Sidebilder
PDF
ePub

THE GUARDIAN.

Vol. XXIII.

AUGUST, 1872.

No. 8.

THE FORESTER AND THE ORPHAN BOY.

A Christmas Story for Children, by Christoph von Schmid. Trans lated from the German by Lewis Henry Steiner.

CHAPTER II.

THE HISTORY OF POOR ANTHONY.

The father of the family, in whose house Anthony had been so kindly received, was a forester. While the children were chatting thus together, he sat in his arm-chair by the stove, seemingly absorbed in thought. His wife, with the youngest child in her arms, seated herself near him upon a chair and said, after a little while: "Why are you so quiet, and what are you thinking about?" “I was thinking over the last verse we have just sung," replied the forester. True, you have done what it says, having warmed and fed him." "But I was thinking whether we could not do still more for him. See now, this is holy Christmas Eve. We are celebrating the memory of that night, in which that holy Child was born, who came into the world for our salvation and that of all mankind. And now God sends us, even this very night, a child whom we can save. The Redeemer came a stranger into the world and had not where He might lay His head, as though he wished to put the hospitality of mankind to the test. The inhabitants of Bethlehem stood this test poorly, and banished Him at the very first to the animals of the stable. Shall we banish this boy in like manner? Tell me frankly your opinion, Elizabeth, what shall we do?"

"Keep the boy," said the wife kindly and pleasantly. "Whatsoever ye do unto one of the least of these, that ye have done unto Me,' He who was born upon this night, once said. And besides, Anthony appears to be a right good, gentle boy, possessed of a noble spirit. He looks so devout and guileless, and although he asks assistance, he is not bold nor insolent. He is certainly the child of honest parents. He uses good language, and although his red jacket is somewhat worn, still it is made of right good cloth. Wherever five can find enough to eat, there need be no difficulty about six. We will keep the boy."

"You are a dear, good wife," said the forester, pressing her hand. "God will recompense you, and whatever you may do for a strange child will inure to the benefit of our own. Still we must

first examine the boy to see whether he is worthy of such kindness." "Anthony, come here," the forester now said aloud. Anthony came and stood before him, straight and erect as a soldier standing in the presence of an officer.

"Your father," began the forester, "was a soldier and died for the fatherland! Now that is certainly sad for you, but it was beautiful and glorious for him. But tell us now something more about your parents. Where did you live before the war? was your father killed? How did your mother die? How did you come to our forest? Let us hear all."

How

Anthony proceeded thus: "My father, may God bless him, was called by the Huzzars their Sergeant. As far back as I can recollect, our regiment lay in garrison at Glatz in Silesia. My mother was always very much occupied with sewing, and earned a great deal. She was very clever. One day father came to the house in haste and said: War is declared; we must march to morrow!' He was a brave man, and.knew how to make suitable preparations. My mother was terribly frightened and wept bitterly. She would not suffer him to go without her; separation was too painful for her. Yielding to her urgent entreaties, he took us at last along with him. We travelled far, far away. One day it was said: The enemy is approaching.' My father and the Huzzars started to meet them. My mother and I remained behind. Then we were greatly frightened, as we heard the firing in the distance. 'Oh,' said mother to me, 'every shot pierces my very heart; for I know not whether the ball may not have passed through your father's heart.' We wept and prayed as long as the firing continued. But father returned again happy and uninjured. Thus it happened frequently. One day a Huzzar came into the village, after a fight, with my father's horse, and dismounting said, father had been severely wounded; he was lying upon the field of battle, half an hour's distance from the village, and must certainly die.

Mother and I hastened immediately to his side. He lay under a tree. An old soldier was kneeling at his side, holding him gently in his arms, so that father could lean his head against the breast of the brave warrior. Two other soldiers stood near by. My poor father was shot through the breast, and already looked as pale as a dying man. We saw that he wished to say something to us, but he was unable to talk. He gazed upon me anxiously with his dying eyes, then upon my mother, and then looked up toward heaven. A few minutes later he departed. My poor mother and I almost wept our eyes out. His corpse was buried in the nearest church-yard. A few of the officers and many soldiers accompanied the corpse. The trumpets sounded so strangely and sadly to my ears, that it seems as though I hear them still. They paid him the last honors and fired into the grave. My mother and I were as much shocked at this sad mark of honor as if we had been ourselves shot. Many of the soldiers wiped their eyes as they turned away from the grave. But my mother and I were melted to tears." "Mother wished now to return to her home again. True, I have no longer any relatives there,' she said, 'but there is left me a kind acquaintance. She will certainly receive us into her house, and I think that I can support both of us by the labor of my hands.' We had, however, only travelled a few days, when mother was taken sick on the road. With difficulty we reached a little village. They would not receive us anywhere, although at last we found shelter in a barn. This is indeed hard,' my mother said, 'but Mary certainly had it no better. They would receive her nowhere, and she was compelled to pass the night in a stable.' Mother became worse hourly. She sent for a minister and prepared herself for death. When it was night, the wife of the peasant who owned the barn came with a little soup in an earthen bowl, and said to her: 'You are very sick indeed; I must do something else for you.' She went and brought an old stable lantern, in which a feeble oil light was burning, and hung it to a beam. That was all that she did. She bade us then good night and troubled herself no further about us. I was quite alone with my mother, and sat by her side upon a bundle of straw weeping bitterly. Towards midnight she was getting still paler, as I could see by the dim light of the lantern. She sighed several times quite heavily. I wept still more bitterly. She extended her hand to me and said: 'Do not weep, my dear Anthony! Be a pious, good boy; love to pray, keep God before your eyes and do not that which is wicked; then God will give you another father and another mother.' These were her words. But heavenly Father,' said Anthony, as the bright tears coursed down his ruddy cheeks, 'such a mother I shall never get again.' Well," he continued,

