CHAPTER III

A MINISTERING ANGEL

The following day was Sunday. The community of the Hillside belonged to the Beckenried church in the valley. It was a long walk to church, but the children were obliged to go to Sunday school regularly, for the pastor was stern in insisting that the children must be properly brought up. So on that day the whole troop wended its way as usual down the hill, and soon they were all sitting as quietly as possible on the long wooden benches in church. Other groups had assembled; the pastor got them all settled, and then began. He said that he had told them the last time about the life hereafter, and as his glance fell on Rudi, he continued: "Now, Rudi, I will ask you something that you can surely answer, even if we cannot expect much of you. Where will all good Christians--even the poorest and lowliest of us, if we have led good lives--finally be so happy as to know no more sorrow?"

"In the hut of the high pasture," Rudi replied without hesitating.

But he heard snickering all about him and looked around timidly. Mocking faces met him on every side and the children all seemed bursting with suppressed laughter. Rudi bent down his head as though he wished to crawl into the floor. Of the pastor's previous lesson he had heard nothing, because he had been engaged the whole hour in dodging sly attacks from the rear. Now he had answered the question entirely from his own experience.

The pastor looked at him steadily; but when he saw that Rudi had no thought of laughing, but was sitting there in fear and mortification, he shook his head doubtfully and said, "There is nothing to be done with him."

When the lesson was over the whole crowd came running after Rudi, laughing noisily and shouting, "Rudi, were you dreaming of the cheese party in Sunday school?" and "Rudi, why didn't you tell about cheese rolls?"

The boy ran away like a hunted rabbit, trying to escape from his noisy tormentors. He ran up the hill, where he knew the others would not pursue him, for they meant to pass the pleasant summer afternoon down in the village.

He ran farther and farther up the mountain. For all his trials he had now a solace: he could fly to the upper pasture and console himself with the sight of Franz Martin's friendly face. There he could sit very quietly in his little retreat and be safe from pursuit. As he sat there to-day under the fir trees, the little bird was again singing overhead. The snow peaks glistened in the sun, and here and there a clear mountain stream made its way between green slopes of verdure.

Rudi breathed a sigh of contentment as he looked over the peaceful scene. He forgot all about his recent tormentors and was conscious only of the one wish,--that he might never have to leave this spot again. Now and then he got a glimpse of Franz Martin, for whom he was continually watching. Then he would crouch down and make himself as small as possible, for he had the feeling that if Franz Martin should find him here again he might think he had come to get another piece of bread and butter, while really it was only because this man was the first and only person who had ever been friendly and kind to him, so that he felt happier in his presence than anywhere else in the world. The herdsman did not discover him, and Rudi sat in his little nook until the stars came out and Franz Martin stepped forth from his hut again and said, "God give you good night."

Then at last Rudi ran home. It was late, as on the evening before, when he found his bed; but to-night he was hungry, for he had had nothing since morning. He did not mind it very much, though, he had been so happy on the mountain.

So a whole week passed. Whenever Rudi thought no one was watching him he ran up the alp and slipped into his hiding place. There he would observe the doings of the herdsman from moment to moment, and never would he leave his hiding place until Franz Martin had said, "God give you good night." It seemed to him now as though the evening blessing were meant for him, too.

The days that followed were exceptionally warm. The sun rose each morning in a sky as cloudless as that in which it had sunk the night before. The pasturage was especially fine, and Franz Martin got such rich milk from the cows that he turned out most excellent cheeses. That pleased him, and his happy whistle could be heard from earliest dawn to evening as he went about his work. On Saturday of this week he was at work even earlier than usual, for this was one of the days when he was to carry three or four of the cheeses down to the lake and have them shipped. Soon he had them packed and strapped to his back and was trudging in happy mood down the mountain, alpenstock in hand. It was the hottest day of the whole summer.

The farther down he went the more he was oppressed by the excessive heat, and many times he said to himself, "Oh, how glad I shall be to get back to my hut this evening in the cool upper air! Down here it is like an oven."

He reached the landing place just as the boat came in that was to carry the cheese. His business was quickly settled, and then he stood a moment thinking whether he should go right back up the mountain or stop for something to eat. But he had no appetite; his head was hot and heavy and he wished only to get back. Then some one touched his arm. It was one of the ship hands who had just helped load the boat.

"Come, Franz Martin; it is a warm day; we'll go in the shade and have a glass of wine," he said, as he drew the herdsman toward the tavern where the big trees stood.

