God, who disposest all things well,I want but what thou givest me,Oh how can we thine acts foretell,When Thou art far more wise than we?
God, who disposest all things well,I want but what thou givest me,Oh how can we thine acts foretell,When Thou art far more wise than we?
God, who disposest all things well,I want but what thou givest me,Oh how can we thine acts foretell,When Thou art far more wise than we?
"Yes, I always feel better when I think of that," Leonore added after a time in a totally changed voice. "It makes me happy because I know that God can do for us what Salo and I can't do for ourselves. But when everything stays the same for so long and there is no prospect of any change, it is so hard to keep this faith. If we can't do anything for ourselves, it seems as if everything would have to be that way. The woman said that if anybody is homeless once, he has to remain that way for the rest of his life."
"No, no, Leonore," Mrs. Maxa answered, "you must not take a chance word seriously. The poor woman only said it because she saw no immediate help for her children. It is not true at all. Of course you can't look ahead into your future, but you can ask God to give you full confidence in Him. Then you can leave it all to Him, and the sense of His protection will make you calmer. It will also keep you from making uncertain plans, which might only bring fresh disappointments."
Leonore had attentively followed every word Mrs. Maxa had uttered. Looking thoughtfully in front of her for a moment, she said, "Aunt Maxa"—this was the mode of address she had long ago been granted—"don't you want me to think of Apollonie's cottage either? Shall we have a disappointment, if I hope that we can find a home there?"
"Yes, my dear child. It is entirely out of the question for you and your brother to live there. I should not tell you this if I were not absolutely certain, and you can imagine that I should not shatter such a hope if I did not have to."
It hurt Mrs. Maxa very much to say this, but she found it necessary. She knew that Apollonie in her measureless love and admiration would never be able to refuse a single one of Leonore's wishes, even if it meant the impossible.
"I shall not think about it any more then," said Leonore, embracing Mrs. Maxa with utter confidence, "and I shall be glad now that I can still remain with you."
Later that evening when the children were all together and Leonore had conquered her grief for that day, a letter came for their mother from Hanover. She had informed the ladies of Leonore's complete recovery and had added that the doctor thought it necessary for the child to enjoy the strengthening mountain air for a while longer. She herself had no other wish than to keep Leonore in her house as long as possible. The ladies' answer was full of warm thanks for her great help in their embarrassing situation. They were very glad to accept her great kindness for two more weeks, after which one of them would come to fetch Leonore home.
Mrs. Maxa glanced with a heavy heart at the child to whom she had grown as devoted as to her own. She felt dreadfully sad at the thought of letting her go away so soon. The worst of it was that she knew the ladies' abode had never really meant a home for poor Leonore. It only doubled her grief to know how hard it would be for the child to leave her, but as she had no right over her, she could do nothing. The only thing she could plan was to ask the ladies to let her have Leonore sometimes during the summer holidays. She decided not to dampen the children's good spirits that evening with the discouraging news in the letter.
MÄZLI PAYS VISITS
Whenever Mäzli found the time heavy on her hands, she would suddenly remember people who might want to see her. She had been extremely occupied all these days entertaining Leonore, as during school hours she had been the older girl's sole companion. Her brothers and sisters were now home for a holiday and constantly surrounded Leonore. Finding herself without her usual employment, Mäzli ran after her mother on the morning of the holiday and kept on saying, "I must go to see Apollonie. I am sure Loneli is sad that I have not been to see her so long," until her mother finally gave her permission to go that afternoon.
On her way to Apollonie Mäzli had been struck by an idea which occupied her very much. She arrived at the cottage of her old friend and sat down beside Loneli, who was not in the least sad, but looked about her with the merriest eyes. "I must go see the Castle-Steward to-day," she said quickly. "I promised it but I forgot about it."
"No, no, Mäzli," Apollonie said evasively, "we have lots of other things to do. We have to see if the plums are getting ripe on the tree in the corner of the garden, and after that you must see the chickens. Just think, Mäzli, they have little chicks, and you will have to see them. I am sure you won't ever want to leave them."
"Oh, yes, when I have seen them I must go to the Castle-Steward because I promised to," Mäzli replied.
"I am sure he has forgotten all about it and does not remember you any more," Apollonie said, trying to ward Mäzli off from her design. "Does your mama know that you mean to go to the castle?"
"No, because I only thought of it on my way here," Mäzli assured her old friend. "But one must always keep a promise; Kurt told me that."
"Mr. Trius won't even let you in," Apollonie protested.
"Certainly! He has to. I know the Castle-Steward well, and he is not in the least afraid of Mr. Trius; I have noticed that," said Mäzli, firmly holding to her resolution.
Apollonie realized that words would do no good and resolved to entertain Mäzli so well with the little chickens and other things that it would finally be too late for her to go to the castle. Mäzli inspected the tiny chickens and the ripening plums with great enjoyment, but as this had barely taken any time at all, she soon said resolutely, "I have to go now because it is late. If you would like to stay home, Loneli can come with me. I am sure we can easily find the way."
"What are you dreaming of, Mäzli?" Apollonie cried out. "How do you think Mr. Trius would receive you if you ask him to let you in, I should like to know? You'll find out something you won't like, I am afraid. No, no, this can't be. If you insist on going, I had better go along."
Apollonie went indoors to get ready for the walk, as she always put on better clothes whenever she mounted to the castle, despite the fact that she might not see anyone. Loneli was extremely eager to have a chance to find out who was the Castle-Steward whom Mäzli had promised to visit. She had tried to persuade her grandmother to let her go with Mäzli, in which case her mother would not need to change her clothes, But the latter would not even hear of it, remarking, "You can sit on the bench under the pear tree with your knitting in the meantime, and you can sing a song. We are sure to be back again in a little while."
Soon they started off, Apollonie firmly holding Mäzli's hand. Mr. Trius appeared at the door before they even had time to ring; it seemed as if the man really had his eyes on everything. Throwing a furious glance at Mäzli, he opened the door before Apollonie had said a word. But he had taken great care to leave a crack which would only allow a little person like Mäzli to slip through without sticking fast in the opening. Mäzli wriggled through and started to run away. The next moment the door was closed again. "Do you think I intend to squeeze myself through, too? You do not need to bolt it, Mr. Trius," Apollonie said, much offended. "It is not necessary to cut off the child from me like that, so that I don't even know where she is going. I am taking care of her, remember. Won't you please let me in, for I want to watch her, that is all."
"Forbidden," said Mr. Trius.
"Why did you let the child in?"
"I was ordered to."
