CHAPTER VI

ALL BUSCHWEIL IS AMAZED

Monday came, and the work of another week began.

"I wonder what has got into the boy now!" said the housewife, casting suspicious glances at Renti several times during the day. On Tuesday it was the same, and the woman at length exclaimed: "What can be going on in his head? I don't know what to make of him."

Renti never answered a word. He gave no more saucy retorts; his impudence was gone; but he looked as though he were being crushed to the earth by some awful burden. He had to struggle continually to keep his promise. To do at once as he was told, to practice self-control, to keep back saucy answers, required such exertion on his part that his head was bent low under the strain and he hardly saw what was going on about him. Then it was very difficult, too, to keep his thoughts upon his work, so that he could do it properly, for he had to pray away the temptations to do bad things. What prayer could he think of quick enough to conquer them? Then he remembered Gretchen's verses, and whenever bad thoughts threatened to rise he would say:

"For if your faith be sure, And your courage endure, God will be your friend."

But sometimes the thoughts rushed over him so suddenly that in his excitement he could not remember the verse, and he would have to stop and think and at the same time keep on with his work. All this was such a strain upon the boy that he grew pale and lost his appetite.

"He is an artful hypocrite," said the woman, when Wednesday came and Renti continued as he had begun on Monday. "If I could only make out what it is he's plotting. I have conquered many another fellow, but I never saw one like him."

When Renti continued the same on Thursday and Friday, keeping his eyes on the ground, speaking never a word, and growing paler and paler, the woman stopped scolding. She began to feel queer about the boy. She watched him anxiously from the corner of her eye, as though she were in constant fear of some new outbreak. On Saturday Renti scarcely tasted food; and then a hideous thought occurred to her: What if the boy had eaten some of the rat poison from the kitchen cupboard!

She immediately began questioning him: "Do you feel sick? Answer quickly! Have you pain?"

"No," said the boy, without lifting his head; he was still struggling.

"There is something uncanny about him. Perhaps he is a vampire!" she thought, in sudden terror. She had once heard of a person whom no one dared to look upon because he was a vampire. "I wish I had never laid eyes on the boy!" she exclaimed, incensed at her own weakness; and she darted about all day as though driven by an evil spirit. For the first time in her life she felt helpless. The idea of not being able to master a young boy seemed absurd, but she was really so uncomfortable about him that she would much rather have had nothing more to do with him. She would go to church to-morrow, at any rate, and tell her friends what a time she was having, and what a strain it was on one's patience. That would be some relief, she thought.

As soon as church was out a group of people gathered about her, all curious to hear how she was getting on with the boy.

Then she poured forth her tale, growing quite breathless in the eagerness of her telling. "Yes, yes; if you only knew him! He is deep, I can tell you. Control him? If you could do that, you could work miracles. Since Monday he has taken a new turn. Now he doesn't say a word,--gives no answer, but hangs his head to the ground and broods all day. What he may be hatching out will come to light soon enough. Of course we can't tell what it may be; but," she continued, with a mysterious nodding of the head, "there is something queer about the boy. I will not say what I think. You will find out for yourselves."

At that the mistress of Lindenhof stepped forth from the group, and, confronting the woman of Stony Acre, said in distinct tones that were heard by all those present: "I want to say a few words in this matter. A week ago the complaint against the boy was that he gave back saucy answers and was insolent in his speech; to-day it is that he gives no answer and says nothing. So I should like to ask what he could do to be satisfactory? It seems to me that if the boy is getting so bad, there must be some cause in the treatment he receives."

The mistress of Stony Acre started up as though a wasp had stung her. "In my opinion," she replied angrily, "it is much easier to send away a boy when he grows troublesome than it is to take one whom no one else wants. What do you think?"

The woman of Lindenhof answered in calm and measured tones: "It was not on account of his behavior that I sent the boy away, but simply because we had made other arrangements about our help. As long as Renti was with us he was a good boy, and I should not mind taking him back this very day."

