The Four Corners Abroad

"It will be to your own sorrow if you do," her mother told her. "Here it is. Perhaps it is a good plan to let you have this much responsibility, for it will give you a chance of depending upon your own wits."

Jack stowed away her ticket safely, giving only stealthy peeps at it once in a while during the time they were on the street-cars which would take them to the Gärtnerplatz theatre. At the last moment before they entered she looked to see if it were there, and held it tightly as she was about to follow the others. Miss Helen was in front, the older girls came next, Jean was just ahead of Jack. Suddenly Jack's eye fell upon a forlorn little figure by the door, wistfully watching the faces of the many happy children who were entering the door. Jack paused, and gave a long look at the child to make sure she was the same they had seen in the cemetery on All Saints day. She had not met her since the morning she saw her talking to the switch-tender, but she was very sure that she was not mistaken in believing her to be the one in whom she and Jean were interested. She stood smiling at the little girl and received a timid smile in return.

"Gehen zie in theatre?" asked Jack in her best German.

"Nein," answered the child.

"Warum?" inquired Jack.

"Ich habe kein billet."

Jack hesitated but a moment before she thrust her ticket into the hand of the child who looked astounded. "Here," said Jack, and then she rushed tumultuously away leaving the child gazing from the ticket to the fast disappearing figure of the little girl who hurried off.

Jack had a good bump of locality and knew exactly what car to take in order to return home, and thither she went, not without some regrets at her impetuous generosity, it must be confessed, but on the whole quite satisfied with herself. It seemed a very long afternoon, but she went bravely through it, occupying the time by writing to her friend Carter Barnwell, and by doing such things as were not encouraged when her elders were at home. It was a fine opportunity to pick out tunes on the piano, for example, and to leap from chair to chair pretending that there was only water between. She could also rummage and dress up, choosing Nan's frocks for the latter performance, since these would trail further on the ground. She put a suit of Mary Lee's on a pillow and pretended it was another person while she, herself, was the Princess Herzlieb, so after all the time did not go slowly.

She was standing by the window watching when the family returned.

"Jack Corner, you are the most surprising child I ever saw," began Nan.

"Oh, but you missed it," cried Jean. "You never saw anything so lovely."

"Hush, Jean," said Mrs. Corner. "Jack, dear, I want to know how it happened the little girl had your place."

"We were so surprised when she came in," said Mary Lee. "We thought you were right behind us, and that the little girl had taken the wrong seat for there were two empty just the other side, though they were filled later, but no indeed, there was the number all right. You never saw such an amazed child as she was in all your life. I don't suppose she had ever been in such a place before."

"Tell us about it, Jack," said her mother taking the child's hands in hers.

"I saw her standing on the steps watching the people go in, and she looked so poor and miserable, and I thought of the candle and the flowers and that maybe she never did have any good times, so I asked her if she were going in and she said no, she hadn't any ticket, so I said here, and I gave her mine and ran."

"You impulsive little child," said her mother. "Why, dearie, rather than have had you give, up the play I would gladly have let you take my place. Indeed, as soon as we had inquired of the little girl how she came to have the ticket I did go out to find you, but you were nowhere to be seen."

Jack looked a little regretful. "What did the little girl say?" she asked. "What did you all talk to her about?"

"Your Aunt Helen asked if she had found the ticket, for she thought you must have dropped it. But the little girl said, no, a mädchen, a gnädiges fräulein gave it to her, and then we knew."

Jack turned eagerly to Jean. "Did you ask her name, Jean, and where she lived?"

"I forgot. I was so excited about the play, but Aunt Helen asked, didn't she, mother?"

"Yes, her name is Bertha Metzger, and she lives over the other side of the market. Did I understand you to say, Jack, that you had seen her before?"

"Why, yes, didn't Jean tell you? She is the little girl we saw in the cemetery that Sunday, the one who had only a little candle and such a measly tiny bunch of flowers."

"And that is why you felt like doing this for her, I see."

"Of course that was it."

