WALTER AND MOTHER BOPP."Women are soft, mild, pitiable, flexible;But thou art obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless."
WALTER AND MOTHER BOPP.
"Women are soft, mild, pitiable, flexible;But thou art obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless."
Clearand bright rose the sun on the following morning. The birds warbled, and the mowers were whetting their scythes in the fields. A butcher's boy from the town, occupied in the business of his master, was going, accompanied by his large dog, to the neighboring village, and thought it best to take the short cut through the meadow. But the dog suddenly ran to the little copse of hazel-bushes, shoved his shaggy head deep in among the leaves, growled, and then sprang barking back to his master, rapidly bounded off again to the thicket, and did everything in his power to awaken the attention of his owner.
"Something must certainly be in there," thought the boy, as he hurried to the spot where the dog was still standing and barking, to see if he could discover anything. He drew the branches asunder, looked carefully around him, and at last saw a sleeping child.
"What can be the meaning of all this?" he muttered to himself, as he pressed into the thicket. "The deuce take me if it isn't a poor forsaken child! There seems to be a card or a letter pinned upon his breast. The mother who could do such a wicked thing must have had the heart of a vulture! What a beautiful little fellow! Can the poor little rascal have spent the whole night here? I suppose he has, for he looks blue and frozen with the cold! What am I to do with him? If he should waken up and cry, it would drive me crazy, for I am sure I wouldn't know how to quiet him. Oh! now I know what to do with him! I will run back to the town and tell the squire about it, for the child is lying between his two fields; he has plenty, and will take care of him. I will leave my piece of bread close by him, lest he should wakenup and cry for hunger. Now I must be off, for I have no time to lose!"
The boy soon carried his design into execution. The information that a child, a foundling, had been left upon his land, in the hazel-bushes which separated his meadows from his grain-fields, was given to the squire as he sat at breakfast. The squire frowned, and wanted to hear nothing more about the infant who had been placed upon his farm. In the mean while, some of the people of the town, and some of the servants of the squire, were sent out to see what the truth of the matter really was.
Mayor, squire, and magistrates were soon assembled in the council hall, to draw up a record, and to consider what it was best, under the circumstances, to do. The sheriff held the foundling in his arms, and the little fellow looked around him as if quite unconcerned about the matter, while he was busily employed in consuming the hard piece of brown bread which had been given to him by the good-hearted butcher's boy.
The child was stripped, in accordance withthe command of the squire, in order that the letter, which was firmly sewed to his dress, might be more conveniently read, and also to ascertain if any distinctive mark could be found upon his body. The boy was clad in a dark woollen frock, whose color had become almost undiscernible through constant use, and a fine linen-cambric shirt, without any mark. A little round locket of some worthless metal was fastened round his neck with a silken cord, but all attempts to open the lid were in vain. Either it was not made to open, or the spring which closed it was so hidden that none but those already in the secret could find it out. This little locket gave rise to the supposition that, although the boy seemed, at the present moment, to be utterly forsaken, yet those who had deserted him still preserved a wish to be able to identify him at some future period of his life.
The letter was very badly written, and read as follows:—
"My name it is Walter.Though still very young,I have known want and care,As to you I have sung;Whoe'er will receive meWill not be ashamed,If once in his hearingMy lineage is named.My parents are dead,They sleep sound in the grave:Alone they have left me,Strange sufferings to brave.I dare say nothing further:Yet pity my grief,Help me in my sorrow,And yield me relief!O, shelter me, women!And harbor me, men!O, save me from famine!In God's name,—Amen!"
"My name it is Walter.Though still very young,I have known want and care,As to you I have sung;Whoe'er will receive meWill not be ashamed,If once in his hearingMy lineage is named.My parents are dead,They sleep sound in the grave:Alone they have left me,Strange sufferings to brave.I dare say nothing further:Yet pity my grief,Help me in my sorrow,And yield me relief!O, shelter me, women!And harbor me, men!O, save me from famine!In God's name,—Amen!"
"My name it is Walter.
Though still very young,
I have known want and care,
As to you I have sung;
Whoe'er will receive me
Will not be ashamed,
If once in his hearing
My lineage is named.