Franz Martin was hot and thirsty and was not averse to sitting down a little while in the shade. He emptied his glass at one draught; but in a few moments he rose, saying that he felt quite oppressed by this heavy lower air, and that he was used to cold milk and water and not to wine. He took leave of his companion and started off with long strides up the mountain. But never had he found the ascent so difficult. The noonday sun beat upon his head, his pulse throbbed, and his feet were so heavy that he could scarcely lift them. But he kept on resolutely. The steeper the alp the longer grew his strides, and he spurred himself on with the prospect that now there was only an hour, now a half hour, and at last only a quarter hour of hot climbing before him; then he would be at home and could lie down to rest on the fresh hay.

Now he had reached the last steep ascent. The sun burned like fire on his head; suddenly all grew dark before his eyes; he swayed and fell heavily to the ground--he had lost consciousness.

* * * * *

When the milker came in the evening he found that Franz Martin had not yet returned. He set the milk down in the corner and went away; he never thought of looking about for the dairyman. But there was some one else there who had been looking for Franz Martin for a long time, and that was Rudi. The boy had been sitting in his retreat for several hours. He knew every step the herdsman had to make and how his duties followed one after another; he was very much surprised to see how long Franz Martin left the milk standing to-day, for he had always poured it immediately into the various vessels. Some of it, for buttering, was poured into the big round pans and left to stand until all the cream rose to the top in a thick layer; the rest of it was poured into the cheese kettle. All this Rudi had seen from day to day through the open house door.

Still the herdsman did not come. The boy began to feel that there was something wrong. He came out very softly from his hiding place and went toward the hut. Here all was still and deserted, in the lower room as well as in the hayloft above. There was no fire crackling under the kettle; not a sound was to be heard; everything seemed dead. Rudi ran anxiously around the outside of the hut, up and down, and in all directions. Then, suddenly, down on the path he spied Franz Martin lying on the ground. He ran toward the spot. There lay his friend with closed eyes, groaning and languishing in great distress. He was fiery hot and his lips were dry and hard. Rudi stood and stared for a moment, pale with fright, at his benefactor. Then he ran down the mountain as fast as he could run.

Franz Martin had been lying on the ground unconscious for many hours; a terrible fever had come upon him. He was tortured by awful thirst. Now and then it seemed to him in his fever that he was coming to water and was about to bend over and drink. In his efforts to get at the water he would wake up for a moment, for it had only been delirium. Then he found himself still lying on the ground, unable to move, and longing in vain for a drop of water. He would lose consciousness again and dream he was lying down in the swamp where he had seen the fine strawberries as he passed this morning. There he saw them hanging still. Oh, how he longed for them! He put out his hand, but in vain,--he could not reach them. But presently he had one in his mouth; an angel was kneeling beside him and had given it to him,--one, and another, and another. Oh, how good the juice tasted in his parched mouth! Franz Martin licked and smacked his lips over the refreshing morsel. He awoke. Was it really true? was he really awake? It was no dream; there knelt the angel beside him and laid another big, juicy strawberry in his mouth.

"Oh, you good angel, another one!" said Franz Martin softly; but not one only,--five, six, the angel put into his mouth, and Franz Martin eagerly devoured them. Suddenly a look of pain shot over his face; he laid his hand on his forehead and could only murmur, "Water," before he became quite unconscious again; he could not even eat the last strawberry.

He dreamed most horrible things: his head grew as big as his very largest ball of butter, and then grew still larger and so very heavy that he thought in terror, "I shall not be able to carry it alone; they will have to hold it up with props,--like an overloaded apple tree." And then he felt quite plainly that his head was full of gunpowder; some one had lighted it from behind and now it was burning with awful fury and soon would blow everything to pieces. Then suddenly Clear Brook came running down over his brow, cool and invigorating, then over his whole face and into his mouth; and Franz Martin swallowed and swallowed, and awoke to consciousness.

It was quite true,--shower after shower of icy water ran over his face; then he felt something at his mouth like a little bowl, and he greedily drank the cool water. Over him were the twinkling stars. These he could see plainly, and also that he was still lying out on the open ground. But it could not be Clear Brook that was flowing over him and giving him drink. He could not make out what it was, but it felt very good and refreshing, and he murmured gratefully, "O blessed Father, how I thank you for your kindness and for this ministering angel!"

At last he felt something on his brow, so cool and comforting that he said, "Now the fire cannot get through," and contentedly fell asleep and dreamed no more.