"Oh, Jack," exclaimed Jean again rapturously, "it was so lovely. The Princess Herzlieb was bee-yutiful, and the prince so handsome. It was like a real fairy-land with roses and things, and the fairy godmother lived in a cunning house, and had the dearest boy pigeons to carry her messages. They would flap their wings just like real pigeons, only they were people dressed up to look like pigeons. Then there was a funny fat old cook that made everybody laugh; you ought to have seen him, he was so ridiculous."

"I don't care," said Jack with pretended indifference.

"And the brother of the princess was changed into stone because he was a very bad boy, and the princess could break the spell only by going into the king's kitchen and working like a servant for a year, and in all that time she couldn't speak a word; if she did there would be no chance of her freeing her brother from the spell. Oh, it was so exciting I was so afraid she would have to speak."

"I don't care," said Jack, not quite so bravely.

"And," Jean went on still intent upon her tale, "there was a great big Christmas tree at the last and the king and the king's brother – he was the prince who loved the princess – and a lot of the court were all there, then afterward the prince found the princess and she had served her time as a servant so she could free her brother, so she did, and oh, it was fine. There were so many lovely things. There was a fairy who appeared and disappeared like magic, and – oh, yes, I forgot, there was such a funny dance – "

"I – don't care," said Jack in a broken voice and rushing from the room. After all, her sacrifice had not seemed to mean much. Every one had been entertained and had not missed her greatly. Even Jean, her own twin, had not said she was sorry that her little sister was not there, but seemed, on the contrary, rather to triumph over her. They had not said much about Bertha, and – well the tears began to run down her cheeks as she stood alone in the dark by the window of the room where she and Jean slept.

Presently the door opened softly and some one came in. "Is that you here in the dark, Jacksie?" It was Nan who spoke. "I am so sorry you missed the play. I couldn't half enjoy it for thinking about you. But, honey, you did the loveliest thing for little Bertha, and you are a real little Princess Herzlieb yourself, because poor Bertha is shut out from everything, from all the lovely things and the comforts you have and you broke the spell by making a sacrifice, just as the Princess Herzlieb did in the play."

"Oh, Nan, did I?"

"Of course, for you gave her such a wonderful pleasure. I wish you could have seen her great eyes and her happy little face. She will remember this afternoon all her life, I am sure. Aunt Helen and I talked to her as we were coming out, and we are going to find out more about her. Her mother is dead and she doesn't know where her father is. She lives with an aunt who has a great many children and I think must be very poor."

"Maybe she is the switch woman."

"Very likely. At any rate we shall find out soon, and we are going to see about a jolly good Christmas for them all. Do you remember last year and little Christine? You did that, too, little Princess Heartlove. Your old Nan understands, doesn't she? I know you can't help being half sorry, but when you see how it will all turn out for Bertha, you will be glad you served without speaking."

"You are so nice, Nan," said Jack, giving her sister a close hug. "You always do understand, and you never think I am half as bad as other people think."

"You are anything but bad. Sometimes you do thoughtless things, but you don't really mean to be naughty."

"I forget."

"I know you do, and after a while you will learn to remember. You don't do half as many wrong things as you used to. I know something else; I know if you hadn't spent your money for Jean's doll you would have had enough to buy a ticket for Bertha and could have kept your own."

"How did you know?" said Jack a little embarrassed.

"Because I know what your allowance is, and I know you had only a tiny bit left after you bought the doll."

"I had just car fare to take me home."

"Exactly what I thought. Any one of us older ones would have been glad to help you out, but like the reckless little body that you are, you rushed off and didn't give us a chance. If you had waited a few minutes you might have known we'd come out to hunt you up."

"I wanted Bertha to have the ticket and I thought I'd better go, so she wouldn't try to give it back to me."

"Oh, of course, I know exactly why you did it, but next time give the rest of us a chance too. We could all have chipped in and have bought her a ticket, that is supposing there were any to be had. They were very cheap, anyhow, so you could both have had your fun."