My parents are dead,
They sleep sound in the grave:
Alone they have left me,
Strange sufferings to brave.
I dare say nothing further:
Yet pity my grief,
Help me in my sorrow,
And yield me relief!
O, shelter me, women!
And harbor me, men!
O, save me from famine!
In God's name,—Amen!"
Mayor, squire, and magistrates looked inquiringly at each other. Many guesses were made, many suppositions proposed to solve the mystery, and the most searching inquiries were to be immediately instituted, with a view of finding out who had been guilty of exposing the unfortunate boy to the solitude and darkness of the past night. In the mean time, it was determined that the child should be taken care of, and, after a protracted discussion,it was finally resolved that he should be boarded with one of the poor families of the village, and that his expenses should be paid out of the revenues of the town. The people were then called together, in order to make them acquainted with the occurrences which we have just related, and the boy was finally apprenticed to the one who was willing to take him at the lowest rate. The town-fiddler, Bopp, had offered to feed and clothe him for so small a sum, that the poor foundling, utterly unconscious of how destiny was disposing of him, was given over to his charge. As he took the helpless infant in his arms, to carry it home to its new brothers and sisters, it grasped his hand with its tiny fingers, and smiled friendlily in his face.
"Maggie! don't pound so with your feet, for you shake the table so that my writing is blotted, and my letters all humpbacked!" said Conrad, gruffly, to his sister, who was sitting beside him.
"What has the pounding of my feet to do with the shape of your letters, I should liketo know?" answered Maggie. "I can't help doing it, at any rate; I must beat the time when father plays, it helps me on with my knitting. If you would only be more careful, you would write better. Look here, what a long piece I have knit in my stocking!"
With a rapid movement, she held her long blue stocking up immediately in front of her brother's face; but as she did so, she awkwardly gave a great push to his elbow, and so jostled his arm, that it drove the pen full of ink entirely across his copy-book, and spoiled the appearance of the whole page. Crimson with rage, the boy gave the little girl a violent box upon the ears. Maggie shrieked loudly, and tried to revenge herself in the same way. Thus a fierce battle began at the table, round which the children were engaged in their studies. Not far from it two fat, ruddy little boys were playing with the black house-cat. Conrad and Maggie had wrestled and struggled forward until they were close upon the little ones; Maggie stumbled over the cat, and fell upon her little brothers. The children screamed, the cat yelled, so that the baby inthe cradle was waked up, and soon added his cries to the general uproar. Quite undisturbed by all this frightful tumult, Father Bopp stood tranquilly at the window, and practised a dance upon the clarionet.
He was a little, slender man, and blew with his cheeks puffed out into his instrument. His tailor-work, the signs of his daily occupation, hung upon the wall, between his fiddles and horns. He was so accustomed to the noise of the children, that he continued his practising without appearing in the least disturbed by their deafening din. As tranquil as the musician himself, as undisturbed by all that was going on in the dark, dirty room, a beautiful little boy of about five years old sat quietly at his feet. With his large, dark eyes fastened upon the face of the father, his bare legs doubled up under him, he supported himself, half reclining, upon his left hand, while with the right he beat the time lightly, but accurately, upon his naked knee. He was wretchedly clothed; his torn coat of dark-blue linsey was a great deal too short, and, as it had neither buttons nor hooks to keep ittogether, it gaped widely in front, exposing his breast and shoulders to view, whose soft forms shone in their warm brown tints. His dark, full curls fell uncombed and uncared for over his rounded forehead and blooming face.
"Potz tausend! Odds bodikins! What a noise you are making there!" called the mother from the adjoining kitchen. In the same moment she made her appearance at the smoky door. She was a stout, strong woman, her thick and coarse blond hair fell in uncombed masses from what had once been a black velvet cap, but which had now assumed a gray tint from age and constant wear. A gray petticoat, a long red jacket, a red and black plaid neck-handkerchief, and a blue cotton apron, completed the costume of the mother, whose clothing, as well as her full, red face, bore visible marks of the life of the kitchen. Armed with a broom, she sprang into the sitting-room, and brandished it over the heads of the children, who were still tumbling about upon the floor.
