Gritli's Children by Johanna Spyri

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To Emma there was no such word as impossible.

"Of course we can get there, Fani. What a delightful ideal" she cried.
"We can make a trip on the steamboat, and we can see the river, and you
must make a sketch of it as fast as you can."

"Oh, yes! I shall just get a few strokes on the paper, and
then--whizz!--we shall be past it like a flash of lightning. What good
would that do?"

Emma was not to be discouraged. If the only thing needful was a way to
take a sketch from the river, she would set herself to find such a way.

At this moment Fani interrupted her meditations by the exclamation: "Oh,
the bell! the bell!" and she heard the ringing of the supper-bell; and
the two children scampered back to the house, and joined the scattered
guests, who came from every direction to meet in the great dining-room.

At the upper end of the table, spread with many delicious luxuries, sat
Mrs. Stanhope, and she welcomed the children in the kindest manner. Aunt
Clarissa seated them in their places, then sat down herself at the foot
of the table, and the meal began. The guests brought wonderful appetites
to the feast. The conversation was subdued, for in Mrs. Stanhope's
presence the children's liveliness was somewhat checked. Elsli spoke
least, and also partook least of the tempting viands. Her abstinence
attracted the attention of Fred, who sat next her, and, in spite of a
warning shove which she gave him under the table, to show him that she
wished to avoid observation, he exclaimed in a loud whisper:--

"What's the matter with you, Elsli? Why don't you eat?"

After supper Mrs. Stanhope led them all out upon the terrace, and they
sat down in a semicircle on the garden benches. Then she told them that
she had a plan of taking them very soon on a steamboat excursion down
the Rhine, as far as Cologne; where there was a remarkably fine
zooelogical garden which they would all visit together. Emma's eyes
blazed with delight, but she did not speak; her thoughts were busy, but
not wholly with the animals of the garden. Fred was delighted at the
prospect; but the zooelogical garden had a powerful rival in an enormous
night-moth which was humming about his head, and which he could hardly
resist his desire to jump up and catch. Such a prize it would be! But he
recollected his aunt's advice, on the good manners of sitting still,
especially in Mrs. Stanhope's presence. Oscar was overjoyed at the
prospect of a voyage, and he bethought himself immediately of the
possibility of meeting with persons much more desirable for his Society
than Elsli's baker's boy.

The next day the children sat down to keep their promise of writing home
an account of their experiences. The three letters were very different
in style, but they were all filled with the delight of their writers at
the beauty and magnificence of the villa, and with the pleasures they
enjoyed and the kindness they received. They hoped they should stay
twelve weeks instead of six. These were the letters. But into each
letter was secretly slipped a private note, addressed to Aunty, begging
her to persuade papa to allow the visit to be prolonged as much as
possible. Fred added that if the time fixed should be a year, and then a
cipher added to the number of days, three thousand six hundred and fifty
would not be one too many for him.

CHAPTER IV.

IN THE FISHERMAN'S HUT.

The next morning, Oscar was early on hand at the iron gate; waiting to
see the baker's boy, when he brought the bread. The boy came along with
a huge basket on his arm, from which issued an agreeable smell of
freshly baked loaves. Oscar went to meet him, and asked abruptly:--

"Which canton are you from?"

"That is none of your business," answered the boy.

Oscar was not a whit surprised or daunted by this reply.

"You needn't be so rough," he said; "I've a very good reason for
asking." And he went on to explain to the boy what he had in mind, and
to enlarge on the pleasure of collecting as many Swiss as possible; and
of holding a festival in honor of their country. Then it appeared that
the fellow was not a bad fellow at all, and had only answered in that
rude way to show his independence. He received Oscar's proposal with
great interest, though he owned that he knew but very few Swiss in the
neighborhood. He had come from Lucerne only about six months before, to
work for the baker, whose wife was his cousin. A shoemaker's boy from
Uri lived near by, and a porter at the "Bunch of Grapes" came from
Schwyz. Then there was the great factory down by the canal, which
belonged to some Swiss gentlemen. He carried bread there every day, and
had often seen two boys playing ball in the garden, but they had never
spoken to him. Oscar was well pleased with this information. He asked
the boy to invite the shoemaker's boy and the porter to join the
society, and he would see the others himself. He would appoint the day,
and decide on other particulars later; as the baker's boy came every day
to the house, there would be no difficulty in keeping him informed.

