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A MISER ROBBED
FRESKEL VALDEN did not return with the hunting party to Carfoos, nor did he go home with Grubert, his children and his guest. He managed to slip away unobserved, and betook himself to several different places in the forest where he had set traps and snares. In one of these he found a cock-of-the-woods, in another a hare, which he hid away in some secret nook known only to himself, there to await his convenience in the matter of carrying them home or to Pastor Oshart.
He had some food in his pocket, with which to satisfy the cravings of hunger. And as soon as it was dark, (which at this season was before four o'clock in the afternoon), he turned his steps towards the lake, and reaching its margin, took a long, careful look round, then crossed over at a rapid run, and was soon hidden in the shadow of the rocky island.
As for Grubert, Tonie and Blonda, they spent the rest of the day very happily, the two former making and carving things out of wood, the latter mending her father's and brother's garments. But they had much to talk over, much to plan, for the present General Nicolai had given them amounted to 200 roubles—about £20 of our money—a very large sum to people accustomed to handle only a small weekly wage, barely sufficient for the simplest daily requirements.
They were still discussing the important matter, and offering suggestions to each other, when supper-time came. And after eating their frugal meal, they were about to resume work till it was time to go to bed, when they fancied they heard a little noise just outside the front door.
Blonda ran and opened it and looked out. She could see no one, however, and was about to shut out the keen night air, when she caught sight of a queer-looking bundle in the corner, close to the lowest hinge of the door.
"Why, what can this be?" she cried, as she picked it up.
And closing the door, she brought the bundle back into the room under the light of the lamp. And as she unrolled it, she gave a little cry of satisfaction, for there, soiled and crumpled, was her lost piece of towelling, not a yard of it missing.
"Well, if a ghost borrowed it," said Blonda merrily, "a ghost has brought it back."
"It would have been more civil," said Tonie, "if that same ghost had washed and ironed out the linen before returning it, but I suppose we must not expect too much of ghostly courtesy and good nature."
But while these light-hearted children were talking thus, the ghost himself—as wretched and miserable as ever a ghost could be—was gliding noiselessly over the snow through the woods, looking up now and again to the moon and starlit heaven, and showing two great dark eyes wild and reckless, full of misery and despair. Yet this face so sadly contorted, these eyes so terribly changed, belonged to the one light-hearted, simple-natured Freskel Valden.
The lad's laggard steps were not like the light, swift stride of former days, and it took longer than usual to reach the pastor's dwelling. Yet when he did so, he hesitated irresolutely for some minutes before knocking, and muttered to himself in muffled tones. At last, taking courage, he knocked. The door was at once opened by the good pastor himself.
"Ah, Freskel, so it is thou?" he said. "Come in and have some supper with me. I was just sitting down to mine."
The lad did not seem to hear what the old man said. He staggered in, feeling his way almost as a blind man might do. Then suddenly looking up, he found Pastor Oshart's kind, anxious eyes fixed upon his face.
"My father," said he, making a step forward and catching hold of the pastor's arm, "it is all over—Freskel has lost all—and—and—" Here the lad's voice broke in a hard, dry sob.
"Why, what is this, my son?" questioned the good old man tenderly. "I understand thee not; thou speakest in riddles. Surely such as thou and I, my Freskel, have nothing to lose, and therein lies one comfort of being poor."
"Alas, you know not!" cried Freskel. "I kept it from you."
"Kept what from me, my son?"
"My secret, my great secret!" cried the boy, his eyes gleaming wildly. "And now it is all of no use. Some one has found out its hiding-place and stolen it away, and poor Freskel no longer cares to live."
"Hush! Oh, hush, my child!" said the old man. "These are wild and wicked words. Try to tell me the whole story quite simply, and let me judge of thy loss. It may be that I can help and comfort thee."
But Freskel shook his head. "No, no," he said, "no one can help. But I will tell you, my father—tell you all. My father knows the story of the Isle of Ghosts and of the treasure there?"
"Yes, surely, Freskel. Has not every child heard this fable and in his turn believed it?"
"But what if it be no fable, dear pastor?" cried the lad, his eyes kindling and a sudden colour flushing his pale cheeks. "What if it were true, my father? And what—Oh, pastor, the story is no fable—the treasure is real, not fairy gold. I found it—I, Freskel—myself, the night I swam across the lake to hide Rolf Bresser's bag of money."
"Gently, Freskel; what didst thou find?" asked the old man.