"What? You were ordered to? By the master?" cried out Apollonie. "Oh, Mr. Trius, how could he let the child go in and walk about the garden while his old servant is kept out? She ought to be in there looking after things. I am sure you have never told him how I have come to you, come again and again and have begged you to admit me. I want to put things into their old order and you don't want me to. You don't even know, apparently, which bed he has and if his pillows are properly covered. You said so yourself. I am sure that the good old Baroness would have no peace in her grave if she knew all this. And this is all your fault. I can clearly see that. I can tell you one thing, though! If you refuse to give my messages to the master as I have begged and begged you to so often, I'll find another way. I'll write a letter."
"Won't help."
"What won't help? How can you know that? You won't know what's in the letter. I suppose the Baron still reads his own letters," Apollonie eagerly went on.
"He receives no letters from these parts."
This was a terrible blow for Apollonie, to whom this new thought had given great confidence. She therefore decided to say nothing more and quietly watched Mr. Trius as he walked up and down inside the garden.
Mäzli in the meantime had eagerly pursued her way and was soon up on the terrace. Glancing about from there, she saw the gentleman again, stretched out in the shadow of the pine tree, as she had seen him first, and the glinting cover was lying again on his knees. Mäzli ran over to him.
"How do you do, Mr. Castle-Steward? Are you angry with me because I have not come for so long?" she called out to him from a distance, and a moment later she was by his side. "It was only on account of Leonore," Mäzli continued. "I should otherwise have come ages ago. But when the others are all in school she can't be left alone. So I stay with her and I like to do it because she is so nice. Everybody likes Leonore, everybody likes her terribly; Kurt and Bruno, too. They stay home all the time now because Leonore is with us. You ought to know how nice she is. You would like her dreadfully right away."
"Do you think so?" said the gentleman, while something like a smile played about his lips. "Is it your sister?"
"My sister? No, indeed," Mäzli said, quite astonished at his error. "She is Salo's sister, the boy who was with us and who had to go back to Hanover. She has to go back to Hanover, too, as soon as she is well, and mama always gets very sad when she talks about it. But Mea gets sadder still and even cries. Leonore hates to leave us, but she has to. She cried dreadfully once because she can never, never have a home. As long as she lives she'll have to be homeless. The beggar-woman who came with the two ragged children said that. They were homeless, and Leonore said afterwards, 'I am that way, too,' and then she cried terribly, and we were sent out into the garden. She might have cried still more if she had thought about our having a home with a mama while she has none. She has no papa or anybody. But you must not think that she is a homeless child with a torn dress; she looks quite different. Maybe she can find a home in Apollonie's little house under the hill. Then Salo can come home to her in the holidays. But mama does not think that this can be. But Leonore wants it ever so much. I must bring her to you one day."
"Who are you, child? What is your name," asked the gentleman abruptly.
Mäzli looked at him in astonishment.
"I am Mäzli," she said, "and mama has the same name as I have. But they don't call her that. Some people call her Mrs. Rector, some mama, and Uncle Philip says Maxa to her and Leonore calls her Aunt Maxa."
"Is your father the rector of Nolla?" the gentleman asked.
"He has been in heaven a long while, and he was in heaven before we came here, but mama wanted to come back to Nolla because this was her home. We don't live in the rectory now, but where there is a garden with lots of paths, and where the big currant-bushes are in the corners, here and here and here." Mäzli traced the position of the bushes exactly on the lionskin. The castle-steward, leaning back in his chair, said nothing more. "Do you find it very tiresome here?" Mäzli asked sympathetically.
"Yes, I do," was the answer.
"Have you no picture-book"
"No."
"Oh, I'll bring you one, as soon as I come again. And then—but perhaps you have a headache?" Mäzli interrupted herself. "When my mama wrinkles up her forehead the way you do she always has a headache, and one must get her some cold water to make it better. I'll quickly get some," and the next instant Mäzli was gone.
"Come back, child!" the gentleman called after her. "There is nobody in the castle, and you won't find any."
It seemed strange to Mäzli that there should be nobody to bring water to the Castle-Steward.
"I'll find somebody for him," she said, eagerly running down the incline to the door, in whose vicinity Mr. Trius was wandering up and down.
"You are to go up to the Castle-Steward at once," she said standing still in front of him, "and you are to bring him some cold water, because he has a headache. But very quickly."
Mr. Trius glanced at Mäzli in an infuriated way as if to say: "How do you dare to come to me like this?" Then throwing the door wide open he growled like a cross bear: "Out of here first, so I can close it." After Mäzli had slipped out he banged the big door with all his might so that the hinges rattled. Turning the monstrous key twice in the lock, he also bolted it with a vengeance. By this he meant to show that no one could easily go in again at his pleasure.
Apollonie, who had been sitting down in the shade not far from the door now went up to Mäzli and said, "You stayed there a long time. What did the gentleman say?"
"Very little, but I told him a lot," Mäzli said. "He has a headache, Apollonie, and just think! nobody ever brings him any water, and Mr. Trius even turns the key and bolts the door before he goes to him."
Apollonie broke out into such lamentations and complaints after these words that Mäzli could not bear it.
"But he has the water long ago, Apollonie. I am sure Mr. Trius gave it to him. Please don't go on so," she said a trifle impatiently. But this was only oil poured on the flames.
"Yes, no one knows what he does and what he doesn't do," Apollonie lamented, louder than ever. "The poor master is sick, and all his servant does is to stumble about the place, not asking after his needs and letting everything go to rack and ruin. Not a cabbage-head or a pea-plant is to be seen. Not one strawberry or raspberry, no golden apricots on the wall or a single little dainty peach. The disorder everywhere is frightful. When I think how wonderfully it used to be managed by the Baroness!" Apollonie kept on wiping her eyes because present conditions worried her dreadfully. "You can't understand it, Mäzli," she continued, when she had calmed down a trifle. "You see, child, I should be glad to give a finger of my right hand if I could go up there one day a week in order to arrange things for the master as they should be and fix the garden and the vegetables. The stuff the old soldier is giving him to eat is perfectly horrid, I know."
Mäzli hated to hear complaints, so she always looked for a remedy.
"You don't need to be so unhappy," she said. "Just cook some nice milk-pudding for him and I'll take it up to him. Then he'll have something good to eat, something much better than vegetables; oh, yes, a thousand times better."
"You little innocent! Oh, when I think of forty years ago!" Apollonie cried out, but she complained no further. Mäzli's answers had clearly given her the conviction that the child could not possibly understand the difficult situation she was in.
Mäzli chattered gaily by Apollonie's side, and as soon as she reached home, wanted to tell her mother what had happened. But the child was to have no opportunity for that day. The mother had been very careful in keeping the contents of Miss Remke's letter from the children in order not to spoil their last two weeks together. Unfortunately Bruno had that day received a letter from Salo, in which he wrote that in ten days one of the ladies was coming to fetch Leonore home, as she was completely well. Salo remarked quite frankly that he himself hardly looked forward to Leonore's coming, as he saw in each of her letters how happy she was in Aunt Maxa's household and how difficult the separation would be for her. Whenever he thought how hard it would be for her to grow accustomed to the change again, all his joy vanished at the prospect of her return. Bruno had read the whole letter aloud and had therewith conjured up such consternation and grief on every side that the mother hardly knew how to comfort them. Leonore herself was sitting in the midst of the excited group. She gave no sound and had unsuccessfully tried to swallow her rising tears, but they had got the better of her and were falling over her cheeks in a steady stream.