[ocr errors]

"she looked for a long time upwards, praying quietly, then blessed me with her cold hands and departed. I could do nothing but weep. The peasant and his wife had promised my mother to take me and bring me up as their own child. They took the little she left, her clothes and her own money, but before three weeks had passed away they sent me off, saying that I had already eaten three times the value of my mother's effects. I started off, I started off, proposing to go to my old school-comrades in Glatz. But the peasants could not tell me the road to Silesia. So I am wandering hither and thither in the country and begging; for what should I do otherwise?"

The forester's wife was very much affected, and said, with tears in her eyes, to her children: "See, my children, this might happen also to you. You might also lose father and mother, and what would you then do? Therefore pray to God every day that He may preserve your parents for you."

The forester said: "You had, as far as I can judge, very upright parents, my dear Anthony. But have you no writings to show?" "Yes, indeed," said Anthony, taking a pocket-book out of his little knapsack. "These papers my mother gave me upon her death-bed. She bade me take good care of them and not suffer them to leave my hands, but I may certainly let you examine them." They consisted of the marriage certificate of his parents, Anthony's baptismal certificate, and that of his father's death. The latter had been drawn up by the army-chaplain, but the colonel of the regiment had added with his own hand a very honorable testimonial concerning the brave, noble character of the Sergeant, and the irreproachable character of the widow he had left behind.

"Well now," said the forester, "this is all very good. But tell me, Anthony, how you like us?" "Very much," said Anthony pleasantly, "so much that it seems as though I were at home here." "Would you like to stay with us?" inquired the forester. "Nothing better in the world!" said Anthony. "Your wife is just as kind as my mother was, and you are good also, and have just such a moustache as my father used to wear."

The forester laughed and stroked his beard. "Well, my boy," he said, "then stay with us. I will be your father and my wife will treat you as a mother would. But you must be a good son to us, love your brother and sisters, and give them no cause for complaint. Do you understand-you are now my son Anthony?" The boy was quite perplexed, and stared with widely-distended eyes at the forester to see whether he was really in earnest. He was so accustomed to the hard treatment he received from most persons, that he could scarcely believe the forester wished to adopt him as a child. "Well, Anthony," said the forester, extending

his hand to him, "do you agree to it?" Anthony now burst into tears, extended his hand to the forester, kissed his wife's hand and greeted both of the larger children-yes, even the youngest one, although she could not understand what was going on-as his new brother and sisters. Christian and Catharine were very much. delighted that Anthony was to remain. "Now this is right jolly," said Christian, "for when we play now, there will be three of us."

The forester continued quite seriously: "See, lad, God thus takes care of you. The blessing of your pious parents rests upon you. God heard the prayer of your dying mother and—your own prayers also, when you knelt down in the snow out there in the forest, shivering with the cold. He directed your steps here. He led you to this house. If you had not heard us singing, you might have fallen to sleep upon your knapsack and been frozen to death, and I should have found you dead in the forest. God rescued you just at the right moment. He led you on this holy night, when our hearts were especially filled with love for the Father in heaven who had given His only begotten Son for us, to our retired house in the forest, which you could otherwise hardly have found in daytime. You have to thank God and His dear Son, who was born this very night, nearly two thousand years ago, for you, my poor boy, and who died for you,-you have to thank Him that you now have a place of shelter once more. Therefore keep this in mind, and never forget it all your life; always preserve a thankful heart towards God and your Saviour. Keep God all your life before your eyes, and conduct yourself as becomes a Christian."

Anthony promised with weeping eyes. "O Thou gracious Lord," he said, raising his eyes up to heaven, "Thou hast indeed fulfilled the last wish of my dying mother, and given me a father and mother once more. But I will also try to fulfill her last words to keep Thy holy commandments, and especially to obey the fifth commandment fully as regards my new parents." "Brave Anthony," said the forester, "do that and all will be well with you." The forester's wife here showed the boy a little chamber with a clean bed, and all betook themselves, very much pleased, to rest.

The next morning the children were again collected before the representation of the child Jesus in the manger. It was their special joy on the holy Christmas festival and the following festive days. This innocent Christmas joy was, however, somewhat disturbed by a certain young Herr von Schilf-a great lover of hunting, who frequently visited the forest. On entering the room he made all manner of contemptuous remarks at the manner the manger of Jesus was represented, and said that he could not understand what purpose it served.

« ForrigeFortsett »