Vicki called out from her doorway--you could hear the least call thismorning at an extraordinary distance--to ask if I were snowed up toomuch to come down as usual.
'I'm coming down, and I'm making the path to do it with,' I called back,shovelling with an energy that set my hair dancing about my ears.
She shouted back--her very shout was cheerful, and I did not need to seeher face to know that today there would be no tears--that she too wouldmake a path up to meet mine; and presently I heard the sounds of anotherjoyful shovel.
Underneath, the ground was hard with frost; it had frozen violently forseveral hours before the snow came up on the huge purple wings of thenorth wind. The muddy roads, the soaked forest, the plaintive patter ofthe rain, were wiped out of existence between a sleeping and a waking.This was no world in which to lament. This was no place in which sighswere possible. The thought that a man's marrying one or not could makeso much as the faintest smudge across the bright hopefulness of lifemade me laugh aloud with healthiest derision. Oh, how my shovel rangagainst the frozen stones! The feathery snow was scattered broadcast ateach stroke. My body glowed and tingled. My hair grew damp about myforehead. The sun smiled broadly down upon my back. Papa flung up hiswindow to cheer me on, but shut it again with a slam before he had wellgot out his words. Johanna came for an instant to the door, peeped out,gasped that it was cold--_unheimlich kalt_ was her strange expression:_unheimlich=dismal_, uncanny; think of it!--and shut the door ashurriedly as Papa had shut the window. An hour later two hot and smilingyoung women met together on the path they had shovelled, andstraightened themselves up, and looked proudly at the results of theirwork, and laughed at each other's scarlet faces and at the way theirnoses and chins were covered with tiny beads. 'As if it were August andwe'd been reaping,' said Vicki; and the big girl laughed at this, andthe small girl laughed at this, with an excessiveness that would haveconvinced a passer-by that somebody was being very droll.
But there was no passer-by. You don't pass by if snow lies on the roadsthree feet deep. We are cut off entirely from Jena and shops. Thisletter won't start for I haven't an idea how long. Milk cannot come tous, and we cannot go to where there is a cow. I have flour enough tobake bread with for about ten days unless the Lindebergs should havenone, in which case it will last less than five. The coal-hole is storedwith cabbages and carrots, buried, with cunning circumvention of decay,in sand. Potatoes abound in earth-covered heaps out of doors. Applesabound in Johanna's attic. We vegetarians come off well on occasionslike this, for the absence of milk and butter does not afflict thealready sorely afflicted, and of course the absence of meat leaves uscompletely cold.
Vicki and I have been mending a boy's sled we found in the lumber roomof their house, I suppose the sled used in his happier days by the_Assessor_ now chained to a desk in Berlin, and with this we are goingout after coffee this afternoon when the sky turns pale green and starscome out and blink at us, to the top of the road where it joins theforest, dragging the sled up as best we can over the frozen snow, andthen, tightly clutching each other, and I expect not altogether insilence, we intend to career down again as far as the thing will career,flashing, we hope, past her mother's gate at a speed that will preventall interference. Perhaps we shall not be able to stop, and will belanded at last in the middle of the market-place in Jena. I'll take thisletter with me in case that happens, because then I can post it.Good-by. It's going to be glorious. Don't you wish you had a sled and amountain too?
Yours in a great hurry,
ROSE-MARIE SCHMIDT.
LIX
Galgenberg, Dec. 9th.