"Indeed!" said her angry opponent. "Words are cheap and make a good sound. Many another mistress would find it best to 'make other arrangements' to get rid of such a boy."

Then the other held up her head stiffly and said, as she looked the angry woman squarely in the face: "I am ready to stand by my words. Here before these people I say that I am not afraid to take the boy back into my house; and I will prove it." With that she passed out of the group and went away.

"She means what she says; she will do it," said one woman. Another said: "I am curious to see how the affair will turn out. Do you think she will master him?"

The excitement over the matter grew, and partisanship for and against the contestants drew forth many different opinions. Some said, "She of Lindenhof will never do it; she will leave the boy where he is." Others said, "If she does take him, she will get rid of him before long; for if he is too much for the woman of Stony Acre, he will never be conquered by her of Lindenhof."

The wives all went home so excited that their husbands became interested, too, and in all Buschweil that day people were talking of the probable outcome of the matter between Renti and the two women who had quarreled over him.

Gretchen's mother alone of all the women had not stopped after church, but had gone directly home with the rest of her family; so at The Alders they knew nothing of the occurrence.

The mistress of Stony Acre came home in a bad mood; the encounter had been extremely irritating to her. Never before had she been accused of treating her servants badly. How dared any one suggest such a thing to her?

The first person she saw on entering the house was Renti. He was sitting on a stool in the kitchen paring potatoes, as she had directed him to do. All the morning he had had but one thought, which he had been turning over and over in his mind,--that this afternoon he was going to find Gretchen by the stone wall, and tell her how obedient he had been all the week and how hard he had tried to do right, and she would surely be very much pleased.

"You are not going to stir a step from the house to-day," the woman exclaimed as she entered the room. "You went last Sunday, and I'm sure your vagabonding did you no good."

It was a hard blow for Renti. All through his struggles during the week he had looked forward to Sunday afternoon; and now--he must stay at home and face another long week like the last one. At the thought a sudden flame of anger blazed up within him and he muttered between his clinched teeth, "What you deserve is to have all your trees and your house and your barn and your cattle"--"chopped down," he was about to say; but suddenly he saw Gretchen before him and remembered how she had wept and entreated. He made a tremendous effort, struggling as never before to recall his verse, and then finally, when it came to him, saying it over and over,--

"For if your faith be sure, And your courage endure, God will be your friend,"--

until the evil thoughts were banished.

When the afternoon sun lay bright and pleasant on the meadows the mistress of Lindenhof stepped forth in Sunday array from her door. She stopped on her way through the garden to pick a fine red carnation, and with this in her hand she went out into the road, and then across the fields. Her face showed that many thoughts were at work in her mind. She realized that the errand before her was one of consequence. She had involved herself that morning in something for which she had not planned; but one word had led to another, until she had at last committed herself to a statement that she did not want to take back,--for she always stood by her word. When she told her husband of what had happened, he agreed with her entirely, and said: "Of course you must take the boy. If he proves too much of a trial, we will send him to our son-in-law, who is young and strong and has several hired men, and among them they will manage the boy. I will gladly let them have the fruit of one or two of our trees in the fall to make up for it, rather than to have noise and wrangling in the house."

The wife thought this all over, but the calm serenity with which she usually ended her reflections was not within her reach to-day. She could not dispose of the problem so easily as her husband had, for she had made up her mind to keep the boy, no matter how wild, or lazy, or unmanageable he might be. The woman of Stony Acre should not have the satisfaction of seeing her defeated; nor did she wish it said by the other women that she made statements that she could not carry out.

But if the boy had really grown so wild and stubborn, what would become of the peace of her home, and her quiet, orderly life? This thought made her uncomfortable, for she disliked harsh words and rude manners; they were unknown in her household. When she thought of Renti, however, and of what a good boy he had formerly been, she said to herself: "He cannot be altogether bad. He is still young, and God willing we will make something of him yet. Kindness and reason will accomplish a great deal."