Mea was crying excitedly, "Oh, mother, you must help us. You have to write to the ladies that they mustn't come. Please don't let Leonore go!"
Bruno remarked passionately that no one had the right to drag a sick person on a journey against the doctor's wishes. The doctor had said the last time he had been here that Leonore was to have not less than a month for her complete recovery.
Kurt cried out over and over again, "Oh, mother, it's cruel, it's perfectly cruel! We all want to keep her here and she wants to stay. Now she is to be violently taken from us. Isn't that absolutely cruel?"
Lippo, coming close to Leonore, also did his best to console her. He remembered that he could not say "stay with us" any more, but he had another plan.
"Don't cry, Leonore," he said encouragingly. "As soon as I am big, Uncle Philip has promised to give me a house and a lot of meadows. I'll be a farmer then, and I'll write to you to come to live with me, and Salo can come for the holidays, too."
Leonore could not help smiling, but it only brought more tears when she thought how much love she was receiving from all these children, and that she had to leave them and might never see them again. The mother's attempts to comfort them failed entirely, because she had no hope herself.
In the middle of this agitating scene Mäzli arrived, perfectly happy and filled with her recent experiences. She wished to relate what the Castle-Steward had said to her and what she had said to him, and what had happened afterwards. But no one listened because they were so deeply absorbed with their own disturbing thoughts. They were not in the least interested in what Mäzli had to say about the Steward, as they all thought that the steward was Mr. Trius. That evening the unheard-of happened. Mäzli actually begged to go to bed before the evening song had been sung, because the depressing atmosphere in the house was so little to her taste that she even preferred to go to bed.
Mea had been hoping till now that her mother would find some means to keep Leonore. If it could not be the way Apollonie planned, she might at least stay for a long stretch of time. All of a sudden this hope was gone entirely, and the day of separation was terribly near. The girl looked so completely miserable when she started out for school next day that the mother had not the heart to let her go without a little comfort.
"You only need to go to school two more days, Mea," she said. "Next week you can stay home and spend all your time with Leonore."
Mea was very glad to hear it, but without uttering a word she ran away, for everything that concerned Leonore brought tears to her eyes.
Leonore had been looking so pale the last few days that Mrs. Maxa surveyed her anxiously. Perhaps the recovery had not been as complete as they had hoped, for the news of the close date of her departure had proved to be a great strain for her. Mrs. Maxa went about quite downcast and silent herself. Nothing for a long time had been so hard for her to bear as the thought of separation from the little girl she had begun to love like one of her own, who had also grown so lovingly attached to her. The pressure lay on them all very heavily. Bruno never said a word. Kurt, standing in a corner with a note-book, was busily scribbling down his melancholy thoughts, but he did not show his verses to anyone, as the tragic feeling in them might have drawn remarks from Bruno which he might not have been able to endure. Lippo faithfully followed Leonore wherever she went and from time to time repeated his consoling words, but he said them in such a wailing voice that they sounded extremely doleful. Mäzli alone still gazed about her with merry eyes and was dancing with joy when she saw that it was a bright sunny day.
"You can take a little walk with Leonore, Mäzli," the mother said immediately after lunch, as soon as the other children had started off to school. "Leonore will grow too pale if she does not get into the open air. Take her on a pretty walk, Mäzli. You might go to Apollonie."
Mäzli most willingly got her little hat, and the children set out. When they had passed half-way across the garden Mäzli suddenly stood still.
"Oh, I forgot something," she said. "I have to go back again. Please wait for me, I won't be long."
Mäzli disappeared but came back very shortly with a large picture-book under each arm. They were the biggest she had found and she had chosen them because she thought: The bigger the books, the bigger his delight at looking at them.
"Now I'll tell you what I thought," she said on reaching Leonore. "You see, up in the castle under a big tree sits the sick Castle-Steward. I promised to go to see him soon again and to bring him a picture book. But I am bringing him two because he'll like two better. I also promised to bring you and something else besides. You don't know why he needs that other thing, but you will hear when we are up there. Let us go now."
"But, Mäzli, I don't know the gentleman and he doesn't know me," Leonore began to object. "I can't go, because he might not like it. Besides your mother knows nothing about it."
But Mäzli had not the slightest intention of giving up her expedition.
"I have everything I want to bring him now, and the Castle-Steward has probably been waiting for us all day, so, you see, we simply must go. Mama also says that one has to go to see sick people and bring them things, because it cheers them up. He has to sit all day alone under the tree and he gets dreadfully tired. When he has a headache not a person comes to bring him anything. It is not nice of you not to want to go when he is expecting us."
Mäzli had talked so eagerly that she not only became absolutely convinced herself that it would be the greatest wrong if she did not go to see the Castle-Steward, but produced a similar feeling in Leonore.
"I shall gladly go with you, if you think the sick gentleman does not object," she said; "I only didn't know whether he would want us."
Mäzli was satisfied now, and, gaily talking, led Leonore toward the lofty iron door. The path led up between fragrant meadows and heavily laden apple trees, and when they reached their destination, they found it quite superfluous to ring the bell. Mr. Trius had long ago observed them and stood immovably behind the door. Hoping that he would open it, the children waited expectantly, but he did not budge.
"We want to pay a visit to the Castle-Steward," said Mäzli. "You'd better open soon."
"Not for two," was the answer.
"Certainly. We both have to go in, because he is expecting us," Mäzli informed him. "I promised to bring Leonore, so you'd better open."
But Mr. Trius did not stir.
"Come, Mäzli, we'd better go back," said Leonore in a low voice. "Can't you see that he won't open it? Maybe he is not allowed."
But it was no easy matter to turn Mäzli from her project.
"If he won't open it I'll scream so loud that the Castle-Steward will hear it," she said obstinately. "He is sure to say something then, for he is waiting for us. I can shout very loud, just listen: 'Mr. Castle-Steward!'"
Her cry was so vigorous that Mr. Trius became quite blue with rage. "Be quiet, you little monster!" he said, but he opened the door nevertheless.
"Maybe we shouldn't go in," said Leonore. Mäzli pulled her along, however, and never let go her hand till they had reached the terrace; she had no desire to leave her friend behind when they were so near their goal. Now, Mäzli quickly taking back the second picture-book, which Leonore had been carrying for her, began to run.
"Just come! Leonore. Look! there he sits already." With this Mäzli flew over to the large pine tree.