"Will you be quiet, you noisy brats?" she loudly cried. "Get up from the floor,instantly! What has happened? O, do quit that everlasting blowing upon the clarionet, man! It is impossible to hear one's own voice with such an incessant clatter! Which of you began it?"
"Conrad struck me!" screamed Maggie.
"Maggie pushed my elbow when I was writing, and I shall be kept in for it to-morrow!"
"They both fell over me, and the cat scratched me!"
"They hurt my foot!"
"They knocked me in the head!"
Thus the children cried and screamed confusedly together, while the baby in the cradle shrieked until it lost its breath.
"Silence!" commanded the mother, accompanying her order with a heavy thump of the broom-handle upon the floor.
"What are you doing there, Walter?" she angrily cried. "Are you sitting there again, with your eyes and mouth wide open, staring at your noisy father, instead of rocking the cradle, as I ordered you to do? Wait, you little good-for-nothing,—I'll give it to you!"
With a single bound, she stood by the frightened boy, tore him up by the arms, slung him round with rude force, and then shook him fiercely. Then she dragged him to the corner in which the cradle stood, and, pushing him down by it, she said: "Sit here upon the floor, and don't stir a single inch; and don't let me hear a single tone, a single sound, from your ugly lips!"
She held her red fist, doubled up, threateningly before his eyes. The poor child pressed his lovely face closely upon the dirty floor, to try to stifle the loud sobs of pain which broke from his wounded body and his crushed spirit.
In the mean time the children had become more tranquil. Conrad was rubbing out the ugly stroke which marred the beauty of his copy-book; Maggie tried to take up the stitches which had fallen, when she pulled one of the needles out of the long blue stocking; and the two little boys had run into the kitchen to hunt the black cat, which had taken refuge under the table. The tailor-musician had put up his instrument in itsallotted place, put on his blue cloth roundabout, and, taking his hat from the nail, was blowing the dust off it, as he said lightly to his wife, who was trying to quiet the baby: "Listen to me, wife! Walter had nothing at all to do with the noise and screaming of the children; so don't be cross to him about it, will you?"
"What's that to you, I should like to know? Mind your own business, and don't meddle yourself in things that don't concern you. Stick to your needle and your fiddle: what do you know about children? That's my business; and, potz tausend! I should like to see the man who would dare to meddle in my affairs!"
"I am sure I have no wish to do it," said the crest-fallen little tailor, "but you must not abuse Walter; for although he is so very young, he can already play three dances upon the fife; in another year, I can take him about with me when I play at the balls; and thus he will soon be able to gain money for us all."
"Indeed!" cried the woman, scornfully. "He is a little miracle in your eyes! Butmark well what I say; if I don't keep your infant miracle in order, he'll soon become a monstrous good-for-nothing. Odds bodikins, but I intend to do it, too! Now go about your business at once, and don't bother me with any more of your ridiculous nonsense!"
The tailor looked compassionately at the poor, sobbing boy, shrugged his narrow shoulders, and, after an abrupt "good by," left the house.
Mother Bopp put the child in the cradle, ordered Walter to rock it and watch the baby, and told Maggie to set the table for supper. This command soon brought the still quarrelling brother and sister again together. They all bestirred themselves busily, shoved the heavy oaken table from the wall out into the middle of the room, and put stools and benches round it. Maggie set a tin salt-cellar upon it, and placed a large spoon near the salt. The four children took their seats at the table. The mother soon brought in a great earthen bowl, full of smoking potatoes, and put them on the table. She then seated herself in the arm-chair, and they all began to eat their supper.But Walter still remained alone on the floor in the corner, and rocked the cradle, while he eagerly breathed the vapor from the smoking potatoes, which soon spread itself through the low room.
A considerable time had elapsed, in which Maggie had often touched her mother's arm, and looked pleadingly and significantly towards Walter, but it had not produced the least effect upon Mother Bopp. Maggie had eaten very little herself, and two or three potatoes, which she had carefully selected, still lay before her, which she boldly protected against all Conrad's attempts to appropriate to himself. At last, Mother Bopp cried, "Walter!" and the boy hastened to her side.
