Part 6 (1/2)
CHAPTER IX.
CHRISTMAS IN THE FOREST.
”Christmas, happy Christmas, Sweet herald of good-will, With holy songs of glory, Brings holy gladness still.”
Summer had long pa.s.sed, autumn tints had faded, and the fallen leaves lay thick in the Forest.
For days a strong wind had blown, bending the high trees under its influence, and here and there rooting up the dark pines and laying them low. Through the night of which we are going to write, a heavy fall of snow had covered all around with a thick mantle of pure white. It weighed down the branches of the trees in the Forest, and rested on the piles of wood which lay ready cut to be carted off to be sold for fuel in the neighbouring towns. The roll of wheels, as the heavily-laden wagons pa.s.sed, was heard no more. The song of the birds had ceased, though the print of their claws was to be seen on the snow. All was quiet. The silence of nature seemed to rest on the hearts of the dwellers in the Forest. In vain Elsie heaped on the wood; still the stove gave out little heat. She busied herself in the little room, but a weight seemed to be on her spirit, and she glanced from time to time uneasily at Frida, who sat listlessly knitting beside the stove.
”Art ill, Frida?” she said at last. ”All this morning hast thou sat there with that knitting on thy lap, and scarce worked a round at it.
And your violin--why, Frida, you have not played on it for weeks, and even Hans notices it; and Wilhelm says to me no longer ago than this morning, 'Why, wife, what ails our woodland child? The spirit has all left her, and she looks white and tired-like.'”
Frida, thus addressed, rose quickly from her seat, a blush, perchance of shame, colouring her cheeks.
”O Mutter,” she said, ”I know I am lazy; but it is not because I am ill, only I keep thinking and wondering and--There! I know I'm wrong, only, Elsie dear, Mutter Elsie, I do want to know if any of my own people are alive, and where they live. I have felt like this ever since I was at Baden-Baden; and I have not heard from Adeline Stanford for such a long time, and I suppose, though she was so kind, she has forgotten me; and Miss Drechsler has left Dringenstadt for months; and, O Mutter, forgive me, and believe that I am not ungrateful for all that you and Wilhelm and the kind people in the Dorf have done for me. Only, only--” And the poor girl laid her head on Elsie's shoulder and cried long and bitterly.
Elsie was much moved, she did so love the bright, fairy-like girl who had been the means of letting in the light of the gospel to her dark heart.
”_Armes Kind_” (poor child), she said, soothing her as tenderly as she would have done her own blind Anna, had she been alive and in trouble, ”I understand it all, dear.” (And her kind woman heart had taken it all in.) ”It is just like the little bird taken from its mother's nest, and put into a strange one, longing to be back amongst its like again, and content nowhere else. But, Frida, dost thou not remember that we read in the little brown book that our Lord hath said, 'Lo, I am with you alway'? Isn't that enough for you? No place can be very desolate, can it, if He be there?”
In a moment after Elsie said these words, Frida raised her head and dried her eyes.
Had she been forgetting, she asked herself, whose young servant she was?
Was it right in a child of G.o.d to be discontented with her lot, and to forget the high privilege that G.o.d had given her in allowing her to read His Word to the poor people in the Forest?
”I must throw off this discontented spirit,” she said to herself; and turning to Elsie she told her how sorry she was for the way in which she had acted, adding, ”But with G.o.d's help I will be better now.”
Frida was no perfect character, and, truth to tell, ever since her return from Baden-Baden, a sense of the incongruity of her circ.u.mstances had crept upon her. The tasteful surroundings, the cultured conversation, the musical evenings, the refinement of all around, had enchanted the young girl, and the humble lot and homely ways of her Forest friends had on her return to them stood out in striking contrast. And, alas! for the time being she refused to see in all these things the guiding hand of G.o.d. But after the day we have written of, things went better. The girl strove to conquer her discontent, and in G.o.d's strength she overcame, and her friends in the Forest had once more the pleasure of seeing her bright smile and hearing her sweet voice in song.
Johann Schmidt had fallen asleep in Jesus with the words of Holy Scripture on his lips, blessing the ”wood-cutters' pet,” as he called her, for having, through the reading of G.o.d's Word, led him to Jesus.
But though sickness had left the Forest, the severe cold and deep snow were very trying to the health of all the dwellers in it, and the winter nights were long and dreary.
One day in December, Wilhelm Horstel had business in Dringenstadt, and on his return home he gave Frida two letters which he had found lying at the post-office for her. They proved, to Frida's great delight, to be from her two friends Miss Drechsler and Adeline Stanford.
Miss Drechsler's ran thus:--
”DEAR FRIDA,--I have been thinking very specially of you and your friends in the Forest, now that the cold winter days have come, and the snow, I doubt not, is lying thick on the trees and ground. Knowing how interested you are, dear, in all your kind friends there, I have thought how nice it would be for you, if Elsie and Wilhelm consent, to have a Christmas-tree for a few of your friends; and in order to carry this out, I enclose a money order to the amount of 2, and leave it to you and Elsie to spend it to the best of your power.
”I am also going to write to Herr Steiger to send, addressed to you, ten pounds of tea, which I trust you to give from me to each of the householders--nine in number, I think--in the little Dorf, retaining one for your friends the Horstels. Will you, dear Frida, be my almoner and do my business for me? I often think of and pray for you, and I know you do not forget me. I fear I will not be able to return to Dringenstadt till the month of May, as my sister is still very ill, and I feel I am of use to her.--Your affectionate friend. M. DRECHSLER.”
”Oh, isn't it good? isn't it charming?” said Frida, jumping about the room in her glee. ”Mayn't we have the tree, Mutter? And will you not some day soon come with me to Dringenstadt and choose the things for it?
Oh, I wish Hans were here, that I might tell him all about it! See, I have not yet opened Adeline's letter; it is so long since I heard from her. I wonder where they are living now. Oh, the letter is from Rome.”
Then in silence she read on. Elsie, who was watching her, saw that as she read on her cheeks coloured and her eyes sparkled with some joyful emotion.
She rose suddenly, and going up to Elsie she said, ”O Mutter, _was denken Sie?_ [what do you think?]. Sir Richard and Lady Stanford enclose a few lines saying they would like so much that I should, with your consent, spend some months with them at Cannes in the Riviera, as a companion to Adeline; and if you and Miss Drechsler agree to the plan, that I would accompany friends of theirs from Baden-Baden who propose to go to Cannes about the middle of January. And, Mutter,” continued the girl, ”they say all my expenses will be paid, and that I shall have Adeline's masters for music and languages, and be treated as if I were their daughter.”