Squib and His Friends

“O Seppi, you are clever!” cried the admiring Squib, as he took up the little studies one after the other, laughing heartily at some of them, where a goat was depicted in the act of butting its fellow, or executing some antic over a jutting rock.

“No, no,” answered Seppi quickly; “don’t praise me any more, little Herr. It makes me conceited, and that spoils my work. I’m not clever. I began to think I was; but when I saw Herr Adler looking at my drawings, then I knew how bad they were, and I was horribly ashamed of them! When you were gone I told him so; and do you know what he said?”

“What?” answered Squib eagerly.

Seppi paused awhile, and then replied, —

“I can’t say it after all; I mean not as he did. The words are quite different when he says them. You know what I mean, don’t you? But it was something like this – that our lives were somehow like my drawings. We tried to make them good and beautiful and clever, and sometimes thought we were getting on and doing something fine. But when God came and looked at all we had done, we should just feel as though it was – oh, so worthless and poor and bad! not because He would not accept it from us, but because we should feel it all so dreadfully unworthy to offer.”

Squib looked grave and a little puzzled.

“I never thought of things that way,” he answered; “I wish I’d heard Herr Adler talk about it. But I don’t see how he can feel that. He is so very good.”

“Oh yes,” answered Seppi earnestly; “I think he’s the best man in all the world. Everybody here knows that he is a man of God.”

“What is being a man of God, Seppi?” asked Squib curiously.

Seppi found that rather a hard question to answer.

“I can’t tell,” he replied; “one feels it somehow. And then Herr Adler has talked sometimes to me about the Kingdom. That helps to make one feel it. It is all so very beautiful.”

“Tell me,” said Squib drawing nearer, “what is the Kingdom?”

“I’m not sure that I can explain. I can’t say things right even when I seem to feel them inside of me. Herr Adler says that the Bible tells us that some day Jesus Christ will come back again and reign on earth; and that all things will be made new and beautiful; and that His saints will reign with Him. You know about the servants who had the money, and some did well with it and had cities to rule over, and one did nothing and had his money taken away. Herr Adler thinks it will be like that with us. If we use what is given us now, and do our very best with it, we shall have things set us to do in the Kingdom; but if we have wasted it all, or done nothing, then we shall not be fit to help, and nothing will be trusted to us. It doesn’t matter what it is that we do, however little the talent is. If we do our best with it, and do not waste or bury it, we shall use it again – oh, so much better then! I can’t say it as he does. But I feel it is all true; so I’m not going to try any more to do things much too difficult for me. That’s not getting on; I think that’s just conceit. I’m going to draw the things I can do, and do them as well as ever I can. I want to make a lot of little pictures from my goats; and then put them together in one big picture to give Herr Adler before he goes.”

This was a very long speech for Seppi to make, and it was not made all at once, but just a bit at a time as he sat looking out before him, with Squib at his side looking earnestly into his face as though to learn all his meaning and encourage him to proceed. The magnitude of the thoughts suggested was rather much for his brain, although he apprehended much of it with the quick intuition of childhood. But Seppi’s last words suggested a new train of thought; and Squib answered eagerly, —

“Oh yes, you do that! Make him a beautiful picture of your goats and the valley and the Silent Watchers – ”

“No, no, no!” cried Seppi almost vehemently. “Not the valley and the mountains. I can’t do them. Just a group of my own goats, with Moor watching them, and some stones and flowers in front, and just a rift in the sky behind, and the light coming through. I can see it all – if only I could do it! But it shan’t be anything grand. I should only get all into a muddle! I’ll do it all again and again in pencil; and then I’ll try the chalks for the colours of the goats and the sky and the flowers.”

“And I’ll carve him something!” cried Squib, fired by sudden desire. “I’ll make him a carving of Czar! I think he’ll like Czar when he knows him. He likes Moor, and Moor is very fond of him. Perhaps I’ll do Moor and Czar playing together. They do have great games. I wonder if I could do that.”

“Try something easy, and do it well,” advised Seppi, with the touch of diffidence he always showed in offering an opinion of his own to the little gentleman. He admired Squib with all his heart, and thought him wonderfully clever, but he knew that his carving was crude and unfinished, and that a group of dogs at play was far beyond his powers.