Highly delighted with his success, Oscar told the other children of his
plans, and asked Fani to go with him to the factory to see the two boys.
Fani refused decidedly. Mrs. Stanhope, he said, did not allow him and
Elsli to visit people with whom she was not acquainted, especially in
the neighborhood. But when Elsli saw how badly Oscar felt at this
refusal, she said:--

"Perhaps you can go, Oscar. If you don't think of any better way, I'll
tell you what I think you could do. When I came away from home, Mr.
Bickel asked me to look about here and find out what sort of factories
there were in this neighborhood, and send him word so that he might know
whether he could form any business relations with them. I have not been
able to do anything about it. Perhaps you could go and visit the
factory, and then write to Mr. Bickel about it"

"I always said you were the cleverest girl in the world," cried Oscar,
with delight; for he saw the way now clear before him. That afternoon,
when they all went out to the court-yard and garden for their out-door
games, he ran off to the factory. The dwelling-house stood not far from
the canal, surrounded by a pretty flower-garden. Under the trees two
lads were playing ball. They played with such zeal that Oscar, looking
over the hedge, became absorbed in watching them, and entirely forgot
his object He was a good player himself; but such throws!

"Bravo!" he cried; and the boys looked round. "Come and play too,"
called one of them.

Oscar asked nothing better. Hardly had he entered the yard than piff!
paff! the play began again. Such a game he had never had before, nor
with such players. The boys were as well pleased as he; and they played
on till the big factory bell rang for close of work, and Oscar
remembered that he must go home. He wanted to make acquaintance with
these boys. The three playmates had, to be sure, already struck up a
friendship, but they did not even know each other's names. Oscar now
told his, and asked theirs; and learned that they were named Fink; the
sons of the family who lived in the large house. They were from St.
Gall, and were warm-hearted, wide awake young fellows. They made
friends with this new acquaintance from Switzerland with all their
hearts, and Oscar was as ardent as they. What enterprises they would
plan and carry out together! But there was no time to stop and talk
about it now. He could only hint to them that he had a project of
founding a great society of Swiss, a kind of Swiss Confederation, in
which he wished them to take part. They received the idea with
enthusiasm, and, having fixed a time for meeting his new friends again,
Oscar returned to Rosemount with a happy heart. But what kind of a
factory that was of Mr. Fink's, he knew as little as before; he had
forgotten to ask.

From this time Oscar was always missing during the time that the
children were left to themselves to play as they pleased out-of-doors.
No one minded his absence; Fred was so busy with his collections that
he thought of nothing else; Fani and Emma were absorbed in their own
plans and only wanted to be let alone; and Elsli, feeling that her
society was not important to any one, sat by herself on the bench under
the lindens, occupied with her own thoughts by the hour together.
Sometimes she grew unhappy at the thought that she was living here so
well-off and at ease, while her father and mother still had such a hard
life at home. Often she thought about Nora, and wondered if she had
forgotten to ask the heavenly Father to call her to himself. She could
well be spared from the earth, where no one needed her, and she longed
to go. To tell the truth, Elsli dreaded to look forward. She did not
feel at home in Mrs. Stanhope's house; she had a constant sense of
unfitness for the position; yet when she thought of going back to her
parents, she knew that there she should be equally out of place. So the
poor child was living a lonely life at beautiful Rosemount, and thinking
herself a useless and superfluous being on the face of the earth.