"Will you always mind what I say to you? will you always do what I tell you to do, and never again lie, like a little idler, upon the floor?"
"Yes!" sobbed the boy, "I will never again forget to rock Johnny, even if my father should play upon the clarionet!"
"Well, then, if you will promise always to be good, I will punish you no more to-day.Sit down, then, and eat your supper, and mind that you begin no quarrelling with the children!"
Walter slipped quietly to the corner of the table, where Maggie made room for him, and secretly shoved before him the potatoes which she had so carefully chosen.
"See now," growled Conrad, "you can pick and peel potatoes enough for Walter, but I have to peel them for myself. Can't he peel them for himself as well as I can?"
"No, for you are a great deal larger than he is, and can peel two before he is ready with one; and you have already eaten a great many, and he is just beginning," answered his sister.
"But I will have these, too!" he cried, defiantly, and attempted to seize them.
Walter tried anxiously to cover his treasure with his little hands; Maggie helped him, but Conrad was strong, and soon again began to beat them. Mother Bopp, who had gone for a moment to the cradle, turned angrily round, and in a great passion cried, "What! fighting already? Who began it?"
"Conrad took my potatoes from me," said Walter, in a meek voice.
"The stupid little devil lies; they didn't belong to him at all, for Maggie peeled them!" screamed Conrad.
"I don't tell a lie," said Walter; "he did take them away from me."
"Walter is right; Conrad is both a thief and a liar!" asserted Maggie.
"Can it be possible that Walter is fighting again? That is too much to bear!" cried Mother Bopp in a rage. "Didn't I just tell you, you must be good, and that you must never fight again? You are a bad, wicked, troublesome fellow! Off,—off to bed with you! You shall not taste a single bite of anything to-night!"
"But, indeed, mother," interrupted Maggie, "it is not at all Walter's fault; Conrad—"
"Hold your tongue, miss!" cried Mother Bopp. "Much you know about right and wrong, to blame your own brother! You had better take care of yourself, or—"
The raised hand and threatening face explained sufficiently this mysterious "or."
Maggie sunk into a gloomy silence, and secretly wiped the tears from her eyes. Conrad made a triumphant face at her, and ate at his ease the peeled potatoes which he had so unjustly stolen from the foundling; and poor Walter, hungry and crying, stole to hide himself in his wretched bed.
It was very late; everybody had gone to rest, but Walter could not sleep. But when the rest of the family retired, he too, out of fear, pretended to go to sleep, but he could not do so; and as he restlessly tossed about upon his bed, the straw crackled under him. He thought he heard some one lightly calling his name. He sat up, and saw Maggie standing beside him, who asked him in a whisper, "Why don't you go to sleep?"
"Dear Maggie, I can't, I am so hungry!"
"I thought so, poor little fellow!" she answered compassionately. "Here, I picked up two potatoes while mother was in the kitchen, and slipped away a little bit of bread, too. Eat them, Walter! But take care that you don't let any crumbs fall in the bed; for if mother should find out to-morrow that youhave had anything to eat to-night, it would be bad enough for us both!"
"Dear, good, kind Maggie, thank you, thank you!" said the child, while he eagerly devoured the cold potatoes.
"Good night!" "Good night!" said the children to each other as they parted. Maggie slipped quietly back to her bed again; and after Walter had satisfied his hunger, he slumbered sweetly and quietly on until the morning dawned.
The scene which we have just sketched may serve to give some idea of the loving hearts to which the poor foundling had been intrusted. Mother Bopp had persuaded her husband, whom she completely ruled, to take the child, because she thought that, where so many children had to be fed, one mouth more would scarcely add anything to the necessary expenses, and that the little sum which the mayor, squire, and magistrates were willing to pay from the town revenues for his keeping would be very useful to her in various ways. In what manner she fulfilled the dutieswhich she had assumed for the deserted boy, we have already seen. At least, the "one mouth more added nothing to the additional expenses."