"The robbers' treasure," whispered the lad. "I looked for some safe place wherein to hide the bag, and a stone rolled over, and underneath was a hollow like a basin—a large basin—and in the hollow a round box of iron, open and full of gold and silver money that shone in the moonlight. I lifted some in my hand and poured it back like a gold and silver fountain. And then—"
"Yes, Freskel, and then?"
"Then I feared to tell any one, lest I should not be suffered to keep all the money; and I could not bear to think of parting with one little coin. So I kept silence. But as oft as I could, I went to the island, and uncovered my treasure, and tried to count the pieces, and played with them. And lest any should come and search and find my money, I acted the ghost to frighten them away, wrapping myself in a length of white stuff which I took from the house of Grubert Reuss when no one was at hand.
"Oh, my pastor, look not on me so sternly; I returned the linen cloth to-night, for poor Freskel's treasure is gone, and what need is there any longer for a ghost?"
"My poor lad, thou hast greatly sinned," said the old man. "This evil spirit of covetousness and greed is one of Satan's messengers, and see into what sins that spirit hath led thee! Tell me, my child, would it have been possible to thee in former times to have stolen from dear little Blonda the fruit of her hard toil, so that thou mightest more readily deceive others? And again, Freskel, hast thou not also lied to cover thy fault?"
"Alas! Yes, father, that have I indeed."
"Covetousness, theft, lying, deceit—a terrible list of sins, my child! I know that it is not easy for thee always to choose between right and wrong, and far be it from me to judge thee too hardly in this matter. But before I speak to thee further about thine own faults, Freskel, I would ask what makes thee think that thou hast found the ancient treasure of the legend? Were the coins very old and barbarous looking?"
"No, my father; they are even like the gold and silver of our own country."
"Strange!" muttered Pastor Oshart to himself. "That can be no ancient hoard."
"And thou hast not a single coin that thou couldst show me, Freskel?"
"Not one, my father. All were beneath the stone, and all have gone. And yet I was there only last night, and from the island I saw Blonda and Tonie skating on the lake. And when they stopped (seeing, perhaps, the light I had with me), I wrapped myself in the white linen and cried out, and then vanished quickly, even as a ghost should. After that they went away, and I ran back by a path that would cross theirs and so home. But oh, my father, I must tell you that now my beautiful, shining hoard is gone, I care for nothing any more."
"Listen, Freskel," cried the old man, sitting down and drawing the poor lad nearer to him, "listen. Once in the very long ago, when our Lord Jesus Christ was on earth and taught the people, mingling with the poor and sinful and working miracles among them, there came to him a rich young ruler, and asked him what he must do to inherit eternal life. It was a great question, Freskel, one which we should all ask in our turn. Wouldst thou know what the Master answered?"
"Yes, I would know," replied the lad.
The old man continued: "Our Lord spake to the young ruler, reminding him of the commandments which were part of God's law to Israel. And he answered, 'All these have I kept from my youth up. What lack I yet?'
"Then Jesus said unto him, 'If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven, and come, follow Me.'"
"What?" exclaimed Freskel. "Sell all—all and he so rich?"
"Even so," replied Pastor Oshart.
"And what did that young man?" asked Freskel, fixing eager eyes on the pastor's face.
"He did as too many people do whom Christ calls to make sacrifices for His sake," replied the old man. "'He went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions.'
"Ah, Freskel, this love of money—this clinging to wealth—makes it very hard to follow Jesus. Our Lord goes before us, and the path is often rugged, and hills are steep, and the snares and pitfalls of the way are many; and yet we try to toil along after Him, dragging with us our heavy chains of gold and our burden of precious things, and we see not that while we are greedily clutching what we already have, or are eagerly searching for fresh treasure, the Lord passes on and is no more seen of us, the example of Jesus is forgotten, His love and favour are no longer the one thing needful for us.
"My boy, we cannot serve God and mammon, and unless we are willing to give up all for His sake, we are not worthy of Him and we are none of His."
"I have nothing left to give up," replied Freskel sadly. "All that I had is gone."
"Child," answered Pastor Oshart tenderly, "Perhaps the Lord saw that so long as thy heart and mind were set upon this treasure of thine, there was room for nothing else; and so, in His providence, He has suffered it to be taken from thee. Dost thou understand? Let me put it plainer. Suppose that in the garden of some tender earthly father grew a certain tree, the fruit of which, though sweet to the taste, made the children loathe the wholesome food needful to keep them in health. Should we count that father worthy of blame, Freskel, or think him cruel, if he cut down the tree and removed temptation from his little ones?"