Dear Mr. Anstruther,--We are still in sunshine and frost up here, andare all very happy, we three Schmidts--Johanna is the third--becauseJoey arrives to-morrow and we shall once more roll in money. I hasten totell you this, for there were signs in your last two letters that youwere taking our position to heart. It is wonderfully kind, I think, theway you are interested in our different little pains and pleasures. I amoften more touched than I care to tell you by the sincerity of yoursympathy with all we do, and feel very grateful for so true a friend. Iwas so glad you gave up coming to Jena on your way to Berlin, for itshowed that you try to be reasonable, and then you know ProfessorMartens goes to Berlin himself every now and then to take sweet counselwith men like Harnack, so you will be sure to see him sooner or later,and see him comfortably, without a rush to catch a train. You say youdid not come because I urged you not to, and that in all things you wantto please me. Well, I would prefer to suppose you a follower of thatplain-faced but excellent guide Common Sense. Still, being human, theless lofty and conscientious side of me does like to know there is someone who wishes to please me. I feel deliciously flattered--when I letmyself think of it; nearly always I take care to think of somethingelse--that a young man of your undoubted temporal and spiritualadvantages should be desirous of pleasing an obscure person like me.What would Frau von Lindeberg say? Do you remember Shelley's wife'ssister, the Miss Westbrook who brushed her hair so much, with herconstant 'Gracious Heavens, what would Miss Warne say?' I feel inclinedto exclaim the same thing about Frau von Lindeberg, but with an oppositemeaning. And it is really very surprising that you should be so kind,for I have been a shrew to you often, and have been absorbed in my ownaffairs, and have not erred on the side of over-sympathy about yours.Some day, when we are both very old, perhaps you will get a few hours'leave from the dowager duchess you'll marry when you are forty, and willcome and look at my pigs and my garden and sit with me before the fireand talk over our long friendship and all the long days of our life. AndI, when I hear you are coming, shall be in a flutter, and will get outmy best dress, and will fuss over things like asparagus and a salad, andtell the heated and awe-stricken maid that His Britannic Majesty'sAmbassador at the Best Place to be an Ambassador in in the World iscoming to supper; and we shall feel how sweet it is to be old dearfriends.
Meanwhile we are both very busy with the days we have got to now. Today,for instance, has been so violently active that every bone I possess isaching. I'll tell you what happened, since you so earnestly assure methat all we do interests you. The snow is frozen so hard that far frombeing cut off as I had feared from shops and food there is the mostglorious sledding road down to Jena; and at once on hearing of Joey'simminence Vicki and I coasted down on the sled and I bought the bookPapa has been wanting and a gigantic piece of beef. Then we persuaded asmall but strong boy, a boy of open countenance and superior mannerswhom we met in the market-place, to drag the sled with the beef and thebook up the hill again for us; and so we set out homeward, walking gaylyone on each side of him, encouraging him with loud admiration of hisprowess. 'See,' said I, when I knew a specially steep bit was coming,'see what a great thing it is to be able to draw so much so easily.'
A smirk and renewed efforts were the result of this speech at first; butthe smirk grew smaller as the hill grew steeper, and the effortsdwindled to vanishing point with the higher windings of the road. Atlast there was no smirk at all, and at my sixth repetition of theencouragement he stopped dead. 'If it is such a great thing,' he said,wiping his youthful forehead with a patched sleeve, and looking at mewith a precociousness I had not till then observed in his eyes, 'why doyou not do it yourself?'
Vicki and I stared at each other in silent wonder.
'Because,' I said, turning a reproachful gaze on him, 'because, my dearlittle boy, I desire you to have the chance of earning the fiftypfennings we have promised to give you when we get to the top.'
He began to pull again, but no longer with any pride in his performance.Vicki and I walked in silence behind, and at the next steep bit, insteadof repeating a form of words I felt had grown vain, I skilfully unhookedthe parcel of meat hanging on the right-hand runner and carried it, andVicki, always quick to follow my example, unhooked the biography ofGoethe from the left-hand runner and carried that. The sled leapedforward, and for a space the boy climbed with greater vigor. Then cameanother long steep bit, and he flagged again.
'Come, come,' said I, 'it is quite easy.'
He at once stopped and wiped his forehead. 'If it is easy,' he asked,'why do you not do it yourself?'
'Because, my dear little boy,' said I, trying to be patient, but meat isheavy, and I knew it to be raw, and I feared every moment to feel adreadful dampness oozing through the paper, and I was out of breath, andno longer completely calm, 'you engaged to pull it up for us, and havingengaged to do it it is your duty to do it. I will not come between a boyand his duty.'
The boy looked at Vicki. 'How she talks,' he said.
Vicki and I again stared at each other in silent wonder, and while wewere staring he pulled the sled sideways across the road and sat down.
'Come, come,' said I, striving after a brisk severity.
'I am tired,' he said, leaning his chin on his hand and studying firstmy face and then Vicki's with a detached, impartial scrutiny.