"How do you do, Mr. Castle-Steward! Didn't I come soon again, this time?" she merrily called out to him. "I have also brought everything I promised. Here are the picture books—look! two of them. I thought you might look through one too quickly."
Mäzli laid both books on the lion skin and began to rummage through her pockets. "Look what else I brought you," and Mäzli laid down a tiny ivory whistle. "Kurt gave it to me once and now I give it to you. If you have a headache and Mr. Trius is far away, all you need to do is to whistle. Then he can come and bring you some water. He'll hear it far, far away, because it whistles as loud as anything. Just try it once! I have also brought you Leonore."
The gentleman started slightly and looked up. Leonore had shyly retreated behind the chair, but Mäzli pulled her forward. The gentleman now threw a penetrating glance at the delicate looking little girl, who hardly dared to raise her large, dark eyes to his. Leonore, who had blushed violently under his scrutiny, said in a barely audible voice, "Perhaps we should not have come; but Mäzli thought we might be allowed to see you. Can we do something for you? Perhaps Mäzli should not have brought me. Oh, I am so sorry if I have offended you."
"No, indeed. Mäzli meant well when she wanted me to meet her friend," the gentleman said in quite a friendly voice. "What is the name of Mäzli's friend?"
"Leonore von Wallerstätten," the girl answered, and noticing the large books on the gentleman's knees, she added, "May I take the books away? They might be too heavy."
"Yes, you might, but it was very good of Mäzli to bring them all the way up to me," he said. "I'll look at them a little later."
"May I fix your pillow for you? It does not do you much good that way," said Leonore, pulling it up. It had long ago slipped out of position.
"Oh, this is better, this is lovely," the sick man replied, comfortably leaning back in the chair.
"What a shame! It won't stay, I am afraid. It is falling down again," said Leonore regretfully. "We ought to have a ribbon. If I only had one and a thread and needle!—but perhaps we could come again to-morrow—"
Leonore became quite frightened suddenly at her boldness and remained silent from embarrassment. But Mäzli got her out of this trying situation. Full of confidence she announced that they would return the next day with everything necessary.
The gentleman now asked Leonore where she came from and where she lived. She related that she had been living in a boarding school for several years, ever since the death of her great-aunt, with whom both she and her brother had found a home.
"Have you no other relations?" the gentleman asked, keenly observing her the while.
"No, none at all, except an uncle who has been living in Spain for many years. My aunt told us that he won't ever come back and that no one knows where he is. If we knew where he is, we should have written to him long ago. Salo would go to Spain as soon as he was allowed to and I should go to him in any case."
"Why?" the gentleman asked.
"Because he is our father's brother," she replied, "and we could love him like a father, too. He is the only person in the whole world to whom we could belong. We have wished many and many a time a chance to look for him, because we might live with him."
"No, you couldn't do that. I know him, I have been in Spain," the Castle-Steward said curtly.
A light spread over Leonore's face, as if her heart had been suddenly flooded with hope.
"Oh, do you really know our uncle? Do you know where he is living?" she cried out, while her cheeks flushed with happiness. "Oh, please tell me what you know about him."
When she gazed up at the gentleman with such sparkling eyes, it seemed to him that he ought to consider his reply carefully.
Suddenly he said positively, "No, no, you can never seek him out. Your uncle is an old, sick man, and no young people could possibly live with him. He must remain alone in his old owl's nest. You could not go to him there."
"But we should go to him so much more, if he is old and ill. He needs us more then than if he had a family," Leonore said eagerly. "He could be our father and we his children and we could take care of him and love him. If he only were not so dreadfully far away! If you could only tell us where he lives, we could write to him and get his permission to go there. Without him we can't do anything at all, because Mr. von Stiele in Hanover wants Salo to study for years and years longer. We have to do everything he says, unless our uncle should call us. Oh, please tell me where he lives!"
"Just think of all the deprivations you would have to suffer with your old uncle! Think how lonely it would be for you to live with a sick man in a wild nest among the rocks! What do you say to that?" he said curtly.
"Oh, it would only be glorious for Salo and me to have a real home with an uncle we loved," Leonore continued, showing that her longing could not be quenched. "There is only one thing I should miss there, but I have to miss it in Hanover, too. I shall never, never feel at home there!"
"Well, what is this?" the gentleman queried.
"That I can't be together with Aunt Maxa and the children."
"Shall we ask Aunt Maxa's advice? Would this suit you, child?"
"Oh, yes indeed," Leonore answered happily.
At the mention of Aunt Maxa she suddenly remembered that they had not told her where they were going. As she was afraid that they had remained away too long already, Lenore urged Mäzli to take her leave quickly, while she gave her hand to the steward.
"Will you deliver a message for me, Leonore?" he said; "will you tell your Aunt Maxa that the master of the castle, whom she knew long years ago, would love to visit her, but he is unable? Ask her if he may hope that she will come up to him at the castle instead?"
Mäzli gave her hand now to say good-bye, and when she noticed that the pillow had slipped down again, she said, "Apollonie would just love to set things in order for you, but Mr. Trius won't let her in. She would be willing to give a finger from her right hand if she were allowed to do everything Mr. Trius doesn't do."
"Come now, Mäzli," said Leonore, for she had the feeling that this peculiar revelation might be followed by others as unintelligible. But the Castle-Steward smiled, as if he had comprehended Mäzli's words.
Mrs. Maxa was standing in front of her house, surrounded by her children, anxiously looking for the two missing ones. Nobody could understand where Leonore and Mäzli might have stayed so long. Suddenly they caught a glimpse of two blue ribbons fluttering from Leonore's hat. Quickly the children rushed to meet them.
"Where do you come from? Where did you stay so long? Where have you been all this time," sounded from all sides.
"In the castle," was the answer.
The excitement only grew at this.
"How could you get there? Who opened the door? What did you do at the castle?" The questions were poured out at such a rate that no answer could possibly have been heard.
"I went to see the Castle-Steward before. I have been to see him quite often," said Mäzli loudly, for she was desirous of being heard.
Leonore had gone ahead with the mother's arm linked in hers, for she was very anxious to deliver her message.
Kurt was too much interested in Mäzli's expedition to the castle to be frightened off by the first unintelligible account. He had to find out how it had come about and what had happened, but the two did not get very far in their dialogue.
As soon as Mäzli began to talk first about Mr. Trius and then about the Steward, Kurt always said quickly, "But this is all one and the same person. Don't make two out of them, Mäzli! All the world knows that Mr. Trius is the Steward of Castle Wildenstein; he is one person and not two."
Then Mäzli answered, "Mr. Trius is one and the Castle-Steward is another. They are two people and not one."
After they had repeated this about three times Bruno said, "Oh, Kurt, leave her alone. Mäzli thinks that there are two, when she calls him first Mr. Trius and then Mr. Castle-Steward."