In spite of her cruelty, the boy was strong and healthy, and both in beauty and behaviour far surpassed the little Bopps. This was, however, only a new ground for her deep and intense hatred. Walter was maltreated, starved, and beaten. But, even if crying from pain and hunger, when Father Bopp commenced his daily practising upon his instruments, he would cease upon the very first tones, and, creeping close to the feet of the tailor, he would listen to him with the greatest apparent satisfaction. For this reason, the tailor-musician began to love the deserted boy even more than any of his own children, who never paid the least attention to his playing. This of course increased the hatred of Mother Bopp to the unfortunate orphan, and awakened the envy of her darling, the red-headed, noisy, wicked Conrad. Maggie had felt a tender compassion and real affection for the luckless child, from the first momentin which he had entered her home, a desolate but beautiful creature of about three years old. She cherished and protected him to the extent of her power.
The tailor began to give Walter lessons in music when he was only about five years old. He taught him upon a fife which was of the right size for his little hand, and he could soon play several dances tolerably well. It was his intention to render his progress as rapid as possible, and to teach him all the dances in common use, so that he might take him with him to play at fairs, parties, and wedding festivities. Mother Bopp had nothing to urge against it, because she saw that he would soon be able to earn some money in this way; but she always contradicted and battled with her husband, when he spoke of the astonishing talent which the child possessed, or expressed his astonishment at the rapidity of his progress. She said Conrad would have learned a great deal faster, if his father had only taken the trouble to have taught him. But, indeed, she thought it was better it should be so, for Conrad was far too smart to content himselfwith being nothing more than a town-fiddler. No, indeed! She had higher views for him: he should be a student. When such remarks were made by Mother Bopp, the tailor would heave a light sigh, and say, "Well, well, we'll see about that."
He never ventured to contradict his wife openly; but when it grew too stormy and uncomfortable for him at home, he used to go to the Golden Star, and drink his sorrows into forgetfulness. But when he came staggering back to the house, he had often the courage to express and maintain different opinions from those held by his wife. But she always got the upper hand in such contests, for she forcibly supported her right to tyrannize in her own province, and knew how to hold him under the most despotic petticoat government.
These vulgar scenes and low squabbles were the first impressions which the young spirit of Walter received. He loved the father and Maggie, and hated the mother and Conrad. When he was about seven years old, he could play the fiddle and fife almost as well as the tailor, and accompanied himeverywhere where his business called him. Indeed, the people soon refused to employ the old musician without the young one, which pleased the little tailor exceedingly, because it furnished him with an excuse to have Walter always with him. The squire himself had admired the skill of the foundling, and sent him a present of a violin as a Christmas gift, which made Walter so happy, that it enabled him to bear, almost unnoticed, the constant and provoking malice of Conrad.
So Walter, with the new fiddle which the squire had given him at Christmas, went everywhere with the tailor, and his happiest hours were spent far from the house of his tormentors. Without ever growing tired, he played away in the midst of dust and tobacco-smoke, laughed at the coarse jokes which occurred, drank off, without thinking, the brandy and strong beer which was handed to him; and when, through the stimulating effects of such draughts, his shyness and bashfulness vanished, and his vivid spirit manifested itself in droll jests and witty speeches, then old and young would crowd around him, admire hismusical talent, and laugh at his smart sayings; and the more impudent and spoiled he became, so much the more was he the petted darling of the farmers and mechanics.
Thus was Walter upon the high road to destruction; thus might he have become a complete good-for-nothing. But the stain of this spoiling by the inconsiderate populace was only upon the outer man; and his inner nature remained pure and unhurt, so that the evil vanished as soon as its cause was removed.
Notwithstanding the constant interruptions which occurred in his attendance at school, from which, at times of festivals and weddings, he was often absent for whole weeks together, as he was industrious and desirous of acquiring knowledge, he made rapid progress in his studies.
The praises and rewards given him by the different teachers in the school excited Conrad's envy to the highest degree, and greatly enraged Mother Bopp.