She had now reached Stony Acre. As she entered the living room she saw that the housewife was sitting alone; the other members of the family were all out. Some had not come home and others were in the stables feeding the stock.

"Ah!" said the hostess stiffly; "it is an uncommon honor to see you here. Will you sit down?"

"I have come to keep my word," answered the visitor in firm tones, without noticing the proffered seat.

"Indeed? You are in earnest?" And the hostess tried to twist her mouth into a smile. "The boy is in the barn; I will call him." She went toward the barn, the other woman following her.

Upon hearing his name called, Renti appeared in the barn door. When he saw the mistress of Lindenhof he started impulsively toward her, but suddenly checked himself, and hanging his head came slowly forward; for his first joy at seeing the mistress with whom he had once been so happy immediately gave place to the conviction that she must be angry with him, as everybody else was, for having been so bad. She had noticed his start of joy, however, and now held out her hand toward him smilingly and said, "Come, Renti; you need not be afraid."

"He probably has good reason for being afraid," said the woman of Stony Acre sharply.

He felt that he had indeed, and his head dropped lower and lower. The visitor watched him closely.

"Renti," she said, "what do you say to going home with me?"

Renti's head went up at that; he thought he was to take a walk to Lindenhof, and that would be fine. But his mistress had forbidden him to go away to-day. He looked at her questioningly; she said nothing.

"Well, get your bundle and we will be off," said the visitor.

Renti looked up with wide eyes.

"Do you mean--to live?" he said at length, hesitatingly.

"Yes, yes; that's what I mean," she assured him.

A look of joy shot into his eyes that touched the woman's heart.

"How glad he seems to go with me!" she thought with pleasure.

Renti darted away to fetch his bundle, and in a very few minutes was back with it; he had little to pack.

"There is nothing more to arrange, I think," said the visitor.

"Nothing," answered the hostess shortly. "I wish you joy."

But the woman of Lindenhof paused. "Renti," she said, "don't you want to tell your master 'God keep you'?"

"It is not necessary," said the other woman.

But Renti had been accustomed to obey his former mistress on the instant, and when she spoke he immediately ran to the barn. Returning in a moment, he made his adieus to the wife. They were short; she did not desire many words.

Then Renti walked along beside his old mistress toward Lindenhof. He was making the journey this time with a clear conscience, and before him lay the prospect, not of a few anxious, homesick hours, but of the old happy life. He was to stay there, live there, be at home once more in the dear place. He could hardly realize such happiness. Every now and then he would look up at the woman to see whether it could really be true. She was going her way silently; she was again busy with her thoughts. So far the matter had turned out quite differently from her expectations. Could the boy be merely playing a part, she wondered, and would he show himself in quite another light when it came to working and doing as he was told?

There was nothing saucy, nothing obstinate, nothing uncanny about him, so far as she could see. He seemed to be just the same cheerful, willing little fellow that she had always known. But his blouse was very shabby and his little trousers most disreputable looking for Sunday, and his whole appearance was not clean and well kept, as it had formerly been.

"Renti," she said, looking him over, "are these your Sunday clothes?"

"Yes," he answered, blushing; "in the bundle I have only torn ones. I have been wearing these on Sundays and week days, too, for a long time."

"That blouse looks to me like the very one I gave you for your Sunday suit. Have you had nothing new since then?"

"No, this is all I have," said Renti meekly; for he thought the woman was displeased with him for the way he looked.

"It is not your fault," she said, noticing his embarrassment. "But now, Renti, you mean to obey me, and to do what is right, don't you?"

"Yes, yes; indeed I do!" said Renti, smiling up at her with the old honest look in his face. His words, too, sounded so hearty and natural that the woman could only wonder more and more.

When they came within sight of Lindenhof Renti's eyes sparkled. "There is the roof!" he cried. "Do you really mean that I am to stay here again?"

"The staying depends very much upon you, Renti; but if you walk so fast I cannot keep up with you."