Squib, however, set to work with great zeal, shaping a bit of wood to his purpose, and chatting gaily all the while; and Seppi was soon lost again in his work – studying the attitudes of his goats as he had never studied them before, and learning new things about them every hour.

“Oh!” he cried at last, throwing down his pencil almost in tears; “I hardly believed it when he said it; but it seems as if there were never any end of learning about the least thing in the world! I’ve been with goats all my life, and I don’t know yet what they’re like!”

CHAPTER VII.

HAPPY HOURS

“Here he is! Here he is!” cried Squib, starting to his feet; and at that cry Seppi looked up, and with a beaming face began hastily collecting together his scattered studies, putting them away in the little satchel kept for the purpose. As for Squib, he was already a hundred yards away, dashing along like a veritable firework till he pulled up short, close beside the stranger in the long coat, who was not a stranger to him now.

Moor had been quicker still, and was capering round Herr Adler in an ecstasy of welcome, whilst Czar came up with an air of friendly patronage, and sniffed at the outstretched hand quite affably.

“O sir, I am so glad you have come! Seppi and I have been counting the days and wondering.”

“You see I have a good many friends to visit when I get into these parts,” answered Herr Adler, smiling; “I have been making a little round of old acquaintances. And have you been here every day, cheering up my little friend Seppi?”

“I like to come,” answered Squib; “Seppi and I are great friends. I think Seppi is a very nice boy. He is so good and patient about being lame. I should think it must be so very hard to be lame. Don’t you?”

“Yes, I think it is one of the greatest trials that a boy can have to bear; and Seppi was quite strong and active before the accident that lamed him, as I dare say he has told you. But still he has a beautiful place to live in, and his friends the goats to amuse him, and his drawing and his carving which occupy his hands. And this summer it seems he has another little friend to cheer him up. I am very pleased about that, for his life out here is rather lonely, though he is so fond of it.”

“Yes; you see Peter and Ann-Katherin are wanted at home. They can only spare Seppi to mind the goats. And then he has Moor, and Moor is a very nice dog. A dog is a very good kind of – of —person to talk to when you’ve got nobody else. I know that by Czar. I often think he’s nicer than lots of the people one sees. I like dogs. They can’t talk, to be sure, but they try with their eyes and their ears and their tails. I can have quite nice talks with the dogs at home, out in the fields. We had a lot of fox-terrier puppies in the spring. I used to have them all out together, with Czar to take care of them, and teach them things. It was great fun. You know dogs are just as different as people are. They look all alike just at first; but they aren’t a bit really. They’re just as different as children are when you get to know them.”

“Some people find children very much alike,” answered Herr Adler with a smile. “I had a dear old friend, a professor, who married rather late in life. He had some dear little children, but his wife thought that their noise would trouble him, so she kept them very much in the nursery, and when they came down to see papa, they were as still and quiet as so many little mice. The professor was very absent and very short-sighted, and often up in the clouds, as we say; but all the same he had a very tender heart, and would have liked to see more of his children, only, somehow, they never seemed to be there. One day he was walking up and down in some public gardens belonging to the row of houses where he lived. He very seldom went there, but to-day he had gone in, and by-and-by he saw some children at play, and grew interested in them and talked kindly to them, and even joined in their game. And when he went away he saw one little girl looking up with a very sweet and half-wistful smile into his face, and he bent down to kiss her, and said, ‘Well, my little darling, whose little girl are you?’ and she cried out, ‘Yours, papa!’ – and sure enough it was his own little girls, as well as some others, with whom he had been playing, and he had never known them in their hats and coats, laughing and chatting as they never did at home. That was a funnier thing than for people not to know little puppy dogs one from the other!”

“What a funny man!” cried Squib. “Didn’t he laugh when he found out?”

“I dare say he did, and perhaps after that he played more with his children, and taught them not to be afraid of him. But when people are absent and forgetful they do very funny things. I heard of an officer once who rode into his stable-yard and called out angrily to his men, ‘I can’t find my horse anywhere! What have you fellows done with him? Go and bring him out to me at once!”