Down along the bank of the river, a narrow foot-path ran for some
distance towards a thick clump of willows, in which it disappeared.
Elsli had often followed this path by herself; it was so quiet that she
liked it particularly; she never met any one there, for it led only from
Mrs. Stanhope's grounds to the willows. To-day, after Elsli had sat
alone for a time, she rose and walked along this path, and gazed at the
ever-moving waves as they rushed headlong toward the sea. Sunk in
thought, she came at last nearer to the willows than she had ever been
before. The bushes grew larger and higher and became real trees; from a
distance they looked like a thick wood that reached far into the water.
Here was complete solitude; not a creature was to be seen, and the plash
of the water below was the only sound that broke the stillness. Suddenly
a loud scream startled the air. Elsli drew back in alarm. Louder and
louder grew the sounds of distress, now pausing, then beginning afresh.
The child, recovering her courage, hurried forward to the spot from
which they came. Behind the first low-growing clump of willows the
ground was wet and swampy; and fast caught in the bog stood two
children;--a little girl, who was screaming with all her might, and a
boy, who was tugging at his sister's arm as hard as he could. When he
found that he could not pull her out he too began to cry aloud. Elsli
came to their aid, and lifted the little girl from her uncomfortable
position. The boy then slowly worked his way out, but his wooden shoes
were a great encumbrance, and he moved with difficulty. When the two
children stood at last on dry land with their wet shoes and clothes
soaked with muddy water, they presented a pitiable sight, and Elsli
asked them sympathetically whether they were far from home, and where
they lived.

The boy, who was scarcely more than six years old, evidently felt
immediate confidence in Elsli. He took her by the hand and said
entreatingly:--

"Come with us and tell mother about it!" And as he spoke he looked
ruefully at his shoes and at his sister's gown, on which the mud was
rapidly drying, and which looked as if it were made of pasteboard. The
little girl, not more than four years old, taking Elsli's other hand,
said softly, "Do come with us."

It was plain that they wanted some friendly intercession with their
mother, and Elsli felt sure that such small children could not have
wandered far from home; so she held tight the clasping hands and let
them lead her.

The boy became at once very confidential, and entered on the family
history. His mother was ill, and his grandfather could not go out into
the sun unless she helped him. The little girl's name was Lenchen, and
his own was Lucas, and the other boys were Tolf and Heini, and were not
much bigger than he. As he talked, they passed the willow-bushes, and
came to the taller trees that stood near together; and quite close to
the water, wedged tightly in between two of these trees, stood a small
hut, so low and gray with moss, that it could scarcely be distinguished
from the trees.

"Here," said the boy, and drew Elsli with him into the house. It was
pleasant and clean within, though low and small. The sun was streaming
in through the little window in the corner. Against the wall was a
bedstead, where the sick mother lay, staring with big, wide-open eyes at
the new-comer. In the sunny corner sat an old man with snow-white hair.
He looked up wonderingly at Elsli and the children. Two boys, not much
larger than Lucas, came towards them as they entered.

"We've been looking for you everywhere, and we couldn't find you
anywhere!" they cried. Elsli went to the bedside and told the mother
about the children's misfortune, and where she had found them.

The poor woman thanked her, and said it was very difficult for her to
look after the little ones, now that she was confined to her bed. The
two older boys had all they could do to keep the house in order, so she
let the younger children go out by themselves; and sometimes they got
into trouble, for they were foolish little things. As she spoke, the
mother looked with anxious eyes at Lenchen, as she stood in her
mud-stiffened clothes.

"Can I help you in any way?" asked Elsli. She spoke timidly, for the
woman's tone and manner compelled respect.

"We have never been obliged to beg," was the reply. "We help ourselves
as well as we can. But since I have been ill, it has been very hard.
What help could a young lady like you give us?"

"I am not a young lady. I can take off Lenchen's frock and wash it, and
hang it out to dry," replied Elsli, eagerly.

"Your dress shows that you are a young lady," answered the sick woman,
evidently much surprised; and she glanced searchingly at Elsli from
head to foot.

The dress, which was one of Nora's, was of soft woollen material,
trimmed with silk bands.

"It is not mine; it was only given me to wear," she said.

Suddenly the woman felt strongly drawn towards the friendly girl. She
thought she must be a foreigner. Her way of speaking, her whole
appearance had something unusual about it. Perhaps some one had taken
pity on her, and had lent her clothes because she was so good. So she
thanked Elsli and accepted her offer. Without hesitation Elsli set to
work, and it was easy to see that it was not for the first time. In a
trice she had freed Lenchen from her shell, and dressed her in a little
jacket that hung on the wall. Then she took the stiff frock upon her arm
and went with the children into the kitchen. She drew water in a wooden
bucket, and put the two pairs of little feet to soak, after removing the
dirty shoes and socks. When they were clean and dried, she sent the
children back into the other room, while she washed out the dress. They
went very obediently, but Lucas called back to her to hurry and come to
them as soon as the washing was done. The other boys now came into the
kitchen, desirous to scrape acquaintance with this novel visitor.