Jack gave a little sigh. She realized that she had rather overstepped the mark in her effort to be generous, but now she did not regret it, for Jean had only seen a Princess Herzlieb, and Nan had said she was one herself; that was much better, and Nan had missed her, whether any one else did or not. It was worth while to have done something that no one else had thought of doing, and for which Nan had praised her.

True to their word Miss Helen and Nan did go to hunt up Bertha Metzger, and found that she really did live with the switch-tender in a little back street. The place was poor but respectable enough. Frau Pfeffer, the aunt, worked very hard to support her five small children and Bertha, too, and it was hard to earn enough for food and clothing for all. Bertha's father had suddenly disappeared, and had not been heard of for a long time. He had been nearly crazed by the loss of his wife, and about the same time had lost his place in a factory. Frau Pfeffer, herself, had come from the country after the death of her husband and had tried to find her brother, whom she believed to be in Munich, but had not been able to learn anything about him. He had gone away to look for work, his neighbors said, and had promised to return for his little girl whom he had sent to her aunt.

There was nothing of the whining beggar about Frau Pfeffer. She told her tale simply as a matter of course, and did not hint at her needs. She worked hard, but not so hard as many others, for she could sit down much of the time, and though it was often cold, still that was nothing when one was used to it, and she considered herself very fortunate to have the work to do. Bertha could help a great deal. She was to be relied upon, and did not let the children get into any harm. The father's name was Hans Metzger, and she was sure if he were alive he would come back.

The conversation was not carried on without some difficulty, for Frau Pfeffer's Bavarian dialect was hard to understand, and Miss Helen was not very proficient in German. Nan had a better command of the language and was very quick, but even she found herself at a loss for a word very often, and oftener still, could not distinguish what Frau Pfeffer was saying.

Miss Helen and Nan walked home together after their visit, coming through an old part of the city, and happening upon various curious corners where old painted houses faced them, and where the crooked streets would have misled them if they had not carried a map. As they went along they planned what they should do for the Pfeffer family. Every Christmas for several years the Corners had tried to help some one who needed assistance, and they had been most fortunate in their efforts. The sad little picture of a forlorn child offering one meagre candle and a few broken flowers as a decoration for her mother's grave on All Saints day had moved them, although it was Jack who had really done the most to awaken the interest of the others. Jack, whom one would never suspect of such things, and who had given her family more anxiety and care than all the rest put together, yet it was she who, the year before, had given her Christmas stocking to a little lame girl in New York, for with all her thoughtlessness and her capacity for getting into scrapes, hers was the warmest heart of all.

That same day Dr. Woods came in, and was told the story which was at the moment the most interesting theme of conversation. He, too, thought it a case which should be given attention. "What we want to do," Nan told him, "is to find the father. Frau Pfeffer is quite sure he will return, but he may not be alive, though she firmly believes he is."

"Perhaps I can help there," said the doctor. "What is his name?"

"Hans Metzger."

"Where was he last seen?" Dr. Woods took out his note-book.

"He left Munich to find work."

"Do you know where he intended to go?"

"No, but perhaps his neighbors would know."

"I will inquire. Can you tell me what was his last address?"

"I can give you his sister's. No doubt she will know where he lived last."

"That will do. All right. I will start up a line of investigation at once. Perhaps among us all, we may get hold of a clue. And how goes the German, Nan?"

"It is a fearsome language," said Nan solemnly. "I wish you could have heard me trying to make Frau Pfeffer understand me, though I think I struggled harder, if anything, to understand her. Such a dialect! I don't see how they make it out themselves, and I don't see, either, how they master the German pure and – no, I can't say simple, for it is exactly the opposite."

"I admit it is pretty hard, and if I hadn't tackled it early, I would be in a regular fuddle now. But I took my grasp young, and have managed to hold on, as you will do."

"I don't know. I like French, or any of the Latin languages better."

"Yet there is a sort of rugged dignity about German which is very attractive. Its literature is very rich."

"I suppose so, and I may find its attractions later, but not when I am stumbling into pitfalls caused by declensions and constructions."