That was too much for Mäzli, and shouting vigorously, "They are two people, they are two people," she ran away.
Leonore had related in the meantime how Mäzli had proposed to visit the sick Castle-Steward and how she had at first been reluctant to go, till Mäzli had made her feel that she was wrong. She related everything that had happened and all the questions he had asked her.
"Just think, Aunt Maxa," Leonore went on, "the gentleman knows our uncle in Spain. He said that he had been there, too, and he knows that our uncle is old and ill and is living all by himself. I wanted so much to find out where he was, and asked him to tell me, but he thought it would not help, as we couldn't possibly go to him. So I said that we might write, and just think, Aunt Maxa! at last he said he would ask your advice." Then Leonore gave her message. "He did not say that the Castle-Steward, as he called himself to Mäzli, sent the message, but told me that it was from the master of the castle, whom you knew a long time ago," Leonore concluded. "Oh, just think! Aunt Maxa, we might find our uncle after all. Oh, please help us, for I want so much to write to him."
Mrs. Maxa had listened with ever-growing agitation, and she was so deeply affected that she could not say a word. She could not express the thought which thrilled her so, because she did not know the Baron's intentions. Mea's loud complaints at this moment conveniently hid her mother's silence.
"Oh, Leonore," she cried out, "if you go to Spain, we shan't see each other again for the rest of our lives; then you will never, never come back here any more!"
"Do you really think so?" Leonore asked, much downcast. She felt that it would be hard for her to choose in such a case, and she suddenly did not know if she really wanted to go to Spain.
"It is not very easy to make a trip to Spain, children," said the mother, "and I am sure that it is not necessary to get excited about it."
When Kurt, after the belated supper that night, renewed his examination about the single or the double Steward of Castle Wildenstein, their mother announced that bedtime had not only come for the little ones, but for all. Soon after, the whole lively party was sleeping soundly and only the mother was still sitting in her room, sunk in deep meditation. She had not been able to think over the Baron's words till now and she wondered what hopes she might build upon them. He might only want to talk over Leonore's situation because he had realized how little she felt at home in Hanover. But all this thinking led to nothing, and she knew that our good Lord in heaven, who opens doors which seem most tightly barred, had let it happen for a purpose. She was so grateful that she would be able to see the person who, more than anyone else, held Leonore's destiny in his hands. Full of confidence in God, she hoped that the hand which had opened an impassable road would also lead an embittered heart back to himself, and by renewing in him the love of his fellowmen, bring about much happiness and joy.
IN THE CASTLE
IN THE CASTLE
The next afternoon, after planning a pleasant walk for Leonore and Mäzli, Mrs. Maxa started on her way to the castle. As soon as she neared the grated iron door it opened wide, and holding his hat in his hand, Mr. Trius stood deeply bowing in the opening.
"May I see the Baron?" asked Mrs. Maxa.
After another reverence Mr. Trius led the visitor up the hill, and when he had duly announced her, invited her with a third bow to step forward. It was quite evident that Mr. Trius had been definitely ordered to change his usual mode of behaviour.
Mrs. Maxa now approached the chair near the pine tree.
"Have you really come, Mrs. Maxa?" said the sick man, putting out his hand. "Did no bitter feelings against the evil-doer keep you back?"
Mrs. Maxa pressed the proffered hand and replied, "I could wish for no greater joy, Baron, than to have your door opened for me. I have wondered oftener than you could think if this would ever happen, for I wanted an opportunity to serve you. I know no bitter feelings and never have known them. Everybody who has loved this castle and its inmates has known they suffered grief and pain."
"I returned to this old cave here to die," said the Baron. "You can see plainly that I am a broken man. I only wished to forget the past in this solitude, and I thought it right for me to die forgotten. Then your little girl came in here one day—I have not been able to discover how."
"Oh, please forgive her," said Mrs. Maxa. "It is a riddle to me, too, how she succeeded in entering this garden. I knew nothing about it till yesterday evening when the children came home from the castle. I am terribly afraid that Mäzli has annoyed you."
"She has not done so at all, for she is her mother's true child," said the Baron. "She was so anxious to help me and to bring me what I lacked. Because she loved Leonore so much, she wanted me to know her, too, but I cannot understand Leonore. She begged and begged to be allowed to see her uncle, as she wished to live with him and love him like a father. She even longs to seek him out in a foreign country. What shall I do? Please give me your advice, Mrs. Maxa."
"There is only one thing to do, Baron," the lady replied with an overflowing heart. "God Himself has done what we never could have accomplished, despite all our wishes. The child has been led into your arms by God and therefore belongs to you from now on. You must become her father and let her love and take care of you. You will soon realize what a treasure she is, and through her the good old times will come back to this castle. You will grow young again yourself as soon as you two are here together."
The Baron replied: "Our dear Maxa always saw things in an ideal light. How could a delicate child like Leonore fit into a wilderness like this castle. Everything here is deserted and forlorn. Just think of the old watchman here and me, what miserable housemates we should be. Won't you receive the child in your house, for she clearly longs to have a home? I know that she will find one there and apparently has found it already. She can learn by and by who her uncle is and then she can come to visit him sometimes."
Amazed at this sudden change, Mrs. Maxa was silent for a while. How she would have rejoiced at this prospect a few days ago!
"I love Leonore like my own child and wanted nothing better than to keep her with me," she said finally, "but I think differently now. The children belong to you, and the castle of their fathers must become their home. You must let Leonore surround you with her delightful and soothing personality, which is sure to make you happy. When you come to know her you will soon realize of what I should have robbed you. There is no necessity at all for the castle to remain forlorn and empty. Despite the loss of our dear loved ones, the life here can again become as pleasant as in former times. Your mother always hoped that this would happen at her eldest son's return, as she had desired that his home should remain unchanged even after her death. Leonore can have her quarters in your mother's rooms."
"I wonder if you would like to see the rooms you knew so well, Mrs. Maxa," the Baron said slowly.
Mrs. Maxa gladly assented to this.
"May I go everywhere?" she asked. "I know my way so well."
"Certainly, wherever you wish," the Baron replied.
Entering the large hall, Mrs. Maxa was filled with deep emotion. Here she had spent the most beautiful days of her childhood in delicious games with the unforgettable Leonore and the two young Barons. Everything was as it had been then. The large stone table in the middle, the stone benches on the walls and the niches with the old knights of Wallerstätten stood there as of yore.
When she went into the dining-hall, everything looked bare and empty. The portraits of ancestors had been taken from the walls and the glinting pewter plates and goblets were gone from the large oaken sideboard. Mrs. Maxa shook her head.
