"Do so," replied Johannes, "you will greatly oblige me." He emptied his gla.s.s and arose. "And now let me have pen and ink, and I will write a couple of lines to the lady at the castle."
The schoolmaster opened a little, old-fashioned desk, and produced the necessary articles. Johannes wrote:
"My dear Fraulein Hartwich:--Will it offend you if I offer you the opportunity of exerting yourself within the sphere which I believe is a.s.signed to woman?--I, who provoked your displeasure this morning by remonstrating against any exertion outside of that sphere. A tragedy is about to be enacted in the peaceful cottage of the schoolmaster Leonhardt, and the physical and spiritual aid of a woman like yourself will be most welcome there. Come see these people for yourself; they are the worthiest of your kindness of any in the village, and you have seen the least of them. Say nothing to Frau Leonhardt of the hint I have given you above. The poor man needs linen-cambric rags for his eyes, and would not trouble you by asking you for them. This will furnish you a pretext for establishing relations with these people--if you will; and I am sure you will. I know that I shall hear of your kindness when I return; and I shall return again and again.
"Your friend of a few hours, but for life."
Johannes sealed the letter, and gave it to the schoolmaster. "Here, Herr Leonhardt, is the request for the linen-cambric. Send it to Fraulein Hartwich; and if she should happen to visit you herself, I pray you and your wife not to mention my name. I desire the Fraulein to remain in ignorance of it for a short time. Promise me."
The worthy old couple gave the required promise, and, bidding a kindly farewell, the gentlemen entered the carriage. Johannes took the reins, and the impatient horse bore them swiftly back to town.
The schoolmaster and his wife returned to the house and finished their dinner, for it was nearly twelve o"clock, at which hour the afternoon school in the village rea.s.sembled. They dispatched the note to Ernestine, and then the schoolmaster betook himself to the school-room to wait for his pupils. At the stroke of twelve there was a trampling of little feet in the hall, and finger after finger rapped at the door, and awaited the gentle "Come in!" without which no entrance was allowed, for the schoolmaster was a great stickler for order and decorum, and knew well how to retain the respect of his scholars. Most of the children were better in school than anywhere else. It was strange. Herr Leonhardt never struck a blow; he was rarely angry; he only reproved gently; and yet the most unruly boy, the most sullen girl, was controlled by his glance. The wise old man believed that love for the teacher was a better spur to improvement than fear, which could only call forth hatred and malice towards its object. And thus he smoothed away many a foolish, rude, and cruel trait from the peasant youth of his village, bringing out the good in the minds of those intrusted to his care, and suppressing the evil, so that, during the thirty-five years of his gentle sway in the school-room, the Hochstetten boys and girls were more in request for servants than any others in all the country round.
"Good-afternoon, Herr Leonhardt!" cried the entering throng, scattering themselves among the long benches with a sound like gravel poured out upon a path.
"St--St!" was heard from the master, and instantly all was quiet in the room, except for the rustling of the opening copy-books, and the lesson began.
Suddenly there was a soft, low knock at the door,--such a knock as comes only from a guilty conscience,--and a little, cleanly-dressed girl, about six years old, stood upon the threshold with downcast eyes.
She held out before her, as if trying to hide behind it, a satchel so large that it really seemed difficult to decide whether the child had brought it, or it had brought the child; and the pearly drops upon her brow showed how fast she had been running.
"Why, Kathchen!" cried Herr Leonhardt, "why do you come so late? Come here to me, little culprit. It is the first time in the whole long year since you first came to school that you have been late. Something very unusual must have happened?"
Little Kathchen slowly approached him, while her chubby face grew scarlet. "I--I had to pick berries," she faltered, biting her berry-stained lips.
"Oh, Kathchen," said Herr Leonhardt, raising his forefinger, "that is very strange. _You had to!_ Who told you to?"
Kathchen still looked down, and her face grew, if possible, redder still.
"Look me in the face, my child," said the master gravely. "Are you telling the truth?"
Kathchen tried to raise her brown, roguish eyes to his face, but, ah, the consciousness of guilt weighed down her eyelids like lead. She could not look at her teacher; she only shook her curly head.