"If I can help you out at any time, don't fail to press me into service."

"I may keep you to that offer."

The other girls, including Juliet Hoyt, considered Dr. Paul much too elderly to be interesting, and at his appearance generally betook themselves to the Hoyts' rooms, where the more frivolous company of schoolboys suited their tastes. Nan, therefore, was often left to do the honors if her mother and aunt were not at hand, and Nan, be it said, did not consider it a hardship, for she liked Dr. Paul, and often when Mrs. Corner and Miss Helen returned from an early concert they would find the two laughing and talking together most happily. Nan liked the Hoyts and enjoyed the nonsense which went on in their sitting-room where there were seldom less than two or three boys, but her love of music was too real for her not wanting to escape from a series of dances banged out to rag-time measure.

"It is more than I can stand," she told Dr. Paul. "A little rag-time is jolly enough, and I am not so superior as to despise it altogether, but a whole evening of it is more than I can stand."

"Yet even that is better than some other kinds," responded Dr. Paul. "There happens to be a man at our pension who at home has the reputation of being an accomplished musician because he professes to play classical music. He comes from some small town, and his companions are evidently not among the elect. He does play execrably. I wish you could hear him."

"I don't," interrupted Nan laughing. "I know the kind. I suppose he will keep right on for the rest of his life as he has begun, varying his performance sometimes by bringing in a bit of improvisation, terrible improvisation which has no rhyme, reason, melody or anything else. I know such a person who blandly told me she sometimes altered Chopin and Beethoven to suit herself. Fancy! Oh, I know your man will cheerfully keep on, not knowing the difference between good music and bad, and because he has always associated with rag-time people who think any one who plays anything heavier than Hiawatha must have a standard so high that ordinary mortals cannot venture to criticise the performance."

"I perceive you are acquainted with the species. Yet, after all, I sometimes think it is a pity to know too much about music, for one certainly has a narrower range of enjoyment."

"But think of the quality of it."

"I wonder if it is really more than that of a man I used to know at college who would say, 'Give me a bag of peanuts and an interesting book and I'll enjoy myself.' Why, I read half of 'Les Miserables' at one sitting."

"For peanuts read candy, and you will have about the speech of a schoolmate of mine."

"Are you going to take up counterpoint and thorough-bass?" asked the doctor.

"Dear me, no. I don't aspire to composition. If I overcome technique and get in a little harmony I shall be doing well. I am doing intricate Bach things now, but I have an inspiring teacher and I don't mind the hard work. You should hear her play. Talk of temperament! I never saw anything like her."

"And I fancy Miss Nan Corner is not lacking in that particular."

"I believe Mr. Harmer used to think so, but I feel like a very automaton compared to Frau Burg-Schmidt."

"I haven't heard you play since you were at home last winter, but – "

"Then you wouldn't let me practice; you told me to frivol, I remember."

"You needed to frivol then. That is where it was a time to quench the fires of genius."

"I believe I have felt years older since that experience," said Nan thoughtfully, "and I am sure it is why mother does not want to leave us alone again. I believe you had something to say to that, too, Dr. Paul."

"You mustn't expect me to give away the secrets of my profession."

"Then it is about the only thing you aren't willing to give away," returned Nan laughing.

"Do you like stingy people?"

"Ask a Virginian that? Dear me, what are you thinking of? No, I suppose I am lacking in a proper admiration for thrift when I say that I would rather that a person were too extravagant than parsimonious."

"I shall never be a rich man, I am afraid," said the doctor with a half sigh.

"Comfort yourself with thinking about the deceitfulness of riches, and keep on being the generous man your father is, and you will be all right. Listen to my grandmotherly advice and remember that I have three younger sisters to deal with."

"And I have none."

"Then consider that Nan Corner is ready to be as sisterly as she knows how, for any better big brother than you are to us all, I do not care to see. Here come mother and Aunt Helen."

"And you have not played for me."

