CHAPTER VII.
Itwas a very grave and tear-bedimmed little lad who sat on his guardian’s knee. It had been a gentle but earnest talk which had caused the tears; and somehow the boy understood well just what it was in his behavior which had so troubled Fritzy Nunky’s heart, “down deep.”
The trouble had not been just the same as that one about the untruth; but it had come nearest to that of any emotion the dear face had ever shown.
“You see, don’t you, little man?”
“Yes—I see,” Fritz made answer, between those long, swelling sobs which are so distressing to the child lover. “It’s this here way: I am a good boy, and you know I am a good boy. An’ you want these new folks to know I ain’t a reg’lar fighter, but I’m pretty good. But you see, it don’t—it isn’t—I couldn’t,—well, I couldn’t just help pitchin’ into that Melville. Ididn’t do it for ugly, but I couldn’t ’pear to help it, nohow! I hope I don’t want to do it again; but if I do, how’m I goin’ to help it? It’s the quickness inside of me that makes my fists go double up. It isn’t—me!”
“How, then, art thou going to prove to these kinsfolk that it isn’t ‘me?’ I fear the dear grandmother thinks it is the real ‘me’; and I am sure the Aunt Ruth does.”
“But can’t you make her understand diff’runt? Couldn’t you tell her how good I am, Fritzy Nunky?” asked the unhappy child, coaxingly.
“Be sure I will do that. But how am I to make it seem real to her? Thou wilt have to make her understand that—I cannot. Fritzy Nunky does know about the good heart, and the fair intentions; but if they do not show on the outside, what then?”
The question was too deep for little Fritz. He waived it, asking another:—
“Who is the ‘Witch of Endor?’ I ain’t a-going to fight her no more, you bet!”
Uncle Fritz smiled, but not very happily. “She was a very wise old lady who lived inancient times.” Then, thinking to disabuse the lad’s mind of mistaken notions, he added: “She must have been a kindly soul, too; for when the King Saul,—a man who fought, and intended to fight, so was not like my boy,—when this fighting king came to her, though she was afraid he would kill her, yet she made him a dinner of her fatted calf and a wheaten cake.”
“Calf? That’s veal, isn’t it? Suppose it was a veal pot-pie, like Aunt Ruth had for dinner?”
“Maybe.”
“Must ha’ been good! And did the fighter have her ‘to pay?’”
Poor Uncle Fritz laughed. Then he enlarged upon the good qualities of the ancient dame with “the familiar spirit,” hoping to arouse some liking for her in his nephew’s breast, and craftily leading the child on to understand that all these excellent things were repeated and strengthened in the present person of Mrs. Margaret Capers.
“But if she was so good, why do you still have her ‘to pay?’”
“Because I am a foolish man. I use wordsand expressions that I should not. I get vexed when things go wrong, and then I feel I must say something. That expression which has so misled you came most natural; and now, indeed, I do have ‘to pay’ by seeing what a muddle I have led you into.”
There was much more of this talk, during which the guardian did not exempt himself from a generous share of the blame. If he had “had more wisdom” his charges would have made a better showing on their first appearance at their new home, and not have appeared so much like a lot of “untrained savages.” Consequently, their reception would have been more cordial.
For it must be confessed that the friendly Aunt Ruth had not treated her younger nephew with much consideration after his second pugilistic exploit. She did not care to have history repeat itself in that way. It was one thing when the victim was that exasperating Melville, and quite another when a frail old lady was the sufferer. She had not said very much, and therein congratulated herself for being unusually prudent; but, as Fritz had expressed it, “she had looked withher eyes” in a way that meant volumes, and “talking eyes” had been the one thing he had ever feared most. Uncle Fritz “talked eyes” when he was the most deeply aggrieved; and little Fritz found it most unpleasant to have an American relative addicted to the same bad habit.
She came into the room just then and there, and, seeing the two Fritzes in such confidential discussion, would have speedily withdrawn, had not the gentleman risen and begged her to remain. It was as good a time as another to explain how matters really were.
So Aunt Ruth sat down and listened patiently; but with an unbelieving manner which hurt the kindly German far more than she dreamed.
“Yes, I doubt not they are excellent children, as children go; but I have had little experience.”
Mr. Pickel smiled.
“Your tone indicates that you have still had all that you desire—”
“No, no; thee must not say that, nor think it,” interrupted the lady quickly. “They are my sister’s children. It is right that I should be bothered with them, as well as that thee shouldbe. Thee has certainly had thy share of their care.”
“Please do not look at it in that light, dear Fräulein. It is not the care that I dislike; indeed, that I never feel. It is that you and your mother should misjudge my children, and not understand how really good and delightful they are. Fritzy, now—” Here Ruth intercepted a grateful glance which the child raised to his uncle’s face, and could not fail to be touched by it. “Fritzy is a wonderfully obedient and honorable child.”
“Fritzy” began to prick up his ears; but he let them droop, so to speak, at sound of his aunt’s expressive “Humph!” But he was very tired of the whole subject, and longed to make an end of it. It was already afternoon of that day which had opened with such bright anticipations of a new donkey friendship, and all he had been able to accomplish in the way of it was to stand sorrowfully in the doorway of the passage, where Uncle Fritz had bidden him remain, and sigh in sympathy with Don’s mournful bray. At that very moment the echo of it came to their ears,and the boy left his uncle to walk to the window and look out.
Young as he was, Fritzy still hated to make promises, for he had already learned by observation that it is a very difficult matter to keep them. But he suddenly determined to run the risk of one, thinking by that means to cut short this wearisome talk and his own imprisonment, as well as bring back the right kind of a smile to his pretty aunt’s face. So he walked toward her, watching her eyes intently, and was relieved to find them “talking” no longer, or only in a gentle way.
“Aunt Ruth, I won’t never fight anybody any more. Truly, never.”
“That is a rash thing to say, Fritzy; how about the ‘quickness inside of you?’” asked his guardian, cautiously.
“Oh, I s’pose it’ll bother me like ginger; but if I say I won’t, I won’t; will I, uncle?”
“I think he is to be trusted, Fräulein,” testified that witness.
Ruth stooped down and raised Fritzy to her lap.
“Listen, little one; we are Friends—Quakers—inthis household. Our yea is yea, and our nay, nay. Thee is Quaker, too, on thy mother’s side, and I am going to believe it is she who speaks through thee. Now thee may kiss me and go to Don.”
“I hope he will not be tempted to break his word,” commented Aunt Ruth, as the lad disappeared like a flash through the open doorway.
“He may be tempted, but he will not break it,” answered Uncle Fritz, quietly.
“Thee speaks strongly, and he is—such a child.”
“Because he is—sucha child, dear Fräulein. They are all dear and delightful, but little Fritz,—he is my one ‘sweet pickle.’”
Smiling at this very evident truth, Aunt Ruth, with a greatly relieved heart, followed “little Fritz.”