Part 3 (1/2)
”Yes; Elsie has it carefully put away. There is a picture of Mutterchen on the one side, and of my father on the other.”
”And did your mother ever speak to you of your relations either in Germany or England?”
”Yes, she did sometimes. She spoke of grandmamma in England and grandpapa also, and she said they lived in a beautiful house; but she never told me their name, nor where their house was. Father, of course, knew, for he said he was going to take me there, and he used to speak of a brother of his whom he said he dearly loved.”
”But tell me,” asked the pastor, ”where did you live with your parents in Germany?”
”Oh, in a number of different places, but never long at the same place.
Father played at concerts just to make money, and we never remained long anywhere--we were always moving about.”
”And your parents were Protestants?”
”I don't know what that means,” said the child. ”But they were often called 'Ketzers' by the people where he lodged. And they would not pray to the Virgin Mary, as many did, but taught me to pray to G.o.d in the name of Jesus Christ. And Mutterchen gave me a little 'brown Bible' for my very own, which she said her mother had given to her. Oh, I must show it to you, sir!” and, darting off, the child ran into the house, returning with the treasured book in her hand. The pastor examined it and read the inscription written on the fly-leaf--”To my dear Hilda, from her loving mother, on her eighteenth birthday.” That was all, but he felt sure from the many underlined pa.s.sages that the book had been well studied. He found that Frida could read quite easily, and that she had been instructed in Scripture truth.
Ere he bade her farewell he asked her to promise him to read often from her little Bible to Wilhelm, Elsie, and Hans. ”For who knows, little Frida, that the Lord may not have chosen you to be a child missionary to the wood-cutters, and to read to them out of His holy Word.”
Frida thought over these words, though she hardly took in their full meaning; but she loved her Bible, and wished that the people who were so kind to her loved it also.
On his way home the pastor met Elsie with her babe in her arms, and told her of his farewell visit to Frida, and of his delight with the child's musical talent, and advised her to encourage her as much as possible to play on the violin.
Elsie's face brightened as he spoke, for she and her husband, like many of the German peasants, dearly loved music.
”O sir,” she said, ”have you heard her sing? It is just beautiful and wonderful to hear her; she beats the very birds themselves.”
Thanking her once more for her care of the orphan child, and commending her to G.o.d, the pastor went on his way, musing much on the future of the gifted child, and wondering what could be done as regarded her education.
In the meantime Elsie went home, and entrusting her babe to the care of Frida, who loved the little helpless infant, she made ready for her husband's return from his work. Hans had gone that day to help his father in the wood, which he loved much to do, so Elsie and Frida were alone.
”Mutter,” said the child (for she had adopted Hans's way of addressing Elsie), ”the pastor was here to-day, and he played to me--oh so beautifully--on my violin, it reminded me of father, and made me cry. O Mutter, I wish some one could teach me to play on it as father did. You see I was just beginning to learn a little how to do it, and I do love it so;” and as she spoke, the child joined her hands together and looked pleadingly at Elsie.
”_Ach_, poor child,” replied Elsie, ”how canst thou be taught here?”
And that night when Elsie repeated to Wilhelm Frida's desire for lessons on the violin, the worthy couple grieved that they could do nothing to gratify her wish.
Day after day and week after week pa.s.sed, and still no answer came to any of the advertis.e.m.e.nts about the child; and save for her own sake none of the dwellers in the wood wished it otherwise, for the ”woodland child,” as they called her, had won her way into every heart.
CHAPTER VI.
ELSIE AND THE BROWN BIBLE.
”Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.”
Frida, as time went on, was growing hardy and strong in the bracing Forest air. Every kindness was lavished on her, and the child-spirit had a.s.serted itself, and though often tears would fill her eyes as something or other reminded her vividly of the past, yet her merry laughter was often heard as she played with Hans in the woods. Yet through all her glee there was at times a seriousness of mind remarkable in one so young, also a power of observation as regarded others not often noticeable in one of her years. She had become warmly attached to the kind people amongst whom her lot was cast, and especially so to Elsie.
Several times she had observed her looking anxiously at the babe in her arms, taking her to the light and endeavouring to attract her attention to the plaything which she held before her. Then when the babe, now some months old, showed no signs of observing it, Frida would see a great tear roll down Elsie's cheek, and once she heard her mutter the words, ”Blind! my baby's blind!” Was it possible? Frida asked herself; for the child's eyes looked bright, and she felt sure she knew her, and had often stretched out her little arms to be taken up by her. ”No,” she repeated again, ”she cannot be blind!” Poor little Frida knew not that it was her voice that the baby recognized. Often she had sung her to sleep when Elsie had left her in her charge. Already father and mother had noted with joy the power that music had over their blind babe. One day Frida summoned courage to say, ”Mutter, dear Mutter, why are you sad when you look at little Anna? I often notice you cry when you do so.”
At that question the full heart of the mother overflowed. ”O Frida, little Frida, the babe is blind! She will never see the light of day nor the face of her father and mother. Wilhelm knows it now: we took her to Dringenstadt last week, and the doctor examined her eyes and told us she _ist blind geboren_ [born blind]. O my poor babe, my poor babe!”