The yearly examinations had just ended. Among those who had taken the highestprizes Walter stood conspicuous. Conrad had obtained none. Walter stood, with his cheeks glowing with excitement, turning over the leaves in the books which he had just received, when the venerable pastor approached him, stroking, as if he were well pleased with him, his dark, clustering curls, and said to him: "I hope, my child, that you will win, next year, the prizes in the higher classes. But in order to render this possible, you must not lose so much time at school as you have done this year. Music, in the right time and place, is certainly a very good thing, my son; but you are now at the right age to acquire more extended and general knowledge, and the loss of proper schooling in our early years can never be replaced by any future application, however severe it may be. It is also high time that you should begin to study the Word of God; and if the director of the school continues to be as well satisfied with you as he is at present, I will take you under my own care, and myself instruct you in all necessary knowledge."
Walter's eyes sparkled with delight; anexclamation of grateful joy parted his rosy lips; he stammeringly promised to do all that would be required of him, and with both his little hands he trustingly pressed the hand of the pastor, who bade him a cordial good-by. He then turned to the tailor, and advised him not to keep the child from his school to go about to fairs and weddings with him, and thus prevent his otherwise certain progress in his studies. The tailor promised that he would do so no more, and then spoke of the genius of the boy for music, and of his own strong attachment to him.
Then they all left the school-room, and when they stood in the street before the door of the school, the elated tailor could contain himself no longer, but seized the boy in his arms, pressed him to his breast, and kissed him frequently, as he said, "You dear little fellow! I always knew you were a smart boy, and now I am sure you will do me credit some day or other."
In a very bad humor, Mother Bopp ran her elbows into his side, and wakened him, not very pleasantly, from his dreams of joy andhonor. He saw a dark storm lowering upon the threatening brow of his wife, and knew that, as soon as they were sheltered by the privacy of their own roof, a perfect avalanche of abusive words would flow from the bitter, firmly-closed, thin lips. Frightened at once into silence, he quietly slipped behind his angry spouse, and placed as many of the school-children as he could between himself and the ruffled dame. But as their way led through a back street, in which the glittering sign of the Golden Star enticingly hung, he slipped, unobserved, into the beloved precincts, in order to gain courage to face the tornado which he felt awaited him at home.
Poor little Walter was soon driven from the heaven which the praise of his teachers and the smiles of the venerable pastor had prepared for his heart. Conrad told his mother that Walter had made use of the meanest and most disgusting arts of hypocrisy and flattery to win the love of the teacher, and that it was entirely through unjust partiality that he had obtained the prizes, which all the boys in the school knew he did not deserve.
"Mean hypocrite!" cried the angry woman, "I'll teach you to play your low tricks upon us, you detestable viper! Do you really think I'll suffer you thus to impose upon my son, and not punish you for it? I don't care whether the schoolmaster or the parson does it, but it's infamous and scandalous that a miserable foundling, whom nobody knows anything about, nor in what jail or penitentiary his parents may now be stuck, should be preferred to the decent children of honest people!"
Walter's cheeks glowed like fire; he pressed his hands spasmodically together, while the lightning fairly flashed from his lustrous eye as he gazed angrily at the irritating woman. She well knew that there was nothing she could have said or done which would have wounded him as deeply as this stigma cast upon his unknown parents.
"Only look, mother!" said the malicious Conrad. "Look! Walter stares at you as if he were going to eat you up! He scorns and defies you, mother!"
"Does he? O, I know how to break himof that! I'll beat the life out of him, or I'll break his defiant temper!" said she, exasperated to perfect fury, while she slapped him again and again, with all her strength, in his face. "March into the room, sir! march! You sha'n't leave the house to-day! You sha'n't go to the school festival at all, sir! You are no fit companion for honest people's sons, you beggar's brat! The pastor shall know before the day is over what a mean, hypocritical, wicked, ungrateful boy you are!"
No expression altered in the lines of Walter's young face; he was so accustomed to abuse that he had long borne it with an air of calm and cold defiance. Without making any reply, he went quietly into the room, as he had been ordered, and concealed the rage boiling in his heart under an appearance of perfect indifference. He soon after took up his violin, and, as he played, peace and tranquillity returned to the tortured little breast.