When Tolf saw how much at home the stranger seemed to be in her work, he
said:--

"Get our supper ready too, won't you? If you don't, we shall have to
wait till father comes home; and he doesn't know how to cook very well,
either."

"Yes," chimed in Heini; "and once he fell asleep when he was cooking, he
was so tired; and the potatoes were all burned up."

"Yes, and then father has to go fishing after supper," continued Tolf;
"every day, no matter how tired he is, he takes the boat and goes to
catch fish to sell."

"And we've got to learn to fish too," interrupted Heini; "father says
the oars are too heavy for us now, but by and by we shall be strong
enough, and we must all work as hard as we can, or else we shall have
nothing to eat, and our house will be taken away from us."

These words roused many old memories in Elsli; how well she knew how it
all was. It seemed to her as if she were at home with her father again,
and saw his tired face, and heard him say:--

"If we can only manage so that we shall not have to give up our house!"

When Elsli had finished the washing, she went to the mother's bedside,
and asked if she were willing that she should get the supper ready, and
if she would tell her what to do. The eyes of the sick woman glowed with
pleasure.

"Oh!" she cried, "how kind you are! will you really do that for us?" and
she seized Elsli's hand, and grasped it heartily. Then she told her what
she wished to have done. It was simple enough; Elsli had done the same
at home a hundred times. The boys ran into the kitchen with her.

"I know of something new for you to do," she said, presently. "How old
are you?"

"I am seven," "I am eight," they answered both at once; and Elsli
said:--

"Well, you are old enough. When I was eight I had to cook the potatoes
all by myself. Now I will show you how to do it, if you like, and then
when your father comes home tired, you can say, 'Sit down, dear father,
and eat your supper; it is all ready.'"

The boys were very much pleased with this proposition, and all eagerness
to begin. Elsli showed them how to make the fire with small bits of dry
wood at first, and to put the larger sticks on afterwards. Then the
potatoes must be washed very clean, and put into the pot, and a very
little water poured upon them. The boys worked away merrily, and
meanwhile Elsli fetched the sour milk. The boys watched the pot
unceasingly, but when the potatoes began to burst apart, first one and
then another, they were frightened and called aloud for Elsli. She
speedily reassured them, explaining that the bursting only meant that
they were good potatoes and that they were done. Then she threw away the
water that remained in the pot, and poured the potatoes out into a big
round dish. She carried the plates into the other room, and made the
table ready against the father's arrival.

The old grandfather, who had watched the proceedings from his corner,
called Elsli to him.

"You are good, and very handy too," he said; "can you come again
to-morrow?"

Elsli promised to come.

"Look, I am lame," he went on, "and ever since my daughter has been
sick, I have not been able to get out into the sun, because there is no
one for me to lean on; the children are too little. Will you help me
to-morrow to get out-of-doors?"

She promised that too. But now it was time for her to go; she must not
be away when the supper-bell rang. The mother thanked her again and
again, and the children begged her to stay longer. As she went out of
the house she saw a man just taking from his shoulder a shovel, which he
placed against the house. Elsli recognized him at once as the weary
laborer whom she had seen before, and who had reminded her of her
father. And as he stood there now, with his two boys affectionately
clinging to his sides, and looked sadly yet kindly at her, he seemed
still more to resemble her father, and she could not keep the tears from
her eyes. She could scarcely refrain from sobbing, so clearly did she
see the anxiety and trouble that were in his heart, the same that
weighed down her own father at home. She held her hand to him, he
pressed it kindly, and she was gone.

When the father entered the cottage, the children all began talking at
once, so that he could not understand a word they said. He went to the
bedside, and asked his wife for an explanation. She told him just what
had happened, and of her wonder that a child so well dressed and with
such an air of refinement should have been able to do that kind of work
for poor people like themselves, and she didn't know where she could
have come from; but the father said simply, "Our Heavenly Father has
taken pity on our misery, and has sent a kind angel to help us." And he
thought of the tears of pity that he had seen in Elsli's eyes.

