seemed to be
losing strength daily. He would write to a physician, a friend of his in
Switzerland, to find a suitable place for her, and would come again as
soon as he received an answer.

Towards evening, Nora sat once more in the window, gazing wearily at the
long slanting rays of the setting sun that fell across the greensward in
golden radiance, and lighted up the rose-leaves till they shone like
lamps among the flowers. Clarissa sat at her work-table by Nora's side
and from time to time, she raised her head and looked sadly at the frail
form that lay so motionless in the window-seat.

"Clarissa," said the child, presently, "will you repeat the old song of
Paradise to me?"

Clarissa laid aside her work.

"We will sing it together again some day, dear child, when you are
strong enough; now I will say it to you if you wish" and she folded her
hands and began:--

"A stream of water, crystal bright,
Flows down through meadows green,
Where lilies, shining in the light,
Like twinkling starlets gleam.

"And roses blow, and roses glow,
While birds in every tree
Are singing loud, are singing low,
'In Paradise are we.'

"Here, gently blows the soft, sweet wind;
Bright flowers grow all around;
Men wake, as from a dream, to find
They tread on holy ground.

"In blissful happiness they rove,
At peace with each and all;
United now in bonds of love,
Freed from the grave's dark pall.

"All want and weariness are o'er,
All sorrow and all pain;
Their rapture gathers more and more;
The sick are well again."

After Clarissa had finished her recitation, no sound broke the stillness
for a long time; Nora seemed lost in thought. "Clarissa," she said at
last, "that is a beautiful poem, and makes me long to go."

"Yes; go willingly, go gladly, dear child," replied Clarissa, with tears
in her eyes. "Then you can wander joyfully among the bright flowers, and
sing:

"'Our rapture gathers more and more;
The sick are well again.'

"And we shall soon join you there, your mamma and I--"

At this moment the mother entered, and Clarissa stopped suddenly; for
she knew well that Mrs. Stanhope could not endure the thought of losing
little Nora, even though her child were called to heaven; but the mother
had heard enough of what had been said, and looked at the child with
renewed anxiety. Nora certainly looked very pale and weary; and, at her
mother's request, she let herself be carried at once to bed in
Clarissa's strong and tender arms.

Later in the evening when Mrs. Stanhope sat alone with her old friend,
she began anxiously to question the suitableness of talking to the child
upon such topics.

"Surely there is no need of dwelling on such mournful things, Clarissa.
Nora is not so ill that we need think the worst, much less talk about
it."

"Nora likes to hear me repeat her favorite poem," replied Clarissa;
"and, dear Mrs. Stanhope, let me say one thing to you. If our darling is
to live only to suffer through long years of pain, can you wish for life
for her? Why should we wish to keep her here, where she cannot enjoy the
smallest part of the wealth and beauty about her, rather than let her go
to that heavenly home, where there is no more sorrow nor pain?"

"I cannot bear the thought of parting from her; it must not, it cannot
be. Why may not all yet go well, and Nora get strong again?" said the
poor mother; and the heart within her was heavy with grief. She could
say no more, and withdrew in silence to her own room.

The great stone mansion was soon wrapped in stillness; and as the light
of the summer moon shone down upon it, whoever had seen it standing
there in stately beauty, its high white pillars gleaming through the
dark trees, would surely have thought:

"How beautiful it must be to live there! No care nor sorrow can reach
the inmates of that lovely dwelling!"

Mrs. Stanhope occupied her paternal home on the banks of the Rhine. She
had married an English-man when very young, and had lived in England
until his death, when she returned to the home of her childhood,
unoccupied since the death of her parents, bringing with her two little
children, the brown-eyed Philo, and his delicate, fair-haired sister,
Nora. The faithful Clarissa, who had taken care of Mrs. Stanhope in her
childhood and who had accompanied her to her foreign home, loved these
children as if they were her own. The little family had now lived
several years in this beautiful house on the Rhine; a very peaceful and
regular life it was, one day like another; for the children were
delicate and could bear no exciting pleasures. Two years ago a heavy
sorrow dropped its dark shadow over the household. Little Philo closed
his dark eyes forever, and was laid to rest under the old linden-tree in
the garden, where the roses bloomed all summer long. Nora, who was only
a year younger than her brother, was now in her eleventh year.

In about a week after his first visit, the doctor came again. He had
heard from his friend, the physician, who had willingly offered to find
a house for Mrs. Stanhope near his own, in the little village of
Buchberg, among the mountains. Mrs. Stanhope might set out as soon as
she pleased. He would answer for all being in readiness to receive her.

In a few days they were ready to start. Clarissa was to remain behind to
put the house in order, and only a young maid-servant went with them. As
the carriage rolled away, bearing Mrs. Stanhope and her little daughter
on the way to Switzerland, Clarissa gave them many a God-speed, and,
turning back into the empty house, she wiped away the tears she could no
longer repress, saying softly to herself:

"'Their rapture gathers more and more;
The sick are well again.'"

CHAPTER II.

IN THE DOCTOR'S HOUSE AT BUCHBERG.

