CHAPTER II

THE HOME ON THE HILL

As Otto and his sister rushed into the long hall with its stone floor, they were met by Trina, an old and faithful servant, who held the lamp she was carrying high above her head to avoid getting the light in her eyes.

"You are here at last," she said half impatiently and half indulgently. "Your mother has been wanting you, and we have all waited for you until long after supper time."

Trina had been in the family before the children were born, and she exercised the same authority over them as did the parents, while she was even more indulgent. In fact, she idolized them both; but for their good, according to her views, she did not wish them to be too sure of it. Consequently she was always trying to be somewhat gruff for their especial benefit.

"Out of your shoes and into your slippers!" she commanded. She put the light down, and kneeling before Otto she unfastened his shoes and put the dry slippers on his feet. In the meantime she was urging the little sister to begin removing her wet shoes, but Miezi stood listening intently to something she thought she heard from the living room.

"Well," said Trina, "are you going to wait until next summer? Your shoes will be dry before then."

"Hush!" warned Miezi with upraised hand; "I heard something. Who is in the other room, Trina?"

"Only people with dry shoes are going in there," said Trina, still kneeling before Otto.

Just then Miezi gave a startled exclamation. "There, I heard it again! It is Uncle Max's laugh, I am sure."

"What!" exclaimed Otto, and both children rushed for the living room door. "Let me go in first, Otto; I heard him first!" cried Miezi, endeavoring to push herself ahead of him; but Trina picked her up in her arms and carried her to the hall seat, where the old servant had a hard time trying to get the wet shoes from the impatient feet. The moment the girl was released she bounded into the living room and into Uncle Max's arms, for it was really he, sitting in the large armchair, looking as happy and prosperous as ever.

The children quite worshiped Uncle Max. He was their especial friend, from whom they had no secrets. His travels kept him away much of the time, and they seldom saw him more than once a year, but this seemed to make his visits the more appreciated, especially as he always brought them remembrances from the remotest parts of the world. Each time he came seemed a holiday to the children.

To-night they were hurried to the table, where a steaming supper awaited them. The children's excitement over the uncle's coming abated somewhat before this enjoyment, for coasting always brought sharpened appetites. Miezi was industriously engaged with her soup when her father said: "I think my little girl has forgotten her papa to-night. I missed my usual kiss and handshake."

Miezi instantly let her spoon drop and pushed her chair back to run to the neglected parent, but he stopped her with, "No, no, you need not trouble now."

"I didn't mean to forget you, papa," she said.

"We will make up for it after supper, Miezchen," said the father. "What did we christen the child, anyway?" he continued. "Wasn't it Maria?"

"I was there when she was baptized," said Max, "but I cannot remember. It surely was not Miezchen."

"Of course you were there," asserted his sister. "You were the child's godfather, and we called her Marie. It was papa himself who first called her Miezchen, and Otto made it still worse."

"No, mamma, surely not worse," interposed Otto. "You see, Uncle Max, it is like this: if she is a good little girl I call her Miezchen; this she is so seldom, however, that I usually call her Miezi. When she is angry and looks like a little ruffled hen, I call her Miez."

"And when Otto is angry, what does he look like?" inquired Uncle Max, addressing Miezi.

Before she could think of a comparison, Otto answered, "Like a man!"

They all laughed so heartily that Miezi stirred her soup violently in her confusion.

Uncle Max tactfully changed the subject: "It has been over a year since I have seen you children, and I wish you would tell me what you have been doing while I have been away."

Naturally the latest news was related first, and, in their eagerness to have Uncle Max know everything, both children wished to speak at once. Among other things they told of the fun they had in school, and that led Otto to tell about his experience with Chappi and Wiseli; how she had been driven into the snowdrift and rudely treated, and how, though she had no sled, she finally had had two rides on his.

"That was right, Otto," said his father; "always take the part of the weak and the oppressed, and honor the meaning of your name. Who is this little girl you speak of?"

"I doubt if you know her," answered Mrs. Ritter, "but Max knew the mother very well. You remember the frail linen weaver that lived near us? She was his daughter and only child, and she used to come often to the parsonage. She was a pretty girl with large brown eyes, and she could sing beautifully. Do you remember whom I mean?"