'We too are tired,' said I, 'and see, yet we carry the heavy parcels foryou. The sled, empty, is quite light.'
'Then why do you not pull it yourself?' he asked again.
'Anyhow,' said Vicki, 'while he sits there we needn't hold these greatthings.' And she put the volumes on the sled, and I let the meat drop onit, which it did with a horrible, soft, heavy thud.
The boy sat motionless.
'Let him get his wind,' said Vicki, turning away to look over the edgeof the road at the view.
'I'm afraid he's a bad little boy,' said I, following her and gazing tooat the sparkling hills across the valley. 'A bad little boy, encased inan outer semblance of innocence.'
'He only wants his wind,' said Vicki.
'He shows no symptoms of not having got it,' said I; for the boy wasvery calm, and his mouth was shut sweetly in a placid curve.
We waited, looking at the view, humanely patient as became two highlycivilized persons. The boy got up after a few minutes and shook himself.'I am rested,' he announced with a sudden return to the politeness thathad charmed us in Jena.
'It certainly was rather a long pull up,' said I kindly, softened by hismanner.
'Yes,' said he, 'but I will not keep the ladies waiting longer.'
And he did not, for he whisked the sled round, sat himself upon it, andbefore we had in the least understood what was happening he and it andthe books for Papa and the beef for Joey were darting down the hill,skimming along the track with the delicious swiftness none knew andappreciated better than we did. At the bend of the road he gave a joyfulwhoop and waved his cap. Then he disappeared.
Vicki and I stared at each other once more in silent wonder. 'What anabandoned little boy,' she gasped at last--he must have been almost inJena by the time we were able to speak.
'The poor beef,' said I very ruefully, for it was a big piece and hadcost vast sums.
'Yes, and the books,' said Vicki.
'Yes, and the _Assessor's_ sled,' said I.
There was nothing for it but to hurry down after him and seek out theauthorities and set them in pursuit; and so we hurried as much as can behurried over such a road, tired, silent, and hungry, and both secretlynettled to the point of madness at having been so easily circumvented byone small boy.
'Little boys are more pestilential than almost anything I know,' saidVicki, after a period of speechless crunching over the snow.
'Far more than anything I know,' said I.
'I'm thankful I did not marry,' said she.
'So am I,' said I.
'The world's much too full of them as it is,' said she.
'Much,' said I.
'Oh,' she cried suddenly, stamping her foot, 'if I could only get holdof him--wicked, wicked little wretch!'
'What would you do?' I asked, curious to see if her plans were at alllike mine.
'Gr--r--r--r--r,' said Vicki, clenching all those parts of her, such asteeth and fists, that would clench.
'Oh so would I!' I cried.
We were almost at the bottom; the road was making its final bend; and,as we turned the corner, behold the boy, his cap off, his head bent, hisshoulders straining at the rope, pulling the sled laboriously up again.And there was the beef hung on one runner, and there were the books hungon the other. We both stopped dead, arrested by this spectacle. He wasalmost upon us before he saw us, so intent was he on his business, hiseyes on the ground, the sun shining on his yellow hair, the drops oflabor rolling down his crimson cheeks.
'What?' he panted, pausing when he saw our four boots in a row in hispath, and had looked up and recognized the rest of us, 'what, am I therealready?'
'No,' I cried in the voice of justified anger, 'you are not there--youare here, at the very beginning of the mountain. Now what have you tosay for yourself?'
'Nothing,' said he, grinning and wiping his face with his sleeve. 'Butit was a good ride.'
'You have only just escaped the police and prison,' I said, stilllouder. 'We were on our way to hand you over to them.'
'If I had been there to hand,' said he, winking at Vicki, to whom he hadapparently taken a fancy that was in no way encouraged.
'You had stolen our sled and our parcels,' I continued, glaring down onhim.
'Here they are. They are all here. What more do you want?' said he. 'Howshe talks,' he added, turning to Vicki and thrusting out his underlipwith an expression that could only mean disgust.
'You are a very naughty little boy,' said Vicki. 'Give me the rope andbe off.'
'Give me my fifty pfennings.'
'Your fifty pfennings?' we exclaimed with one voice.
'You promised me fifty pfennings.'
'To pull the sled up to the top.'