Elsli ran as fast as she could along the path to the linden tree and up
into the garden. The supper-bell rang just as she reached the house, and
the different members of the household gathered together from their
different occupations. No one asked any questions of Elsli. She meant,
as soon as she could find a good opportunity, to ask Aunt Clarissa's
leave to continue her visits to the fisherman's family. She did not
doubt that she should be allowed to help them; they were so much in
need of help.

When she left the cottage, she had asked the woman if she should not
send a doctor to her; but the answer was that the best medicine would be
her own return. The poor mother had been constantly prevented from
getting well by trying to work before she was strong enough, and yet
there was so much to be done that it was hard for her to keep her bed.
If she could lie still for one week only, she would be well again.

So Elsli had decided that she could not help going again, and she was
glad to go. It was a real pleasure to her to feel that she could be of
use, that some one really needed her.

The next afternoon Elsli did not wait a moment on the seat by the river.
As soon as the children had scattered to their different amusements she
started down to the lindens, and she did not stop till she reached the
little house among the willows. All four children were standing in the
door-way awaiting her. They cried out with joy when they espied her, and
ran to meet her, and when she took little Lenchen up in her arms, the
child almost choked her in her close embrace. The boys too were so glad
to see her, and pressed so near her side, that she began to feel as if
she were surrounded by a tenderness and love such as she had never
before received; the poor, lonely little girl!

The mother's welcome was warm, and the grandfather raised both arms in
the air and cried out:--

"God be praised! I had begun to think that there was no chance for
to-day!"

He asked her to help him go directly out into the sun; for it was
pleasant and warm outside, but within he sat chilly all day long. It
was no easy task, for the old man was heavy, and leaned upon her so that
she could scarcely stand under his weight, but at last they struggled
out to where the sun shone pleasantly on the water, and gilded the
trunks of the old willows with his beams. Here the old man sat down, and
asked Elsli to sit by him. She did so, and he went on talking.

"Yes," he said, "that is the same old Rhine! How I have always loved it!
But it will soon be all over with me; I shall not be long here to see
it; I must go, and where? But it's foolish to talk this way to you; you
are too young to understand. Your life is just beginning. Are you not
happy, and glad to think that you can stay here by this beautiful water
for a long, long time to come?"

"I don't think of that when I look at the river," said Elsli. "I think
of the beautiful stream that flows through Paradise, and of the
happiness of those who live there."

"What do you say! How can you know anything about that?" said the old
man, looking at Elsli in amazement.

"I know what is said about it in a beautiful song; I have known it a
long time. One of my friends taught it to me, and she has gone there
already. Shall I repeat it to you?"

The old man nodded assent, and Elsli was glad to repeat the song again
to some one who must be interested to hear it, since he was so soon
going there himself, he said. She began directly, and, as the old man
listened with great attention, she kept on to the end. He shook his head
several times during the recitation, and, when it was finished, he
said:--

"That will not be for me."

Elsli was very much startled. "But why not, why not?" she asked,
anxiously. "It is certainly for every one; we must all die some time,
and then how happy we shall be, when we go there."

He shook his head again.

"Not for me; it is only for the good." He said no more for some minutes,
and Elsli sat in silence. At last he spoke again.

"I could tell you something, but I don't think you would understand me.
If a man doesn't get along well in life, and he thinks that God can help
him but does not, he says to himself that there's no use in praying, and
he must help himself as he can; and so he grows reckless and does things
that are wrong and that he shouldn't do; then when he comes to die, and
he has not thought for a long time anything about God and Heaven, then
the door of Paradise does not open to him, and he cannot go in to that
happy life. But why do I talk to you of this? You cannot understand."

But Elsli did understand partly, for she remembered hearing her
step-mother once say it was easy enough for those to pray who had all
they wanted, for they could see that God helped them; but he had never
helped her. And Elsli could hear again the sorrowful tones of her
father's voice as he answered:--

"If we think that, it will be worse and worse for us; that is not the
right way to think."

These thoughts made Elsli very sad; but presently she roused herself and
said she would go into the house and see if she could do something for
the sick woman; she would come back by and by, and help him into the
house again. The old man would not let her go, however; he drew her down
again upon the fallen tree on which he was sitting.

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