Going up the stairs, she decided first of all to go to the Baron's rooms, for she wondered what care he was receiving. Rigid with consternation, she stopped under the doorway. What a room it was! Not the tiniest picture was on the wall and not a single small rug lay on the uneven boards. Nothing but an empty bedstead, an old wicker chair and a table which had plainly been dragged there from the servants' quarters, comprised the furniture. Mrs. Maxa looked again to make sure that it was really the Baron's room. There was no doubt of it, it was the balcony room in the tower. Where did the Baron sleep?
As the sight proved more than she could bear, she quickly sought the late Baroness' chamber. Here, too, everything was empty and the red plush-covered chairs and the sofa in the corner over which all the pictures of the children used to hang were gone. Only an empty bedstead stood in the corner.
Mrs. Maxa went next to Leonore's room, which used to be extremely pretty. Lovely pictures used to hang on the walls, chairs covered in light blue silk were standing about, a half-rounded bed was placed in a corner, and she remembered the dearest little desk on which two flower vases, always filled with fresh roses, used to stand. Mrs. Maxa did not even go in this time, it was too horribly forlorn. The only thing which still spoke of old times was the wallpaper with the tiny red and blue flowers. She quickly went out. Throwing a single glance at the large ball-room, she likened it to a dreary desert. Not a curtain, not a chair or painting could be seen. Where could all the valuable damask-covered furniture have gone to? Was it possible that the castle had been robbed and no one knew of it?
It was probable, however, that Mr. Trius did not know about anything, and it was plain that the Baron himself had not troubled about these things. Mrs. Maxa hurriedly went back to him.
"To what a dreary home you have come back, my poor friend!" she cried out, "and I know that your mother never wished you to find it like this. How unhappy you must have felt when you entered these walls after so many years! You cannot help feeling miserable here, and it is all quite incomprehensible to me."
"Not to me," the Baron quietly replied; "I somehow felt it had to be that way. Did I value my home before? It is a just retribution to me to find the place so empty and forlorn. I only returned to die here and I can await death in daytime on my chair out here and at night time in my nest. I need nothing further; but death has not come as quickly as I thought it would. Why are you trying to bring me back to life again?"
"This is what I decidedly mean to do, so we shall banish the subject of death from now on, as I confidently believe that our Lord in Heaven has other plans for you," Mrs. Maxa said decisively. "I can see for myself that it is better for Leonore to stay with us, and I am ever so happy for your permission. May I write the ladies in Hanover that you do not want Leonore to be fetched away for the present?"
The Baron heartily gave this permission.
"I have to trouble you for one thing, Baron. Can you remember Apollonie, who was for many years your most faithful servant?"
The Baron smilingly answered, "Of course I remember her. How could I possibly forget Apollonie, who was always ready to help us in everything. Your little daughter has already given me news of her."
"She is the only one who might know what happened to the furniture," Mrs. Maxa continued. "I am going to see her right away, and I wish you would admit her when she comes. In case the place has really been robbed, you must let me get what you require. Nobody is looking after you and you stand sorely in need of good care. I am quite sure that your mother would like me to look after you. Do you not think so?"
"I do," the Baron replied smilingly, "and I feel that I ought to be obedient."
After these words Mrs. Maxa took her leave and rapidly walked down the mountain.
She unexpectedly entered Apollonie's garden while the latter was working there, and immediately described to her the terrible state of things at the castle. She had always believed that the Baron would find it home-like and furnished, and now everything was gone, and he had not even a bed to sleep in, but was obliged to spend both day and night in his chair.
Apollonie had been wringing her hands all the time and broke out at last bitterly, "How could I have foreseen that? Oh, what a Turk, what a savage, what an old heathen that miserable Trius is," she sobbed, full of rage and grief. "I understand now why he never answered my questions. I have asked him many a time if he had taken out the right bed and was using the things belonging to it which were marked with a blue crown in the corners. He only used to grin at me and never said a word. He never even looked for them and calmly let my poor sick Baron suffer. Nothing is missing, not even the tiniest picture or trifle, and he had to come back to a terrible waste! All my sleepless nights were not in vain, but I had not the slightest idea that it could be as bad as that. The worst of it is that it is my fault.
"Yes, it really is all my fault, Mrs. Maxa," and Apollonie went on to tell how this had come about. Baron Bruno had only heard the news of his brother's marriage and his mother's death when he returned the first time years ago. He left again immediately, and she was quite sure that he did not intend to return for a long while. As no one had lived at the castle for so long, she had decided to put all the beautiful things safely away, in order to keep them from ruin and possible thieves. So she had stored them in the attic, wrapped in sheets, and had locked the place up. Apollonie had never doubted that she would be called to the castle as soon as the Baron returned, for she belonged there as of old and occupied the little gardener's cottage belonging to it. But her dreams were not to come true.
"I must go to him this minute," gasped Apollonie; she had spoken rapidly and with intense excitement. "I want to fix my master's room to-day. I am sure I can do it, for all the furniture from the different rooms is marked and grouped together. But shall I be let in? The horrible stubborn old watchman always keeps me out."
But Mrs. Maxa was able to quiet her on that score by the Baron's recent promise, and she even urged Apollonie to start directly. The Baron should be told of the situation and have a bed prepared for him that night. After this Mrs. Maxa left.
Leonore, knowing where the mother had gone, flew to meet her when she saw her coming.
"Did he give you the address, Aunt Maxa," she asked expectantly.
"He means to let you know when he has traced it."
This seemed quite hopeful to Leonore, and she was glad to be able to give her brother this news. Mrs. Maxa herself lost no time in writing to the ladies in Hanover that Leonore's uncle had returned and wished to keep her near him.
Apollonie was meanwhile getting ready for her walk. Her agitation was so great that she took rather long in getting ready. Her toilet finally completed, she hurried up the incline with astonishing ease, for the hope of being admitted to the castle made her feel at least ten years younger, though she still had some doubts whether the door would be opened for her; On her arrival she pulled the bell-rope. Mr. Trius appeared, quietly opened and silently walked away again. Apollonie, who knew from Mäzli where the master was, went towards the terrace. When she saw the sick man, she was completely overcome by memories of former times. She only said shakily, "Oh, Baron, Baron! I cannot bear this! It is my fault that you have no proper room or bed! And ill and suffering as you are!" Apollonie could get no further for sobs and tears.
The Baron shook her hand kindly. "What is the matter, Mrs. Apollonie? We have always been good friends. What do you mean?"
He then heard from Apollonie that it had been the Baroness' wish to leave the whole house unchanged on account of his possible return. Apollonie frankly admitted that she had only moved the things away to keep them from being ruined and had naturally counted on putting every object back again as soon as he came back, for she remembered where every pin-cushion and tiny picture belonged. She begged the Baron's permission to let her fix his room to-day, another one the day after, and so on till the castle looked again as his mother had wished it to be.
The Baron replied that Apollonie could do whatever she chose, adding that he trusted her entirely.