Twilight began to darken into night, and the children had not yet returned from the school festival. Walter had played until hewas really tired, had put his violin down upon the table, and, with his head resting upon his arm, had sunk to sleep. When the tailor, half intoxicated, returned home, the customary scene of quarrelling was renewed. Walter was awakened by the noise; he listened, and heard the falling of the blows which the strong and vigorous woman was heaping upon the fragile little man whom he loved, and who had never said an unkind word to him since his entrance into the family. His heart bled for the poor tailor, and all the bitterness in his nature was aroused against the wicked woman who treated them both so cruelly.
"Wait a moment, wicked woman!" he murmured. "Conrad is not in the house to help you, and the father shall have the best of it to-day!"
With one rapid bound he was in the room, and fastened his arms round the feet of Mother Bopp, so that she might be thrown down, and thus forced to release her husband. She was surprised for a moment when she felt herself thus suddenly caught, but seeingimmediately that it was only Walter, she tried to push him away with her feet. With her left hand she grasped the little tailor by the throat, while with her right she brandished the yardstick. Again and again she struck him violently over the head and shoulders with it. Alas! Walter could endure it no longer! He seized the round and powerful arm, and fastened his sharp, snow-white teeth firmly in the solid flesh. She screamed loudly with the sudden pain, the yardstick sunk from her right hand, the left loosened its grasp from the throat of the tailor, and wreathed itself in the dark locks of the unfortunate boy. The tailor fell upon the floor, muttering words which were quite unintelligible. Walter had pulled his teeth out of the athletic arm, and the blood dropped down upon his head. He looked at it unaffrighted, nay, rather with a triumphant expression, and said,—
"You shall never beat my father again! I will never suffer you to do it again, never! I am growing taller and stronger every day, and I will henceforth always help him. You cannot treat me worse than you have hithertodone, unless you kill me outright. Do that if you dare; for if you do, you know you will be hanged!"
Actually struck dumb with astonishment and rage, the woman looked down upon the defiant little hero. Recovering herself, however, she seized him by the arm, dragged him to the front door, and, as she pushed him down the steps, cried after him,—
"Off with you! off with you, you good-for-nothing little rascal! Go and beg your bread where you can! If you ever dare to enter my house again, I'll strike you dead with a club, like a mad dog! I'll teach you to bite like a bloodhound!"
The heavy bolt fell jarringly in its place, and Walter stood in the street alone!
Soon after, the school-children, full of joyous prattle, began to return from their festival, and poor Walter hid himself, that they might not see him as they passed by. The moon looked calmly down upon the house from which he had just been driven. He had never known any home but this, and although he had spent many wretched days there, yetthe separation from it pained his heart. He said to himself, as the big tears rolled rapidly down his cheeks,—
"How many stories she will tell about me! The good pastor, who spoke so very kindly to me to-day, and my teacher,—oh! they will all learn to think so badly of me, for she will tell them all what a wicked, dreadful boy I am! But she might say of me all she could, if she would only stick to the truth. But she won't do that! Suppose I were to go myself to the pastor, and tell him how it all happened? But that would be of no use to me, for perhaps he would not believe me, and it would not bring me back to my home. Nothing would ever induce me to enter the house again! No, she shall never again have a chance to beat me like a mad dog! I need not beg either, as she says I must. I can support myself very well, if she would only let me have my fiddle! Ah! if Maggie had been there, she could have told the pastor that I only tried to help her father, because he is so much weaker than this strong, cruel woman!"
As these thoughts were passing through the mind of Walter, the door of the house was softly opened, and Maggie slipped noiselessly up the street, looking searchingly in every direction, and at last cried, with a suppressed voice,—
"Walter!"
"I am here!" answered the boy, and Maggie hastened to meet him.
"O Walter!" she said, "why have you treated my mother so badly? Her arm is very much swollen, and she suffers a great deal of pain!"
"I am not sorry," answered the boy; "I would like to leave her a long remembrance of Walter."
"Shame! shame! Walter, that is wicked!" scolded Maggie. "I never could have believed that you would have spoken in such a cruel manner. Do you not know that he who lifts up his hand against his father or mother stands near his own grave?"