'I am ready to do it.'
'Thank you. We have had enough. Let the rope go--'
'And get home to your mother--'
'And ask her to give you a thorough--'
'A bargain is a bargain,' said the boy, planting himself squarely infront of me, while I adjusted the rope over my shoulders and prepared topull.
'Now run away, you very naughty little boy,' said I, pulling sideways topass him by.
He stepped aside too, and faced me again. 'You promised me fiftypfennings,' he said.
'To pull the sled up.'
'I am willing to do it.'
'Yes, and coast down again as soon as you have got to the top. Be offwith you. We are not playing games.'
'A promise is a promise,' said the boy.
'Vicki, remove him from my path,' said I.
Vicki took him by the arm and gingerly drew him on one side, and Istarted up the hill, surprised to find what hard work it was.
'I am coming too,' said the boy.
'Are you?' said Vicki.
'Yes. To fetch my fifty pfennings.'
We said no more. I couldn't, because I was so breathlessly pulling, andVicki marched by my side in indignant silence, with a jealous eyedivided between the parcels and the boy. He, unencumbered, thrust hishands into his pockets and beguiled the way by shrilly whistling.
At each winding of the road when Vicki and I changed places he renewedhis offer to fulfil his first bargain; but we, more and more angry as wegrew hotter and hotter, refused with an ever increasing wrath.
'Come, come,' said he, when a very steep bit had forced me to pause andstruggle for breath.
'Come, come--' and he imitated my earlier manner--'it is quite easy.'
I looked at him with what of majesty I could, and answered not a word.
At Vicki's gate he was still with us. 'I will see you safely home,'Vicki said to me when we got there.
'This where you live?' inquired the boy, peeping through the bars of thegate with cheerful interest. 'Nice little house.'
We were silent.
'I will see her home,' he said to Vicki, 'if you don't want to. But shecan surely take care of herself, a great girl like that?'
We were silent.
At my gate he was still with us. 'This where she lives?' he asked Vicki,again peeping through the bars with cheerful interest. 'Funny littlehouse.'
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We were silent. In silence we opened the gate and dragged the sled in.He came too.
'You cannot come in here,' said Vicki. 'This is private property.'
'I only wish to fetch my fifty pfennings,' said he. 'It will save youtrouble if I come to the door.'
We went in in silence, and together carried the sled inside, a thing wehad not yet done, and took it with immense exertions into the parlor,and put it under the table, and tied it by each of its four corners toeach of the table's four legs.
'There,' said Vicki, scrambling to her feet again and looking at herknots with satisfaction, 'that's safe if anything is.'
I went with her to the door. The boy was still there, cap in hand, verypolite, very patient. 'And my fifty pfennings?' he asked pleasantly.
I cannot explain what we did next. I pulled out my purse and paid him,which was surprising enough, but Vicki, to whom fifty pfennings are alsoprecious, pulled out hers too and gave him fifty on her own account. Iam quite unable to explain either her action or mine. The boy made useach the politest bow, his cap sweeping the snow. 'She,' he said toVicki, jerking his head my way, 'may think she is the prettiest, but youare certainly the best.'
And he left us to settle it between us, and walked away shrillywhistling.
And I am so tired that my very pen has begun to ache, so good-by.
ROSE-MARIE SCHMIDT.
Oh, I must tell you that Papa refused to have Joey sleep in his roomwith a flatness that put a stop to my arguments before they were evenbegun. 'Nay,' he cried, 'I will not.' And when I opened my mouth toproduce the arguments--' 'Nay,' he cried again, 'I will not.' He drownedmy speech. He would not listen. He would not reason. Parrot-like throughthe house resounded his cry--'Nay, I will not.' I was in despair. Buteverything has arranged itself. Joey is to have the _Assessor's_ room onthe ground floor of our neighbor's house, and will come up here forlessons and meals. He is only to sleep down there, and will be all dayhere. We telegraphed to Weimar to ask about it, and the ever kind ownerimmediately agreed. Frau von Lindeberg is displeased, for she says noDammerlitz has ever yet been known to live in a house where there was alodger,--a common lodger she said first, but corrected herself, andcovered up the common with a cough.
Fräulein Schmidt and Mr. Anstruther Page 21