Her heart was filled with joy as she ran towards the attic. She came down soon afterwards laden with blankets, sheets and pillows, only to go up again for a new load. This went on for a couple of hours, and between times she set the manifold objects in order. How gladly she put up the heavy hangings in the Baron's room. She knew how he had always loved the beautiful red color which dimmed the bright sunlight. Apollonie stood still in the middle of the room and looked about her. Everything was there down to the two pen-holders the Baron had last been using, which were on the big shell of the bronze inkstand. Beside them lay a black pen-wiper with red and white roses which Miss Leonore herself had embroidered. The cover was half turned back and the snow-white bed with the high pillows was ready to receive the sick man. Over the bed hung a little picture of his mother, which had been there since his boyhood, and Apollonie had also remembered every other detail. When she went down to the terrace, a cool evening breeze was already blowing through the branches of the pine tree.
"Everything is ready, Baron," she said; "we are going to carry you up together, because Mr. Trius can't do it alone. I am sure you will sleep well to-night."
"Where do you want to take me?" the Baron asked, surprised. "I am quite comfortable able here."
"No, no, Baron, it is getting too cool for you here. Your room is a better place at this hour; your mother would have wished it, I am sure. Will you allow me to call Mr. Trius?"
"I'll have to give in, I suppose," the Baron acquiesced.
Mr. Trius was already on the spot, for he was blessed with splendid hearing.
"You are to carry me up," said the Baron. "Apollonie will show you how it is done."
Apollonie immediately seized him firmly about the waist.
"You do the same, Mr. Trius," she said; "then please, Baron, put one arm about his neck and one around mine. We shall clasp hands under your feet and lift you up."
In the most easy, comfortable way the Baron was lifted and carried to his chamber and placed on the fresh bed. Leaning back on the easy pillows, he looked about him.
"How charming it is," he said, letting his glance rest here and there. "You have brought everything back, Mrs. Apollonie, and have made it look the way it was years ago."
"Make things comfortable for him for the night now," Apollonie whispered to Mr. Trius, leaving the room to repair to the kitchen.
"Gracious heavens! what disorder," she cried out on entering, for the whole place was covered with dust and spider-webs. Opening a cupboard, she saw only a loaf of bread and a couple of eggs, and this was all she was able to find even on further search.
"What a wretch!" she cried out in bitter rage. "He seems to give his master nothing but eggs. But I know what I'll do," she said to herself, eagerly seeking for a key, which she discovered, as of old, on a rusty nail. Next she repaired to the cellar where she quickly found what she was after; the bottle stood in sore need of cleaning, however, as did everything else she touched. Then she set about beating two eggs, adding a glass of the strengthening wine, for she had vividly recollected how much her master used to enjoy this. When she entered his room with this concoction a little later, the odor from it was so inviting that the Baron breathed it in gratefully. Mr. Trius had left the room and Apollonie had put the empty cup away, and yet she kept on setting trifles in order.
"Oh, Baron," she said finally, "there is so much to do still. I saw the kitchen just now. If the Baroness had seen it as dirty as that, what would she have said? And every other place is the same. I feel as if I couldn't rest till everything is set in order. I wish I could work all night!"
"No, no, Apollonie! You must have a good night's rest; I intend to sleep, too, in this lovely bed," he said smilingly. "Would you like to live here again and undertake the management of the castle?"
Apollonie stared at her master at first as if she could not comprehend his words.
"Tell me what you think of it? Are you willing to do it?" he asked again.
"Am I willing? am I willing? Oh, Baron, of course I am, and you cannot know how happy I am," she cried out with frank delight. "I can come to-morrow morning, Baron, to-morrow, but now—I wonder what you'll say. You see, I am living with my daughter's child, who is twelve years old. She is a very good child, but is scarcely old enough yet to help much in the house and garden."
"How splendid! When Apollonie will be too old to do the work, we shall have a young one to carry it on," said the Baron. "When you move up here tomorrow, you will know which quarters to choose for yourself, I know."
The Baron sank back with evident comfort into his pillows, and Apollonie wandered home with a heart overflowing with happiness. At the first rays of the sun next morning she was already in front of her cottage, packing only the most necessary things for herself and the child into a cart, as she intended to fetch the rest of them later. Loneli had just heard the great news, because she had been asleep when her grandmother returned the night before. She was so absolutely overcome by the prospect of becoming an inmate of the castle that she stood still in the middle of the little chamber.
"Come, come," the grandmother urged, "we have no time for wondering, as we shall have to be busy all day."
"What will Kurt and Mea say?" was Loneli's first exclamation. She would have loved to run over to them right away, for whenever anything happened to her she always felt the wish to tell her two best friends.
"Yes, and think what Mrs. Rector will say," Apollonie added. "But let us quickly finish up here, for we must get to the castle as soon as possible. You are not going to school for the next two days and on Sunday I hope to be all done."
Apollonie rapidly tied up her bundle and locked the cottage door. Then quickly setting out, they did not stop till they had reached the iron-grated door. Mr. Trius, after letting them wait a while, appeared with dragging steps.
"Why not before daybreak?" he growled.
"Because you might have been still in bed and could not have unlocked the door. But for that I should have come then," Apollonie quickly retorted.
So he silently led the way, for he had had to realize that Apollonie was not in the least backward now that she had the master's full support. She first sought out her old chamber, and Loneli was extremely puzzled to see her grandmother wiping her eyes over and over again. The whole thing was like a beautiful fairy story to the child, and she loved the charming room with the dark wainscoting along the wall.
But Apollonie did not indulge very long in dreams and memories. Soon after, she was making war on the fine spider-webs in the kitchen, and in a couple of hours it already looked livable and cosy there. Mr. Trius smiled quite pleasantly when he entered, as he was just on the point of brewing himself and his master a cup of coffee. The only thing he usually added was a piece of dry bread, as he was too lazy to get milk and butter from the neighboring farmers, and his master had never asked for either. The steaming coffee and hot milk and the fresh white bread Apollonie had prepared looked very appetizing to him. The wooden benches were clean scrubbed, and he didn't object to absence of the annoying spider-webs, which had always tickled his nose.
Apollonie, pouring the fragrant beverage into a large cup, politely invited Mr. Trius to take his seat at the table. He could not help enjoying the meal and the new order of things in the kitchen. Apollonie now prepared the breakfast tray, setting on it the good old china that the Baroness had always used. She had put a plate with round butter-balls beside the steaming coffee-pot, and fresh round rolls peeped invitingly from an old-fashioned little china basket.
When Apollonie came to her master's room, he exclaimed, "Oh, how good this looks! Just like old times."
At first he thought that even looking at it would do him good, but Apollonie did not agree with him.
"Please take a little, Baron," she begged him, "otherwise your strength will not come back. Take a little bit at first and gradually more and more. I know you will like the butter. Loneli got it at the best farm hereabouts."
