Part 8 (1/2)
Frida smiled. ”That would be charming, Adeline; but we will not speak of that at present. Only say you really think I am right in the matter. I have not forgotten to ask G.o.d's guidance, and you know it is written in the Word of G.o.d which we both love so well, 'In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.' But come; we must go now and get ready, for we are to go to-day to the Cap d'Antibes.”
And in the delights of that lovely drive, and in strolling amongst the rocks honeycombed till they look almost like lacework, the two friends forgot the evils of the impending separation.
In the meantime Frida was warmly remembered by her friends in the Forest, and their joy when they heard that she was once more coming to live near them was unbounded.
”Ah,” said Elsie, as she bent her head over a sweet little year-old girl whom she held on her lap, ”now I shall be able to show her my little Gretchen, and she will, I know, sing to her some of the sweet hymns she used to sing to my little Annchen, and she will read to us again, Wilhelm, out of the little brown book which I have taken great care of for her.”
”Ay,” put in Hans, ”and Mutterchen, she will bring her violin, and she and I will play together some of the music you and father love; and she will, I know, be glad to hear that through Sir Richard Stanford and Herr Muller I am to become a pupil in the Conservatorium of Leipsic. I can hardly believe it is true.”
”Ay, my son, thou art a lucky one, and ye owe it all to Frida herself.
Was it not she who told Sir Richard about your love of music, and got Herr Muller to promise to hear you play? Ah! under the good G.o.d we owe much to the 'woodland child.'”
And so it fell out that after a few more happy weeks spent at Cannes and Gra.s.se, Frida found herself once more an inmate of Miss Drechsler's pretty little house at Dringenstadt, and able every now and then to visit and help her friends in the Forest.
”Ah, Mutterchen,” she said as she threw herself into Elsie's arms, ”here I am again your foundling child, come to live near you, and so glad to see you all once more.--And Hans, why, Hans, you look a man now; and oh, I am so pleased you are to go to Leipsic! You must bring down your violin now and then to Miss Drechsler's, and let us play together. I am sure you will be a great musician some day, Hans.”
The young man (for such he now was) looked much gratified at his friend's hopeful words, and said, ”If I do turn that, I shall owe it all to you, Frida.”
But the girl interrupted his speech by saying, ”Now, Mutter, let me see little Gretchen;” and next minute she was stooping over the bed where lay the sleeping child--the very bed whence the spirit of the blind child whom she had loved so dearly had taken its flight to the heavenly land.
”What a darling she looks, Elsie! Oh, I am glad G.o.d has sent you this little treasure! She will cheer you when Hans has gone away and her father is all day in the Forest.”
”Yes,” said Elsie, ”she is indeed a gift from G.o.d; and you, Frida, must teach her, as you taught her parents and Anna, the 'way of life.' And O Frida, thou must go down to the Dorf, for all the people there are so eager to see thee once more. And now that thou hast grown a young lady, they all wonder if thou still beest like the woodland child, and wilt care about the like of them, or if perchance thou hast forgotten them.”
”Forgotten them! O Elsie, how could they think so? Could I ever forget how they and you gave of their little pittance to maintain the child found in the Black Forest, and how you all lavished kindness on her who had neither father nor mother to care for her? I must go at once and ask them what I have done that they should have thought so badly of me even for a minute. Don't you know, Mutter, that I have given up the going to England to live with Miss Drechsler at Dringenstadt, in order that I may often see my dear friends in the Forest; and that shall be my life-work, unless”--and here the girl looked sad--”any of my own friends find me out and claim me.”
”Hast had any clue to them, Frida?” asked Elsie.
”Alas, no!” said the girl, ”none whatever; and yet I have seen a great number of people during these few years. And I have always worn my necklace, which, being such a peculiar one, might have attracted attention and led to the discovery of my parentage; but except one Englishman, whom I met at the Stanfords', who said I reminded him of some one whom he had seen, there has been nothing to lead me to suppose that any one thought of me except as a friend of the Stanfords. But, Elsie, though I am not discontented, still at times there is the old yearning for my own people. But G.o.d knows best, and I am not going to waste my life in useless longings. I have got five pupils in Dringenstadt already, and several more applications, and next week I begin my life-work as a teacher of the violin.--Don't you envy me, Hans?”
”That is what I do, Fraulein Frida,” said Hans. Somehow as he looked at the fair young lady the old familiar name of Frida seemed too familiar to use. Frida turned quickly round on him as he uttered the word ”Fraulein.”
”Why, Hans--for I will not call thee Herr--to whom did you speak? There is no Fraulein here--just your old sister playmate Frida; never let me hear you address me again by such a t.i.tle. Art thou not my brother Hans, the son of my dear friends Elsie and Wilhelm?” and a merry laugh scattered Hans's new-born shyness.
And to the end of their lives Frida and Hans remained as brother and sister, each rejoicing in the success of the other in life; and in after years they had many a laugh over the day that Hans began to think that he must call his sister friend, the companion of his childhood, his instructor in much that was good, by the stiff t.i.tle of Fraulein Frida.
Ere Frida left the hut that day, they all knelt together and thanked G.o.d for past mercies, and it was Elsie's voice that in faltering accents prayed that Frida might still be used in the Forest to lead many to the knowledge of Christ Jesus through the reading of the Word of G.o.d.
CHAPTER XII.
IN THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
”There are lonely hearts to cherish While the days are going by, There are weary souls who perish While the days are going by.
If a smile we can renew, As our journey we pursue, Oh, the good we all may do While the days are pa.s.sing by!”
The London season was at its height, but though the pure suns.h.i.+ne was glistening on mountain-top and green meadow, and beginning to tinge the corn-fields with a golden tint in country places, where peace and quietness seemed to reign, and leafy greenery called on every one who loved nature to come and enjoy it in its summer flush of beauty, yet the great city was still filled not only by those who could not leave its crowded streets, but by hundreds who lingered there in the mere pursuit of pleasure, for whom the beauties of nature had no charm.
On one peculiarly fine day a group of people were gathered together in the drawing-room of a splendid mansion in one of the West End crescents.