“And he was on his back all the time!” cried Squib with a hearty laugh of delight. “Oh, I like that story; it’s better than the people who hunt everywhere for their spectacles when they are on their noses all the time! You must tell Seppi about that. I am sure it would make him laugh too.”

Seppi’s face was beaming with pleasure by the time Herr Adler reached the knoll. It was a very beautiful day of early summer. The air was so clear and fresh that the heat of the sun was not overpowering, and everything seemed full of joy and happiness. Squib did not know which looked the most beautiful – the great white mountains towering into the clear blue sky, or the dark-green pines with their ruddy stems, or the green slopes where the goats browsed and frisked, or the glimpses of tossing, foaming water dashing along below them in its rocky bed. Everything was so beautiful, he thought; and it seemed more beautiful than ever to-day because Herr Adler was there to see it too, and he pointed out such a number of things that Squib had never noticed before, and told such wonderful stories about the things that grew in the fields and the creatures that lived in the woods, even about the rocks and the stones, the ice and the snow, till Squib, drawing a long breath, would exclaim, —

“O sir, how wonderful everything is! I wish I knew as much as you. It makes everything so interesting.”

“You can know a very great deal more than I ever shall do, my little friend, and yet feel only how very, very little you have learned. But you are quite right. Everything in the world is full of interest – wonderful interest. Everything can teach us new lessons. Everything speaks to us a beautiful language, if we will only listen and be willing to learn. But learning is often a slow and tedious process; and sometimes we throw down our books with disgust, and say, ‘Oh, I can’t be bothered with all this stupid stuff!’ and we turn to something else to see if that will be more interesting. But that isn’t the spirit in which to learn.”

Squib’s face had turned suddenly red.

“O sir” he said, “how did you know?”

At that question Herr Adler smiled; and Squib went on speaking quickly, but with an honest wish to be truthful, —

“I do so often feel like that! I want to know lots of things; but it does seem so slow and tiresome learning. Then I get tired and cross and naughty; and sometimes I just bang down my books and run away out of doors. I shan’t be able to do that when I go to school; but at home I can sometimes, because some of my lessons I do quite alone, and there isn’t always anybody in the room even.”

“I know that feeling very well,” answered Herr Adler. “I used to have it too; and I should know a good deal more than I do now if I hadn’t given way to it so often. But you take my advice, my little friend; and next time things seem very dull, try to find out if they can’t be interesting somehow. If it’s history, try to think that all these people were real men and women once; try to put yourself in their places, and think how you would have acted if you had been there. If it’s geography, just shut your eyes and try to picture the places you have to learn about. Now that you are a bit of a traveller, you should be able to do that. Think of the sort of people who live there, and the animals, and the great mountains and wonderful forests, or rivers, or deserts – or whatever it is. Even if it’s only a hard sum, it can be interesting enough if you will only make up your mind to do your very best with it. And as for Latin and Greek, you must think of all the wonderful old books you will be able to read when you have mastered them. Oh yes, everything can be interesting, and is interesting really. It is our own fault if we cannot find out where the interest lies.”

“I will try that when I get home!” cried Squib, who was always pleased with a new idea; “and I shall try to remember you, sir, and all the things you have told us. I shall say to myself, ‘What would Herr Adler say if he saw you so idle?’ I think that will help.”

“You can think of something better than that, my little friend,” was Herr Adler’s answer; and Squib looked quickly up into his eyes and did not ask his meaning, for he seemed to see it written there, and his face grew suddenly red.

“I’ll try,” he answered, in a tone that was almost a whisper; and Herr Adler did not ask him what he meant, yet Squib felt sure he understood.

Seppi heard this talk a little wistfully. Somehow it seemed to him as if his friends lived in such a different world from his own. For a moment he felt isolated from them, almost ashamed of his humble poverty and lowliness; and when at luncheon-time the food was brought out, he grew shamefaced over the coarse fare which he produced from his wallet. It did not seem fit to offer to his companions, and he began to make an apology for it, as he had long ceased to do with Squib now.