"You must wait till my joints are so limber that I can make my fingers form a right angle with the back of my hand; that is what I am aiming at now."

Then Mrs. Corner and Miss Helen came in and the doctor went forward to meet them.

CHAPTER XIV

"STILLE NACHT"

That Christmas was very near at hand was apparent by more than one outward and visible sign. "Though they don't begin to prepare for it nearly as early as we do," remarked Mary Lee.

"I think it is nicer not to," said Jack, "for there they begin so soon that it fools you into thinking it is very near when it is weeks off, and you get so used to seeing Christmas things that you forget they aren't there all the time."

"The first thing we must do to make us feel that Christmas is coming is to see the krippen," said Miss Helen.

"What are krippen?" asked Jean.

"They are representations of the Nativity, generally, though sometimes they represent other religious subjects such as the Flight into Egypt, or the heralding angels appearing to the shepherds. They are often very elaborate, and the best display of them is at the National Museum, where you can see fac-similes not only of German krippen but of Italian and Sicilian ones. The different churches also have them. There is one of the Advent now at the Theatinerkirche. You twins will be delighted with the little figures which are sometimes really wonderful."

They all started out the very next day to view the krippen, stopping first at St. Cajetans-Hofkirche on the Theatinerstrasse, where the children stood in awe and delight before the scene of John the Baptist preaching the coming of our Lord. The tiny figures were very perfect, the centurion soldiers and listening multitude were artistically grouped, a little brook of running water made a pleasant murmur as it wound its way along. It was not more than four inches wide, but it added much to the scene. The whole was lighted and stood out in strong contrast to the dim church in which it was enshrined. As Miss Helen dropped some pfennige into the cup ready for contributions a sepulchral voice in some dark corner murmured: "Gott sei dank."

Through the lower rooms of the Museum, where it was impossible not to linger a little to see the many curious and interesting things, the party took its way to the upper floor, where through a dark labyrinthine way they passed to find the lighted krippen set up on each side. There were a great many, and it took a long time to make the rounds. Some were quite simple; others were very elaborate. There were street scenes with every conceivable sort of figure, wonderful interiors and exteriors where the Wise Men were shown in all the pomp of Eastern magnificence; there were gardens and palaces, temples and churches, processions, and, above all, the rude stable with the manger and the Holy Family.

"They are the most marvellous things I ever saw," said first one and then another of the girls. "Such perfect little figures, such fascinating landscapes, such variety of expression and action, such typical costumes."

"The Sicilian ones are the best," decided Nan, "though those of southern Italy are about as good."

"I wouldn't have missed it for anything," declared Jo, as they came to the last one. "You are a duck, Miss Helen, to think of bringing us here. I am going to haunt the churches from now on to see how many krippen I can discover."

"Oh, can't we go back and do it all over?" asked Jean.

"Dear me," said Miss Helen, "I thought we had made a very careful examination of them all."

"But I do like them so much and I can't remember them all by seeing them just once."

"Perhaps we can come again," her mother comforted her by saying. "I think this must do for now, and there will be others in the churches."

"They will be changed quite often at the Theatinerkirche, I am told," said Miss Helen. "I believe there is a new krippe each week."

"Oh, there comes a new word. I suppose krippe is the singular and krippen the plural," said Mary Lee.

"Naturally. The word I find means literally a manger. We can see a very interesting display of krippen, Christmas ornaments and such things down on Sonnenstrasse and the Sendlingeethorplatz. The peasants make the little krippen and bring them in for sale just before Christmas."

"Oh, do they have them anywhere but in the churches?"

"Yes, indeed. A great many private houses have them and they are considered quite as much an institution in some families as the Christmas tree, though of course, these would be the Roman Catholic families. You can see them of all sorts and sizes. Munich is Roman Catholic, you know, although there are many Protestants here and many Protestant churches."

"I should love to have a krippe to take home even if I am not a Roman Catholic, mother," said Jean. "Couldn't we have one?"

"I don't see any reason for not having one, although it would be rather hard to pack. We will see about it."