Just at this moment Trina brought in a message: "Joiner Andreas begs permission to speak with Mrs. Ritter, if it will not disturb her."

Quite a commotion followed this announcement. Mrs. Ritter dropped the spoon with which she was serving, and saying hastily, "Excuse me, please," left the room.

Otto and Miezi immediately pushed back their chairs to go also, but Uncle Max held Miezi fast. Otto stumbled over something in his haste, and Miezi struggled hard to free herself. "Do let me go, Uncle Max! Let me go!" she cried.

"Why do you want to go, Miezchen?"

"To see Joiner Andreas. Let me go. Help me, papa."

"Tell me why you want to see Joiner Andreas, and I will let you go."

"My sheep has but two legs left and no tail, and only Joiner Andreas knows how to fix it. Now let me go."

Miezi's papa and Uncle Max laughed as she ran from the room.

"Who is this man that has the whole household at his command?" inquired Uncle Max.

"You ought to know better than I," answered Colonel Ritter. "Very likely he is an old playmate of yours. I am sure you would enjoy knowing him. Your sister makes us all love him. He is really the corner stone of this household, without whom things generally would go to rack and ruin. It doesn't matter what happens, for 'Joiner Andreas will fix it.' In fact he is helper, adviser, comforter, and friend, all in one."

"You may laugh," said Mrs. Ritter, who returned just then, "but I know that Joiner Andreas is a comfort."

"So do I," said the husband, playfully.

"So do I," echoed Miezi, as she seated herself at the table.

"So do I," added Otto, who was rubbing the knuckles he had bruised in his hasty exit.

"Then we are all agreed," said the mother. "Now I want you children to go to bed."

"To which we are not all agreed," said Otto, teasingly.

However, Trina came and they were obliged to go. The mother followed after a time, as was her custom, to hear the children's evening prayer and receive their last embrace for the night. This often required some time, for they were eager to tell her many things, and detained her for their own pleasure. To-night she remained until they were quiet and then returned to the gentlemen in the sitting room.

"At last," said Colonel Ritter, apparently as relieved as if he had just conquered an enemy. "You see, Max, my wife's time belongs first of all to Joiner Andreas, and then to the children; if there is any left, it belongs to me."

"Oh, it's not quite so bad as that!" corrected Mrs. Ritter. "You like Andreas just as well as the rest of us do, even though you won't admit it. That reminds me, he told me that he had received the money from his yearly profit and wanted your advice about investing it."

"Yes, it is a fact," said the colonel, "that I never saw a more trustworthy or energetic man than he. I would trust him with all I have. He is by far the most reliable and wide-awake man in our parish."

"Now you know what he thinks of him, Max," said Mrs. Ritter, laughing.

"Yes, to be sure," said the brother, "but you have said so much about this man that I am curious to see him. Did I ever know him?"

"Why, Max! to think of your asking!" his sister admonished him. "You used to go to school together and you knew him well. Don't you remember the two brothers who were in your class, the older one such a good-for-nothing boy? Not that he was stupid, but he didn't care to study, so the younger one was in the same class. The older one's name was George, and he was rather striking in appearance because of his heavy black hair. Whenever he saw us he would pelt us with stones or apples, and he invariably called us 'aristocrat-breed.'"

Uncle Max laughed. "Yes, I should say I do remember him distinctly," he said. "That word I shall never forget--'aristocrat-breed.' I should like to know how he got hold of it. I remember very well what a tyrant he was. I interfered once when I saw him unmercifully pommeling a much smaller boy, and he took his vengeance on me by calling me 'aristocrat-breed' at least a dozen times. Now, of a sudden, I remember the other one too. Can it be that little Andreas with the violets has become your hero? Now I comprehend the intimacy, Marie."

"The violets!" broke in Colonel Ritter. "I have heard nothing about the violets."

"Why, I see that scene before me as if it were but yesterday," continued Max, "and I am going to tell you about it, Otto. You have no doubt heard Marie tell about the teacher we had in those days, who believed that the bad should be whipped out of children and the good whipped into them. Consequently he was much of the time engaged in punishing us for one or both purposes. At one time he was administering this treatment to the little Andreas, and he struck the boy such a heavy blow across the back that he screamed outright. Well, my little sister, who had just begun to go to school, and who didn't understand the teacher's well-meant methods, immediately rose from her seat and marched down the aisle to the door.