"No, dear pastor, the father would only be kind in doing so."
"And thus it is with God, my son. If He takes from us that which we love, why is it, but that our hearts may cling to Him rather than to that which cannot help us. Tell me, Freskel, hast thou been happy all this time since the secret hoard became thine?"
"Happy? Oh, no," replied the lad, "for I was ever in fear."
"But the real treasure," said Pastor Oshart, "the blessing of God, maketh rich, and He addeth no sorrow—no, nor fear which hath torment. Oh, my poor child, hear to-day, if never before, the tender voice of Jesus, who saith, 'Follow Me, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven.'
"Hear Him who calls the weary and the heavy laden and the sorrowful, and gives them rest, and who says to all who will hearken to His word, 'Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust do corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal. But lay up for yourselves treasure in heaven, . . . for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.'"
"O pastor! O my father!" cried Freskel, throwing himself on his knees at the old man's feet, in a passion of contrite tears. "Pray to the Good Lord for Freskel that Satan have him not. Dear pastor, does not Jesus know that poor Freskel is like a child, and foolish? And if He knows, will He not forgive? Tell me the truth, my father; though I have sinned and forgotten Him, will Jesus pardon?"
The good old man drew the weeping lad to his heart, and while his own tears fell thick and fast, he said, "Be comforted, my son! Thy sorrow for the sin which thou hast sinned is the pledge of God's forgiveness. Come, let us unburden our hearts before Him, and those hearts, emptied of all earthly treasure, shall be filled by Him; yes, henceforth, through His grace, by Him alone."
A FRIEND AT COURT
THINGS went on very quietly for some weeks at Carfoos and in its neighbourhood after the events we have just recorded.
Blonda was too glad to get her roll of linen back to trouble herself as to how it had disappeared or how been returned to her. She washed, and ironed, and put it away, quite content that her work had not been wasted, but that she should still get something by the sale of it in the Klingengolf market when her father next paid the town a visit.
Blonda often thought of the young general, and of his goodness to them all, and wondered if the time would ever come when she should need to make use of his sealed paper, and claim his promise of help. Tonie and she had many earnest conversations upon this subject, and he especially was always building upon the small foundation of the general's promise all sorts Of castles in the air.
As for Freskel, Pastor Oshart had so far kept entirely to himself the lad's confidences, seeing no use in telling others, and perhaps setting the whole neighbourhood talking, and exciting the lad afresh just as he was beginning to be reconciled to his loss, and was growing more like the innocent-hearted, boyish Freskel of old. But the pastor had seen but little of him lately, as for some reason the lad had been kept more at home.
Of the Valdens as a family not much was heard now-a-days. Except on that night when Tonie and Blonda had met Dorlat and Hervitz on the ice, no one in the neighbourhood had seen the brothers for some time.
"The Valdens are flying at higher game, I fancy, just now," said Philip Bexal to Grubert one day. "They have been seen with some strangers at a town twenty miles beyond Klingengolf, and I am told they seemed to have plenty of money, and were swaggering about with the bravest. But so long as they come not hither, I care not what they do. One is only thankful to be well quit of them."
But one day, not more than a week later, most astonishing news reached Carfoos. The police at Klingengolf, acting upon special information received, had made a raid upon the Valdens' home, and had arrested, all at once, the old man Jaspar, and his three sons, Dorlat, Hervitz, and Freskel. Rolf Bresser was the bearer of the tidings, for he was on his way from Klingengolf to St. Petersburg on business, and coming to spend a few days at Pastor Oshart's house, he gave him a full account of the capture.
"But for what crime are they arrested?" asked the old pastor.
"For fraudulent dealing and the circulation of base money," replied Rolf. "It seems that some two years ago, the brother Dorlat and Hervitz were thought to be mixed up in some way with a gang of coiners, but before any proof could be got against them, the gang took fright, and made off, bag and baggage, one night, and no one knew whither they went. But it appears that they left behind them, stored in some corner of the Isle of Ghosts, a quantity of their false money, and lately they must have communicated this fact, and the whereabouts of the coin, to the brothers Valden, who lost no time in securing it.
"They then proceeded to various towns, buying all sorts of cheap wares with the counterfeit money, receiving in change for false gold as much real silver as possible, and for their spurious silver money good copper. For a time their evil trade prospered, but at last the trick was found out, and traced home to the Valdens. Whereupon, not content with securing the prime movers in the matter—Dorlat and Hervitz—the police have also got hold of old Jaspar and poor, foolish Freskel."