"Kathchen," said the master kindly, "you were not sent to pick berries, for I know how desirous your father and mother are to send you to school--you ran into the wood to pick and eat them yourself. Perhaps this is your first falsehood, as it is the first time you have been late at school. Pray G.o.d that it maybe your last."
"Oh," the little culprit broke forth, "the neighbour"s Fritz took me with him, and the berries tasted so good that I stayed too long."
The other children laughed; but a motion of the master"s hand restored silence, and he continued to Kathchen: "Now, my child, for your tardiness you will have a black mark; and go down one in your cla.s.s; but, Kathchen, for the falsehood you will lose your place in my heart, and I cannot love you so much. But I will forgive you if you will go stand in the corner of your own accord. Which will you do?--lose your place in my heart, or go stand in the corner for a quarter of an hour?"
The child burst into a flood of tears, and, sobbing out, "I"d rather, a great deal rather, go stand in the comer!" walked there instantly, and turned her dear little face to the wall.
The schoolmaster looked after her pityingly; but nevertheless he was firm, for he always imposed the severest penalty for a falsehood. The lessons were continued, and in about ten minutes he called the still sobbing Kathchen from her corner. The child came running to him, and he held out his hand to her, saying, "Will you promise me, Kathchen, never again to say what is not true?"
"Oh, yes, I will never, never do it again," was the contrite answer.
Then the old man took up the rosy little thing and set her on his knee.
"Then, my dear child, I will love you dearly as long as you are honest and industrious. And if you are ever tempted to tell what is not true, think how it would grieve your old teacher if he knew it, and tell the truth for his sake."
"Yes, yes," cried the child, her little heart overflowing with repentance, and, throwing her arms around the master"s neck, she hugged him with all her might.
The other children had watched the ceremony of reconciliation with intense sympathy, for they were all fond of brown-eyed, rosy-cheeked Kathchen, and were rejoiced that her troubles were over.
"Now," said the teacher, when Kathchen was at last seated in her place, "now let us see whether you have done your task well."
Kathchen pulled out her books from the dark depths of her huge satchel; but, alas! the light of day revealed upon them many a stain from the berries which had been put into the bag. The child"s dismay and her companions" amus.e.m.e.nt were infinite. Even the schoolmaster could not refrain from smiling as he looked at her terrified little face. "Never mind," he said, "you have suffered enough. Let us see how they look inside." He opened the copy-book, and was evidently pleased with the neat copy. But the sums were in dire confusion.
"Kathchen," cried Herr Leonhardt, "if a horse has four legs, how many legs have two horses?"
"Six!" was the confident answer.
"Kathchen, how many are twice two?"
"Eight!"
Herr Leonhardt cast to heaven that resigned glance peculiar only to such patient martyrs. "Kathchen, how many fingers, not counting the thumb, are there on your left hand?"
Kathchen counted with her right hand the fingers of her left, and triumphantly declared, "Four."
"And how many on your right hand?"
Again the same process was repeated with the right hand, and the same answer ensued.
"That"s right! Now, how many are there together?"
No answer.
"How many fingers have you on both hands?"
"Ten!"
"Without the thumbs, child,--without either of the thumbs."
Kathchen began her arduous task anew.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door.
"Another child late?" said Herr Leonhardt, and cried, "Come in."
But, instead of the rosy face of a child, a pale countenance, with large, dark eyes, appeared, and gazed almost shyly around the circle.
This apparition produced a perfect panic. "Oh, heavens! the Hartwich!
Mercy! mercy! the woman of the castle!" and similar exclamations of alarm, were heard from all sides. The children started up,--those who were nearest the door crowded away from it, the larger ones dragged the little ones close to their sides, the Catholics even crossed themselves. An actual uproar began, which even the teacher"s voice failed at first to control.
Ernestine observed it all without any change in her regular features.
Leonhardt approached her respectfully, and would have asked her pardon for the children"s folly, but she interrupted him.
"On the contrary," she said softly, "it is I who should ask pardon for interrupting your school by my dreaded appearance. I meant to go to your dwelling-room, to take you the linen-cambric handkerchiefs that you need, but not knowing where it was, I knocked here by mistake. Have the kindness, Herr Leonhardt, to relieve me of this parcel, and I will relieve your pupils from their alarm."