"The teacher stopped to see what had happened, holding his rod poised in the air long enough to ask, 'Where are you going?'

"Marie turned around and, with tears streaming down her face, answered loud enough for the whole school to hear, 'I am going home to tell my papa.'

"I shall never forget how the teacher left the astonished Andreas and rushed upon Marie. 'Just wait and I'll teach _you_,' he threatened. He roughly took her by the arm and forced her back to her seat, muttering, 'I'll teach _you_!' That ended the scene, however, for he sent Andreas to his seat without further punishment, and nothing more was said to Marie.

"Andreas never forgot this kind act in his behalf, and he always brought Marie a bunch of violets when he came to school; I used to notice how they perfumed the schoolroom. Occasionally there would be a cluster of strawberries or something else equally appropriate. How the friendship has extended to the present state of affairs I shall have to let my sister explain."

"My dear wife, I am eager to have this brought up to date," remarked the colonel.

Mrs. Ritter laughed with the others and began: "The strawberries and violets were given as Max said, but you have forgotten how soon Andreas left school after I entered. He went to the city to learn the joiner's trade. I didn't lose track of him, however, for he often came home. When Otto and I were married and bought this place, he came to consult us about his own purchase of some property. The owner of the place wanted cash, and Andreas, who had lost his parents, hadn't the money. Otto lent him the sum he needed and has never regretted it."

"I should say not," broke in the colonel. "He paid for that long ago, and since that time has laid by a good sum of his own. He brings his money to me, and I invest it for him. His interest is adding to his capital, and he could now afford to build a much better house and live with more comforts. It is a shame that he is all alone in the world."

"Hasn't he a wife? And where is George?" asked Max.

"Andreas lives all alone," answered the sister. "I think his history is too sad for him ever to take a wife. George led a wild life around here until Andreas refused to help him out of any more scrapes, and now he has disappeared, for he couldn't pay his debts. People were relieved to have him out of the neighborhood, but everybody respects Andreas."

"What do you mean by his sad experience, Marie?" inquired Max.

"I should like to hear about that, too," said the husband.

"Why, Otto!" said Mrs. Ritter, "I have told you about it at least a dozen times."

"Is that so? It must please me," answered the husband, laughing.

"Can you recall, Max, the girl whom we were speaking of at the table to-night when Andreas came? We could hear her father's loom from our garden, they lived so near us. I told you the girl was very pretty. She had a charming manner and her name was Aloise."

"Never in my life have I known anybody by that name," asserted Max.

"I know why you say so," corrected his sister. "We never called her that, and I am sure that you never did. We called her Wisi, much to our dear mother's disgust. You often went over to get her when we wanted to have some music, because she could sing so well."

"Oh, yes, I remember Wisi," said Max, "and I used to like the girl, too; but I don't believe that I ever knew of her being named anything else."

"I know that you used to know, Max," persisted Mrs. Ritter. "Mother so often deplored the fact that we would not use the pretty name Aloise, and she never liked what we did call her."

"What became of Wisi?" inquired Max.

"Well," continued Mrs. Ritter, "Wisi and I were much together, for we were in the same class and went from grade to grade at the same time. Andreas, through all those years, was her stanchest friend, and she willingly accepted his attentions, often finding his friendship of great advantage to herself.

"For one thing we were supposed to bring certain examples worked out on our slates when we came to school in the morning, but Wisi's slate was usually blank. She was always light-hearted and merry, and she would put her slate on her desk in a very unconcerned way and go out to play; when she returned, the slate was filled with neatly copied examples.

"Once it was brought before the school that some one had broken a windowpane, and again, that some one had shaken the teacher's fruit trees, and I remember that we all knew it was Wisi's fault; but Andreas took the blame upon himself and the punishment also. The rest of us accepted it as a matter of course, for we all liked Wisi and were used to having her escape.