The boy could hardly hold back his steps as they approached the house. Suddenly he asked: "May I run up to the alder meadow for a moment? I will come right back."

The woman looked at him sharply. "Renti," she said, "you aren't thinking of running away already, are you?"

"Oh, no; I am here now, you see. Where could I run?" he said with a happy smile.

The woman shook her head as though she did not understand. "What do you want in the alder meadow?"

"Only to run over and tell Gretchen about it; then I will come right back."

"Then run," she said in kindly tones; but it all seemed most extraordinary to her.

Renti ran as fast as he could. Gretchen was still sitting on the wall, but she looked sad, for she thought Renti was not coming; perhaps he was in trouble again.

"Gretchen, Gretchen!" she suddenly heard him call. He was running toward her, waving his arms in the air and calling excitedly, "Gretchen, Gretchen! I am at home again!"

Gretchen had not the slightest idea what he meant, but she ran toward him eagerly. When they met, Renti was so excited and so happy that he could hardly tell his story; he had to shout aloud, turn somersaults, and leap into the air for a while. When Gretchen finally began to understand that Renti's old mistress had gone to get him and that he was now to live at Lindenhof again, she also broke forth into shouts of joy, and cried out again and again: "O Renti! now we shall be happy as we used to be. And you will be here for the herding! Oh, I am so glad, so glad! I have been thinking how sad it would be when I had to come to pasture all alone, and you were far away herding other cows. But now we'll be together again." And at the thought they both became so hilarious that the neighboring hills entered into their joy and repeated the merry shouts.

"Renti," said Gretchen suddenly, in thoughtful tones,--she always was a meditative little Gretchen,--"why was it that the mistress of Lindenhof so suddenly took your part, when all the other people said they did not want you because you were good for nothing? It could not have been on account of the work that she took you."

"No, I don't believe it was," said Renti rather shamefacedly; "but I don't know what other reason she could have had."

Then Gretchen said earnestly: "Renti, I believe that God put it into her mind to go and bring you home. I have been praying to him every day; for though I saw no way out of your troubles, I trusted God, and knew that he would find a way to help you."

"Oh, there is something I have not told you!" exclaimed Renti. "I kept my promise all the week about praying away the bad words and evil thoughts when they tried to arise, and kept saying over and over,

"For if your faith be sure, And your courage endure, God will be your friend."

"And see how it has come true! We trusted God and he has given us our reward," said Gretchen joyfully.

Now it was Renti's turn to look thoughtful. Suddenly he said, "I hadn't thought of that before,"--for he had been saying the verse merely as a remedy against bad words and thoughts, without thinking much about its meaning; but now he began to understand that God was ready, if one turned to him, to do a great deal more than one really asked of him.

These meditations kept Renti very thoughtful for a while; then he suddenly realized that it was time for him to go, and he hastily bade Gretchen good night and started down the hill.

"Good night, Renti!" she called after him happily, and they went their separate ways.

As Renti neared the house he broke forth into a loud, ringing yodel.

"That doesn't sound like a sneaking hypocrite," said the farmer's wife to herself, as she passed through the garden. Before she reached the door Renti was by her side.

"May I run out to the barn a moment?" he asked.

"I am willing," the woman answered.

Renti darted off toward the stables, and going up to Brindle's stall put his arms about her neck and said, "Brindle, dear Brindle, do you know me?" And Brindle answered so lustily that all the other cows joined in, and Renti received a welcome that made the rafters tremble.

Then he went up to the hayloft, and from there climbed still higher to the upper floor. Here he scrambled around in all the corners, and when he came down he had his cap full of eggs.

When he entered the kitchen the housewife was at her usual evening duties. Seeing him she stopped and exclaimed, "Where did you find so many fine eggs?"

"In the barn," said Renti with shining eyes. "Look at these! and these! Here are Brown Betty's, and here are Snow White's, and these are from the speckled Bobtail, and these from the two young hens. What fine ones!" And Renti laid them all out on the table, as eager and interested as though they were all his own property.