"But she is not my mother at all; and you know she has always reviled me as a poor, miserable foundling. But, Maggie, you mustnot think that I bit her because she whipped me. She may say what she will about it, but I will tell you the truth. I ran in to help your father. Could I stand quietly by, and see him beaten with the hard, heavy yardstick? No! I could not bear it; for he is not strong enough to contend with her,—and he is so good and kind, and never likes to hurt anybody. You know I have borne calmly enough all her harsh treatment to myself, no matter how unjust and unkind she might be to me,—as she was this morning when I brought my school-prizes home, and she beat me; yet you know, Maggie, I never retaliated my wrongs upon her. But indeed I could not see the weak father so abused! Ah, dear Maggie! do not let them slander me! Tell the good pastor, and my kind schoolmaster, that I did not do it to defend myself from her blows, but only to help my poor, weak father!"
"Yes, yes, I will! I will indeed!" sobbed Maggie; "but what can you do for yourself, poor boy? Hide yourself anywhere you can to-night, and then come to-morrow and begmother's pardon, so that you can come home and live with us again!"
"Never! never!" said the boy, hastily. "I will never enter the door again! Your mother pushed me out, called me a dog, and threatened to knock me down dead with a club if I ever crossed her threshold again! She said I would have to beg my bread. Beg, indeed! I am far enough from that, I can tell you! If I only had my fiddle, I could take care of myself well enough, for I can play all the dances as well as anybody! Beg, indeed!"
"You are right," said Maggie. "You are a musician, and there is no reason you should be beaten and abused by anybody."
"Yes,—but without an instrument!" said Walter, sadly. "My fiddle, and the beautiful book that I got to-day in school, as a reward, are surely my own property; they lie both together in the chamber."
"Don't fret about them, Walter, for I will bring them both to you," said Maggie, soothingly. "Stay here in the shadow of the wall; as soon as mother goes to sleep, I will find them, and bring them to you. Here is apiece of bread; it is all I could find in the kitchen, and I have brought you a cake home from the school festival. Good-by! Don't grow weary waiting for my return; but if I don't go back now to the house, mother will miss me, and I may not be able to get out again."
girl holding a violin and giving a knapsack to a boyTHE YOUNG ARTIST.
THE YOUNG ARTIST.
THE YOUNG ARTIST.
Maggie hastened away, and the boy seated himself in the shadow of the wall, ate his bread and school-cake, and soon slept tranquilly upon the cold stones.
After a considerable time had elapsed, Maggie wakened him up; she had the treasured fiddle, and a little bundle in her hand.
"Here, poor boy, is your fiddle!" she sobbed; "I have tied your shirts and your book up in this bundle. The father sends you a thousand good-byes; he has somewhat recovered himself, and is very much distressed at your going away. But he thinks that when you get away from here, and mingle in the world, that you may become a great artist. He sends you the few pennies which he had by him, and begs that, when you go into the wide, wide world, you will not forget him, for that he will always love you. He whisperedthis secretly to me, when mother was in the kitchen, and our wicked Conrad in his chamber. Good-by! good-by, my dear, dear Walter! and don't forget Maggie in the wide, wide world!"
"Farewell, dearest Maggie! Stand by your father whenever they treat him badly. When I have grown to be a great artist, as the father says I will,--and you may be sure he must know something about it,--I will have plenty of money; and then you, Maggie, and the good father shall live with me, and I will try to reward you for all the kindness you have both shown me. But I cannot let your mother and Conrad live with me, for they are so bad that they would make us all unhappy; but I will give them plenty of money, so that they can have pancakes every day in the week for dinner, and a nice piece of roast beef for Sundays."
"Will you really do all that, Walter?" said the child, as she clapped her hands in astonishment and delight.
The boy proudly and confidently nodded an assuring "Yes," and Maggie continued,—
"What a good-hearted boy you are! Only make haste to be a great artist, that we may soon meet again! O how very happy father, you, and I might be together! Until then, Walter, farewell!"
"Farewell, Maggie!" said Walter.
Then the two children embraced each other. They parted, consoled in some degree by the idea of soon meeting again. Maggie slipped back into the house, and Walter, carrying his bundle on a stick slung over his shoulder, and his violin under his arm, passed, full of hope, through the closing gate of an unhappy past, into the breaking dawn of an uncertain future!