"How it happened that the quietest, most earnest boy in school should care especially about the most mischievous girl used to puzzle us, and I often wondered if Wisi were not indifferent to Andreas's interest in her. I asked mamma about it one day, and she said, 'I am afraid that Aloise is somewhat vain, and that she may live to see the bad results of her carelessness.' After that I worried about her myself.

"Some time later we had Bible studies together, preparatory to our confirmation, and she took such an interest in them that we began to think she had given up her mischievous ways. She regularly came to sing with us Sunday evenings, and we liked to have her with us, for her cheerfulness infected us all. By this time she was a very pretty young woman, not rugged, but perfectly well; and she far surpassed the other girls of the neighborhood in grace, beauty, and accomplishments. Andreas was still at his trade, but he managed to come home nearly every Sunday. We could all see how much he cared for Wisi. He was the only one that ever called her Wiseli, and he always accented the name so softly that we thought it was very pretty.

"One Sunday night, when Wisi and I were not quite eighteen years of age, she came in radiantly happy and told us that she was soon to be married. The man to whom she was betrothed had but recently come to the village and was employed at the factory. I was so astonished and grieved over the news that I could say nothing. Mother, however, asked her to take some time to consider the matter thoroughly, because it was too important a step to take hurriedly. Mother told her that she was very young and that she must not forget that there was some one else who had loved her for years, of whose intentions she could have no doubt; then, too, her father needed her, and she ought to help him a few years more.

"Wisi cried because mother talked so earnestly, but she said that her father had given his consent and it was all arranged that they were to be married in two weeks. 'Then,' said mother, 'we must make the best of it and try to be happy. I will play our favorite melody and we will sing the words.

"Commit thou all thy ways And all that grieves thy heart To Him whose endless days Can strength and grace impart.

"He gives to wind and wave The power to be still; For thee He'll surely save A place to work His will."'

"When Wisi left us that night she was as cheerful as ever, but I could not help feeling that her happiest days were over. Then, too, I feared for Andreas, but he said nothing, although he has never been the same since. For several years he seemed to be far from well, but he did not give up work."

"Poor fellow!" exclaimed Max; "and he never married?"

"Why, no, Max!" said Mrs. Ritter, impatiently, "how could he when he is faithfulness itself?"

"How was I to know that he possessed that virtue also, dear sister? He seems to have them all. How did Wisi get along? I should be sorry to hear that her marriage proved a failure."

"I can plainly see that your sympathy is with her," replied Mrs. Ritter. "To you, Andreas's fate does not matter so much."

"Not so, sister, but those pretty eyes of hers ought never to have been spoiled with tears. Isn't she happy?"

"I fear not, Max. I have seen but little of her since her marriage. There was a coarseness in her husband's nature that repelled me, and he was always cross to her. Six children were born to them, and all but one, a frail little girl, have died. She is called Wiseli, and is about the size of our Miezchen, although she is three years older. She is the little girl whom Otto defended this evening. Her mother has suffered so much during all these years, that there is little hope of her ever being well again."

"That is too bad," said Max; "we must try to do something for her. Don't you think that we might help her?"

"I am afraid that it is too late. Wisi was much too delicate for all the work and worry that fell to her lot."

"What is the husband doing?"

"I forgot to tell you, Max. About six months ago he had an arm and a leg badly crushed in the factory, and he died a few weeks after being injured. Since then Wisi has been living alone with her little girl."

"So that is her story," mused Max. "And one child is all that she has left. What would become of her in case Wisi died? It is more likely, though, that the mother will get well, and that Andreas will yet be happy."

"No, I am sure it is too late for that," asserted Mrs. Ritter. "Although Wisi repented long ago, the wrong could not be undone, and she has suffered in silence. But we are forgetting that we must have some sleep to-night."

Colonel Ritter had fallen asleep in his chair. It was past midnight. Max roguishly went behind his sleeping brother and shook his shoulders so roughly that the colonel sprang from his chair in alarm. Max laughed and patted his shoulder by way of atonement, saying apologetically, "I only intended to give you a gentle warning that my sister says we must take to our beds."

A few moments later the house stood dark and quiet in the moonlight.

At the foot of the hill was another house where it would soon be quiet also; from a tiny window a small lamp still sent a faint glimmer into the night.