"Jaspar is without doubt in the secret," said Pastor Oshart; "but as for Freskel, how should he know false money from true? Indeed, I am certain he does not," added the old man, remembering Freskel's story, which he now thoroughly understood for the first time. "If the base coin has passed through his hands at all, he has handled it in all good faith, and has only been a tool in the grasp of his brothers."
"Yes, Oshart," said Rolf Bresser, "something must assuredly be done for the poor boy. They say he is broken-hearted, and does nothing but sob and cry for his pastor father."
"My poor, foolish boy!" said the old man, wiping his eyes. "I will go down to Klingengolf this very day, and represent his case to the head of police there, and see what can be done for him. Meanwhile, thou wilt remain here, Rolf, and take care of my house for me?"
"Yes, my friend; I have a day or two to spare, and will here await thy return."
"Another matter, Rolf! If I start, as I should, at once, I shall not have time to let Grubert Reuss and his family know about Freskel. Wilt thou go and carry the news to them? It will comfort little Blonda (who loves the poor lad) to know that I have gone to do what I could for him."
"I will be sure to visit them this very afternoon," replied Rolf Bresser.
It was three days before the pastor returned from Klingengolf, and when he did, he brought only bad news. After half an hour spent at his own house, the old man walked over to Grubert's cottage.
And in answer to Blonda's, and Tonie's anxious enquiries, he replied, "My children, everything I could say for the lad went for nothing. He is one of a family long suspected of all sorts of misdemeanours. The base money—or some of it—had passed through his hands, as well as through those of his brothers, and he has been associated with them. I saw the head inspector at the police-station, and he was most courteous and even friendly, and heard me with patience.
"'But,' said he, 'nothing but a special order signed by the Tzar could effect Freskel Valden's release. In default of such an order, he must go for trial with the rest, and I should think you have but little chance of obtaining it.'"
Blonda was very grave and thoughtful for a minute or two after Pastor Oshart had ceased speaking, but all at once her face lighted up.
"Pastor, dear pastor!" she cried. "We will save poor Freskel yet and set him free!"
And before the old man had time to reply, she rushed up to her room, and presently returned holding in her hand the sealed paper General Nicolai had given her.
"See, dear pastor," she said, "the good general told me that if ever I was in trouble or needed anything I was to send or take him this. He is at Court and has influence there, and he promised to give me anything I asked, if it were in his power. Oh, if I could but go to St. Petersburg!"
"My child," said Grubert, "that is not to be thought of."
"But my friend, Rolf Bresser, is going," said Pastor Oshart; "confide thy paper to him, and I will add a full account of the circumstances, telling the general all about poor Freskel. And thou too, Blonda, shalt send a few lines (thou canst muster Russian enough for that), reminding General Nicolai of his promise to thee."
It took Rolf Bresser a long while to get to the great city, and the patience of Freskel's friends was sorely tried before the news came for which they were longing and waiting. But it was Rolf himself who, on his return journey, was the bearer of a full and free pardon for Freskel Valden, and also of a special sealed packet for Blonda from her friend General Nicolai.
On opening this packet, it was found to contain the title deeds of a property consisting of a fine piece of land, and a farm with house and out-buildings, furniture, and live stock, all complete. And this was to be Blonda's own; a wonderful gift indeed! But yet more wonderful were the few lines that accompanied these papers, and which ran thus:—
"To Blondinka, my little heroine of the scarlet shawl! May God have thee in His holy keeping, child with the forget-me-not eyes. May He give thee a long, happy and useful life, with thy good father and brother, in the new home whither it is my pleasure that you move in the spring. And since, my little maid, thy faith in One above is so strong, and thy vision of the right is so clear, pray sometimes for him who to thee is known only as General Nicolai, but who here, in his own city, is thy friend at Court,—"NICOLAI 1st, Emperor of all the Russias."
The rest of our story may be told in a few words. Grubert and his family went to live on Blonda's farm, and prospered exceedingly. Freskel Valden came to reside with Pastor Oshart, and growing in all things good, was called the pastor's son. As for Jasper, Dorlat, and Hervitz, they were sent off with a convict band to work in the Siberian mines.
With regard to the legend of the Isle of Ghosts, we believe that the idea of its being a sort of Treasure Island has just about died out. And probably, were we now to visit the neighbourhood, we should hardly find any one who could point out that particular island, or tell the story that Philip Bexal told by the lake side on that memorable day that first introduced General Nicolai to the simple-hearted, old-fashioned Blonda Reuss, one of our—
TWO LITTLE FINNS.