"Now look at that!" exclaimed the woman, viewing the collection admiringly. "Andrew has been telling me all along that my hens were not good layers; and I always had the best hens in the parish. The trouble has simply been that he did not know where to look for the eggs. How did you know where to find them, Renti?"

"I have always known," said Renti; "and I know of other nests that I have not searched yet. I used to watch to see where every hen laid her eggs. But now I must fetch the wood."

And he went eagerly to work, running to and fro as swift as a weasel. He asked no questions; he knew just what had to be done. When the wood box was full to overflowing, he picked up the water bucket and filled all the vessels to the brim. After that he brought out shoe brushes and blacking from a box on the floor, and seating himself on a little three-legged stool in the corner, he took up the shoes, one after another, that stood in a row by the wall, brushing and polishing them with all his might.

The mistress looked at him, shaking her head in a puzzled sort of way, and said nothing. Never, since Andrew, the young hired man, came into the house, had she been so beautifully served. She had never complained, because she would have no unpleasantness in her home; but now that everything was being done so nicely, without a word from her and without the clatter of heavy feet, the woman breathed a sigh of relief and could hardly keep from telling Renti what a load was falling from her. But she did not want to spoil him. Yet how was it possible that this was the boy whom nobody wanted?

The farmer came home a little later than usual that day. He was somewhat nervous, for he thought his wife would be full of complaints about the boy, and he did not want to hear them.

He was surprised to find, when he entered the room, that she had not a word of criticism, and that she did not look at all worried, and he sat down to his supper with a little sigh of relief. Again he was surprised to find how solicitous his wife was about keeping the boy's plate filled with good things, while Renti meanwhile was gazing about the room with beaming eyes, apparently finding new delight in every detail of the old Dutch stove, and dwelling on the gray purring cat as the most beautiful object in all the world.

After supper the woman said, "Renti, you know the way to your room. Your bed is just where it used to be."

When Renti found himself in his own dear little room once more his joy was complete, and he felt like shouting and yodeling; but of course that would not have been fitting, so he sat down on the edge of his bed--for he was too happy to sleep--and thought over all that had happened, and how it was that he was back here once more. He recalled what Gretchen had said, and he felt very thankful that the dear God had come to his help as soon as he had tried to do right.

Downstairs the man was saying to his wife, "He is not so bad as you expected, is he?"

Thereupon the wife broke forth into such expressions of joy and praise that the man listened in amazement and finally said: "Be on your guard. There must be something wrong about him, and you will probably discover it soon enough."

The wife said she would watch the boy carefully before she put her full trust in him. Her worst fear was that Renti had fallen into bad company and had in that way learned to run away, and that he might be misled again. She determined to keep him at home altogether for a week, so that she might know what he was about.

Monday came; from morning till evening Renti ran about, here and there, from one to another, helping now the farmer, now the wife, now the hired man. He knew just what was needed and what was to be done, for he knew the orderly, systematic work of the place, and was everywhere apt and as quick as a flash. His whole heart and mind were in the work, for he loved the dear familiar tasks; he was at home once more.

It was the same on Tuesday, on Wednesday, and on Thursday. The farmer seemed to have four hands; his work was done before he knew it. When he needed help anywhere Renti was immediately beside him, even before he called, ready for the next step in the work.

On Thursday the hired man said to his master: "I'd rather get along with just the boy. He is three times as quick as Andrew; he knows the work and is always willing; and even if Andrew has the advantage in strength, the little fellow makes up for it with his good sense and intelligence."

This was exactly what the farmer wanted; but he had been holding back to see how the boy would turn out, and whether he would show any bad tricks.

When the farmer spoke to his wife about the matter, she exclaimed: "Thank goodness! Now I shall be rid of those clumping feet in my kitchen. When I have the boy alone with me I feel as though I were in heaven."