The kitchen-garden is the especial delight of the true German housewife;
that is, of one who lives in the country where such a luxury is
possible. The flower-garden is a source of pleasure to the whole family;
but the vegetable-garden is her own, so to speak; she cares for it
herself; she watches each little plant with her own eyes, and removes
each encroaching weed with her own hands. Now this year the cauliflowers
were of unusually fine promise, and they excited the hopes of their
owner that a wonderful harvest would before long reward her care; not a
trace of a noxious worm was as yet to be detected.

"Good evening," said some one from the other side of the hedge; "your
vegetables are always the best and the most forward of any in the
neighborhood; they show the care you take of them."

The doctor's wife came nearer to the hedge, and over the low barrier
Heiri, the day-laborer, stretched his hand, stained and knotted with
work, to clasp that of his old friend and schoolmate. How often had he
been to her for counsel and aid since those school-days, and when had
that willing and helpful hand ever failed him?

"How are you all at home, Heiri?" she asked heartily. "Have you plenty
of work? Are your wife and children well?"

"Yes, yes, thank God!" replied Heiri, as he lifted his heavy tools from
his shoulder and set them on the ground. "There is work enough; I am
just taking these tools to be sharpened. I have to keep hard at it, for
the family is growing big."

"The three little boys look finely; I saw them go by yesterday with
Elsli," continued the doctor's wife. "But Elsli herself looks quite too
pale and delicate. Do not forget how her mother died, Heiri. The little
girl ought not to have too much to do; she is not strong, and she is
growing too fast. Do take it in time, Heiri; you know by sad experience
how rapidly disease gains ground when it has once got hold of a young
girl."

"Yes, yes, I can never forget that. It was terrible to see how quickly
Gritli sank,--and she so young, so young! Marget is a good wife and an
industrious woman; but nothing will ever make me forget my poor Gritli";
and Heiri wiped away a few tears with his hard hand.

Tears were also in the eyes of the doctor's wife, as she said, "Neither
can I ever forget her, nor how gladly she would have lived for you and
the children, nor how quickly it was all over. Elsli is the very image
of her mother, Heiri, and I cannot help fearing that she is working
beyond her strength."

"She's a poor, thin little creature, to be sure," said Heiri; "and it
strikes me, now and then, that she is delicate; but usually she is so
quiet that I don't take much notice of her. Now, the boy is much more
like his mother; he's always busy about something, especially about
keeping things clean. He can't abide dirt, any more than Gritli could,
and he is always at the little ones to make them come and be washed at
the spout. Of course the little boys won't stand that, and they set up a
scream, and then out comes their mother, and there's a grand row! I
scarcely ever come home at night that Marget doesn't come complaining
of the boy for plaguing the younger children. She wants me to punish
him, but when the little fellow stands up before me, and looks straight
into my eyes with such a look of his mother about him, I cannot bring
myself to strike him. Then Marget is vexed and begins to scold, and I do
not like to vex her, for she works hard and means all right. I have
often thought that perhaps you, Mrs. Stein, would speak a word for me to
Marget about punishing the boy; for anything from you would have great
weight with her."

"Certainly I will, with pleasure. But tell me about Elsli; is Marget
kind to her?"

"Well, this is how it is,"--and Heiri drew a little nearer the hedge and
spoke in a confidential tone--"the little girl is more like me, and
gives in easily and is not obstinate about having her own way, as her
poor mother was. She does what she is bid, and never answers back when
Marget scolds, nor ever complains, though she has to work from the time
she gets home from school till she goes to bed; always carrying the
baby, or doing something about the house."

"But you must not let her do too much, Heiri," said Mrs. Stein
seriously. "I am very anxious about her. Ask Marget to come over and see
me: tell her I have some clothes which my children have out-grown, and I
should like to give them to her if she will come for them."

"Thank you; I will certainly send her. Good-night I hope you will have
good luck with the cauliflowers"; and, with another shake of his good
friend's hand, Heiri went off to the smithy.

The doctor's wife stood lost in thought for several minutes. She was
looking towards her vegetables, but she was thinking of neither beet nor
cauliflower, though her eyes were resting on the neat rows before her.
This talk with Heiri had brought the old days of her childhood forcibly
back to her memory. She saw the pretty Gritli with her big brown eyes,
as she used to sit weaving forget-me-nots into pretty wreaths with her
skilful fingers; always putting a few into her belt and into her hair.
Gritli was the child of poor parents, but she was always neatly dressed,
and, though her clothes were of the coarsest stuff, yet there was a
peculiar look of daintiness about her, which, with the bit of color in
flower or ribbon that was never wanting in her costume, gave the
impression that she had just been dressed by an artist, as a model for a
picture. Many criticised this daintiness and many laughed at it, but it
made no difference to Gritli; for indeed it was only the instinctive
expression of the girl's natural longing for the beautiful.