After tasting a little the Baron was surprised how good it was.
When her master was comfortably sitting in the lovely morning sun, Apollonie fetched Loneli out. She wanted the child to thank him for receiving her into his house. Now the great task of cleaning and moving began, and it took a whole day of feverish activity to get the rooms in the castle settled. Only at meal times was this interrupted, for Apollonie did not look at this as a minor matter, and she carefully planned what to give her master.
For Mr. Trius she had to consider the quantity, for he seemed to have an excellent appetite and clearly enjoyed coming to the neat-looking kitchen. He had begun to show his gratitude to Apollonie by willingly carrying the heavy furniture about.
Two days had passed in uninterrupted work, and Apollonie had accomplished what she had set out to do. When she brought her master his breakfast on Sunday, she stood irresolutely holding the doorknob in her hand.
"Have you something to tell me Apollonie? You certainly can't complain that I don't appreciate your delicious coffee. Just look at the progress I am making."
With comical seriousness the Baron pointed to the empty cup and the sole remaining roll.
"God be thanked and praised for that," she said joyfully. "I shall tell you because you asked me. I wonder if you would give me a little Sunday pleasure by inspecting all the rooms. I have your chair already at the door."
After the great work Apollonie had done, his only objection was that she desired something which meant pleasure for him and labour for her. But he was willing enough to be put into the heavy wheel-chair.
"It is wonderful what you have done, Apollonie," he concluded. "You seem to have even changed Mr. Trius from an old bear into an obedient lamb."
Soon after, the Baron sat propped up in his wheel-chair. Here, guided by Apollonie, he was taken first of all to the large ball-room, which had witnessed all the happy gatherings of the family and their friends. It actually glistened in its renewed splendor, and the Baron silently looked about him. The tower room, which had been his brother Salo's abode, was inspected next, and again the Baron uttered no word. Beautiful portraits of his ancestors adorned these walls, and he recalled how Salo had loved them.
Apollonie moved next to the room of the Baroness where every object was in its place again. The faithful servant noticed how her master's glances drank it all in and as they remained he still showed no desire to leave.
"My mother was sitting in this arm-chair when I last spoke to her," he said at last, "and this red pin cushion was lying on the table before her. I remember standing there and playing with the pins, and I can recall every word she said. Don't carry me down to-day, Mrs. Apollonie," he continued after a pause, "I want to spend my Sunday here. I am glad there are no more empty rooms to flee from."
Apollonie was more gratified than she could say that her master was beginning to feel at home and hoped that it would soon become dear to him. She wanted him to see also Leonore's bright and cheerful room, which the Baroness had had furnished in the daintiest way, and was unable to suppress her wish. "Please, Baron, take one more small trip with me," she begged. "We can soon come back here."
As he raised no objection, they set out. Through the wide-open windows of the room the woods could be seen. Flocks of gay birds sat carolling on the luxuriant branches of the fir trees, and their songs filled the room with laughter. The Baron let his gaze roam out to the trees with their merry minstrels and back again to the pleasant chamber.
"You have accomplished miracles, Mrs. Apollonie," he cried out. "It only took you two days to change this mournful cave into a pleasant abode where young people could be happy. Please take me back to my mother's room now and come to me as soon as you find time, for I have something to talk over with you."
An interview lasting a considerable time took place that afternoon. Loneli had been thinking about Kurt and Mea while she was wandering happily up and down the terrace, and she wondered how soon they would hear of the great event. She was very anxious for them to pay her a visit, for which she was already making plans.
When Loneli came back from her stroll, she saw her grandmother sitting on the window-seat, sobbing violently.
"But grandmother, why are you crying? Everything is so wonderful here, and all the birds outside are singing."
"I am singing with them in my heart, child; these tears are tears of joy," said the grandmother. "Sit down, Loneli, and I'll tell you what is going to happen to-morrow. I feel as if this happiness was too much for me, Loneli." Apollonie was once more swept away by emotion, and it took her a little time before she could tell Loneli the wonderful news.
On this day it was so quiet in Mrs. Maxa's garden, that it hardly seemed as if the whole family was gathered in the vine-covered gardens. The thought of its being Leonore's last Sunday kept them from being gay, despite the fact that they were playing a game which they usually enjoyed. The mother's thoughts were wandering, too, for she had waited all day to get news from the castle. Wondering what this meant, Mrs. Maxa found it difficult to keep her attention on the children. Mäzli undertook a little stroll from time to time, for her companions depressed her very much. She had been to see Kathy, who was sitting near the house-door, and had chatted occasionally with the passers, but now she returned carrying a letter.
"A boy brought it, and Kathy asked him from whom it was, but he didn't know," she explained.
"Give it to me, Mäzli," said the mother. "It is addressed to Leonore, though," she added, a bit frightened, "but—"
Leonore put both hands up to her face. "Please read it, Aunt Maxa, I can't."
"You need not be frightened, children," she said quickly, with a joyful flush on her cheeks. "Listen! As the Castle-Steward wants to see his two young friends, Leonore and Mäzli, again, he invites them, with the rest of the family, including the mother, to spend the following day at Castle Wildenstein."
"I am glad," said Mäzli rapidly, "then Kurt can see that the Castle-Steward and Mr. Trius are two people."
The children had been entirely taken aback by fright, which turned into surprise, but they began to shout joyfully now, for the prospect of being invited to the castle was an event nobody could have predicted. For years they had only seen the mysterious shuttered doors and windows, and it was no wonder that they were delighted. Mea had heartily voiced her delight with the others till she noticed that Leonore had become very quiet and melancholy.
"But, Leonore," she exclaimed, "why don't you look forward to the lovely day we are going to have? I can't imagine anything nicer than to be able to inspect the whole castle."
"I can't," Leonore replied. "I know too well that everything will be over after that day, and I may even never see you any more."
Poor Mea was deeply affected by these words, and immediately her joy had flown. It was rather difficult to quiet everybody down in bed that night and even when Kurt had gone to sleep he uttered strange triumphant exclamations, for in his dreams the boy had climbed to the top of the highest battlement.
At ten o'clock next morning all the children were ready to leave and had formed a regular procession. Bruno and Kurt had placed themselves at the head and were only waiting for their mother.
Now the two boys started off at such a rate that no one else could keep up with them, so the mother appointed Leonore and Mea as guides, and herself followed with Mäzli. She firmly held the little girl's hand, for there was no telling what she might undertake otherwise, and the less independent Lippo held his mother's other hand, so that the two older brothers were obliged to accommodate their steps to the rest. But Kurt, simply bursting with impatience, dashed ahead once, only to drop behind again; later on he would appear from behind a hedge. Lippo simply could not stand such disorder, and to even up the pairs he took Bruno's hand. When they reached the familiar iron-grated door at last, to their surprise both wings of it were thrown open.