But she had not yet satisfied herself in regard to the boy's companionship. So one evening when the other servants had gone to bed and the farmer was busy about his last duties in the barn, she called to the boy to come and sit down beside her at the table; she wanted to have a serious talk with him.

"Now be honest, Renti, and tell me where you used to spend your time when you ran away and went tramping. Tell me just exactly who was with you."

Renti was a little frightened to have his evil days thus brought up before him, and he said in a meek, penitent voice: "I always ran straight home, back here to Lindenhof; and then I would sit out behind the barn, or I would go into the shed sometimes, when no one was looking, and would coax the hens to me. I used to stay with them a long time, and sometimes I climbed up in the barn where I could look down on the cows."

The woman scrutinized the boy closely without speaking. She knew he was telling the truth. Finally she said, "But, Renti, why did you never come in to see me, if you felt so?"

Renti hung his head and said: "On Sundays, when I might have come, I had been running away all the week, because I could not keep away from here; and then I thought you must be angry with me."

Now the woman began to understand her little friend. It was out of pure devotion to her and her house that the boy had fallen into evil ways. She must make amends to him; she was touched by the discovery she had made. What a load he had taken from her! She need fear no bad companions, no tempters, who would come after the boy to lure him away. Trickery and hidden malice were out of the question. And now she might dismiss forever the dread of having to send the boy away, thus letting the woman of Stony Acre triumph over her and giving the other women a chance to express sympathy. Best of all, though, was the thought that she was going to have the nimble, happy, devoted little fellow to serve her again. She had always liked him and now felt more attached to him than ever.

"Renti," she said at last, with a voice full of emotion, "you must have no more fears. As long as I am at Lindenhof you shall have a home here."

A happier boy than Renti was that night could not have been found in all the parish of Buschweil.

And the farmer was so glad at the turn things had taken, and the way in which his work was being done, that he would stop in the fields to tell people all about his wife's wonderful achievement in making a model boy out of Renti. The hired man, who had always found Andrew too clumsy to be of much assistance, heard with satisfaction that the little fellow was now to be taken instead, and he went about telling people that his mistress had but to look at a boy and she could do anything with him.

So, before another Sunday came, everybody in Buschweil had heard the news and was talking about the way Renti had been reformed in one week. It sounded so improbable that most people rather doubted the truth of the report.

But the mistress of Lindenhof said that they would see on Sunday that she was not afraid to appear with her boy. She fitted him out with new clothes from head to foot, finishing off with a little black cap that set off his bright face and dancing eyes most jauntily.

As Renti walked home from church beside his mistress, many a head was turned to look after them. "Can that be the boy whom no one wanted?" said one. Others said, "No one else in the world could have accomplished what she has with the boy." And all seemed pleased with her success.

The woman of Stony Acre alone did not care to talk about the wonder that had been wrought at Lindenhof. She walked straight home without once looking round. The other woman also went her way; she did not care to boast, or to be flattered for what she had done; she merely wanted people to know that Renti was not the good for nothing that they thought him. He should have his good name back, she said.

On the way home she fell in with the family from The Alders. They had heard the news and greeted Renti pleasantly when they saw him; but Gretchen was beaming with joy to find that he was now one of the very best looking boys in all the parish, and to know that, being part of a well-ordered household once more, he would henceforth come to school and to church regularly.

Since that day the lessons in Sunday school have had a new interest for the little girl. She has found out that the verses she learns may be of great help and comfort if one will try to think them out; and sometimes, when she is called upon for her old verse, a particular earnestness comes into her voice that makes some one mother say to another, as they come from church: "Gretchen's verses to-day did not sound like a mere recitation. It seemed as though she were saying the words especially to me, and for me, to give me comfort."

To Renti the words bring many memories that make him thoughtful and at the same very happy.

* * * * * *

Transcriber's note:

Small capitals have been rendered in full capitals.

A number of minor spelling errors have been corrected without note.