At eighteen, Gritli married Heiri, a good-hearted fellow who had long
loved her. But after five years of married life she died, of a rapid
consumption; leaving two children, Stefan and Elsli, four and three
years old. It was not long before Heiri found that he needed help in the
care of these little ones, and, taking the advice of friends and
neighbors, he married Marget, who was recommended to him as specially
capable of looking after his house and children. She proved indeed a
good house-keeper; but for ornaments and flowers she had no taste, and
she did not see the use of being over particular about neatness either,
so that Heiri's household soon lost the air of refinement which had been
noticeable during Gritli's life.

Marget's three children did not get by any means the nice care that
Fani and Elsli had received from their own mother, and Gritli's children
retained an air of distinction that was ineffaceable, and that marked
them as quite different from the younger set.

The memories that passed almost like a vision before the eyes of the
doctor's wife, as she stood apparently studying her kitchen-garden, were
rudely dispelled by a piercing scream that resounded from the house; and
presently an eight-year-old girl came running round the corner, pursued
by her older brother; a big lad, who held a huge volume under his left
arm, and had something tightly clutched in his right hand.

"Rikli! what a fearful noise! come here to me! what has happened now?"

The girl screamed louder and hid her face in the skirts of her mother's
dress.

"Now, just look at the innocent cause of this ridiculous disturbance,
mother," said Fred. "Only this pretty, dear little froggy, that I
caught, and was holding out for Rikli to admire. Just let me read you
this description, and you will see how exactly it agrees with Mr. Frog
himself. Look, mamma, look!" and Fred opened his hand and showed a small
green frog.

"Stand still, and be quiet, Rikli," said her mother to the crying girl,
"and, Fred, why do you persist in showing the silly child these
creatures, when you know how much she is afraid of them?"

"She was the only person near," answered Fred. "But do listen to this,
mamma." Fred opened his book, and began to read:--

"'The green or water frog, _esculenta_, is about three inches in length,
grass-green, with black spots. His eyes have a golden color, and the
toes of his hind legs are webbed. His voice, which is often heard on
warm summer nights, sounds _Brekekex!_ He passes the winters hidden in
the mud and slime. He feeds upon'--"

At this moment a carriage was heard approaching. "It is the lady with
the sick child," said Mrs. Stein, putting Fred aside rather hastily, for
he tried to detain her. He followed her, crying out:--

"Do listen, mamma; you do not know what he eats. He eats--"

The carriage was at the door. Hans came from the stable, and Kathri, in
her best white apron, from the kitchen, to lift out the sick girl and
carry her into the house. Fred and Rikli stood back by the hedge, as
still as mice, watching the proceedings.

First, a lady alighted from the carriage, and beckoned to Kathri, who
came forward, lifted out the pale child, and carried her up the steps
into the house. The lady followed with Mrs. Stein.

"That girl is a great deal bigger than you are, if mother did say that
she was only eight or nine years old," said Fred to Rikli. "She is more
nearly Emma's age, and what do you suppose she would think to hear you
screaming as you did just now? I don't think she'd like you for a
friend."

"Well, at any rate, she wouldn't always have centipedes and frogs and
spiders in her pockets, as you have, Fred," retorted Rikli; and she was
about to add some farther excuse for her screams, when Fred opened his
hand to see how his frog was getting on, and lo! the little creature
made one big jump right towards Rikli's face! With a piercing cry, the
child flew into the house, but was instantly stopped by Kathri, with:

"Hush! hush! When there is that sick little girl in there, how can you
make such a noise?"

"Where is aunty?" asked Rikli; a question that the maid answered before
it was fairly uttered, for it was asked hundreds of times in that
household every day.

"In the other room. The sick girl is in here, and you mustn't go in,
your mother says. And as for screaming like a pig, you mustn't do that
either, in a respectable house," added Kathri, on her own account.

Rikli hastened into the room where her aunt was, to tell her about
Fred's horrid frog, and how it had jumped almost into her very face. Her
aunt was listening to Oscar, the eldest brother, who was talking
earnestly.

"You see, aunty," he was saying, "that if Feklitus does not object, we
can put the two verses together; then ours could go here, and the other
there, and both would be used. Won't that do?"

"Yes, that will be very nice indeed," said his aunt in a tone of
conviction; "that will remove all difficulties; and the verses are
really very suitable, as such verses ought to be."

"You will help Emma with the embroidery, won't you, aunty? You know she
will never finish the banner by herself. She is always up to so many
pranks, and she cannot keep at one thing half an hour at a time."

His aunt promised her assistance, and he ran off, well pleased, to tell
his friends of their new ally. Rikli thought her chance had come now,
but before she could begin her story Emma rushed in, crying, almost out
of breath:--

"Aunty! aunty! They are all going to gather strawberries--a lot of boys
and girls--may I go too? Say 'yes' quick, for I can't get at mamma and
they won't wait."

"Strawberries to-day, violets yesterday, and blueberries to-morrow;
always something or other; that is the way with you, Emma. Well, go, but
do not stay out too late."

"I want to go too," cried Rikli, and started after her sister.

But Emma, clearing the steps in two jumps, called back:--

"No, you can't go into the woods; there are red snails there and beetles
and--"

But Rikli did not wait to hear more; she was reminded of the frog, and
turned back to tell her story, when she saw Fred coming in with his book
under his arm. He seated himself by his aunt and opened the book.

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