Then Herr Adler helped himself to a piece of hard bread and cheese, instead of taking any of Lisa’s cakes, saying smilingly, —

“This reminds me of my boyhood, when I and my brothers used to wander about Silesia on foot, and make our money go as far as it would by living with the peasants and eating their food. No; I like this, thank you, my little friend. It revives so many pleasant memories.”

“But it isn’t fit for you,” objected Seppi. “It is such poor fare. It is only fit for – ”

“Now, if you don’t take care I shall serve you the same as an old friend of mine served his wife,” said Herr Adler, with a smile, “and tell you the same story as he told to us.”

The faces of both boys brightened instantly.

“Oh, please, tell us the story!” cried Squib. “I do so like your stories, and you have so many of them.”

“Well,” answered Herr Adler, “I will tell you this one. It happened that one evening, many years ago now, I was taking an evening walk with some friends of mine; and towards dusk we found ourselves near to the house of an old friend whom we had none of us seen for a long time. Although it was late, we thought we would call in and see him, and he gave us a very warm welcome. We sat round the stove for a time; and then he asked us if we would stay and have supper with him, which we agreed to do. Now, he was not a rich man, and he lived quite simply, as German people often do, you know. But his wife bustled about and laid the table, and gave us an excellent supper of good milk soup, and plenty of good bread and butter. We were hungry after our walk, and enjoyed it all greatly; but the hostess was not at all content at having nothing better to offer us, and she kept telling us how sorry she was she had not known beforehand of our visit that she might have had a better supper. We told her we wanted nothing better, but she could not be satisfied; and at last her husband looked up at her with a smile on his face, and said, —

“’Now wife, be content; say no more, else I tell our good friends here a story.’

“At that she smiled too, and a different look came into her face; and she answered in another tone, —

“’Nay, then, I will say no more;’ and she did not.

“But, then, of course, we were all very curious to hear the story, and we pressed our host to tell it us. So when the supper was finished, and we had gathered round the stove again with our pipes, he told us.

“Once upon a time there was a prince, and he went a-hunting in a great forest near to his castle. Now this prince, like so many of the princes in stories (and, perhaps, in real life too), was a rather self-willed and self-confident young man, reckless in his ways, and bent on doing as he chose. And it came to pass that upon this day he outrode all his followers and nobles in pursuit of the quarry, and presently found himself quite alone in the heart of the great forest. He blew his horn again and again, but nobody came to his aid; and he did not know which way to turn, nor even in what direction his castle lay. He was quite lost. He was getting very tired too, and it was growing dusk. Also he was extremely hungry, for he had not tasted food since the mid-day meal in the forest, and now it was long past the hour when he generally partook of a sumptuous repast.

“At last, as he was growing quite desperate – having wandered hither and thither for over an hour, and the light beginning now to fade quite out of the sky – he found a little track in the wood, and following it eagerly in hopes of coming across some hut or habitation, he reached a little clearing in which stood a charcoal-burner’s rude hut. But the hut itself was empty, for the charcoal-burner was busy over his meiler a few yards away – so busy that he never so much as observed the approach of the prince.”

“What is a meiler?” asked Squib.

“I do not know whether there is an English word for it,” answered Herr Adler. “It is a word that belongs to the charcoal-burner’s craft. You know that charcoal is wood burned in such a way as to leave behind it the charcoal fit for use; and the way in which this is done in the open forests by the charcoal-burners is by making first a heap of wood, and then covering it up with earth. The earth heaped over it keeps the fire in check when the wood is burning. The charcoal-burner has to watch very carefully, sometimes raking the earth away to let the fire burn more freely, sometimes heaping more on to keep it in check; and the great heap he makes of wood and earth is called a meiler.”

“I understand,” answered Squib. “Now, please, go on with the story.”

“Well, the prince looked about him, and seeing the old man a little away off, he hailed him, and called out, —

“’Can you tell me the way out of the forest? I want to find the way to the road which leads to the town. You know it, I suppose?’

“’Oh yes, I know it well enough,’ answered the old man, and began to try to make the prince understand how to go. But he soon interrupted, saying, —

“’My good fellow, how do you suppose for a moment that I could find such an intricate path as that in the dark?’

“Then the charcoal-burner stroked his chin, and replied, —

“’Well, I was just thinking that maybe you would only lose yourself worse by trying it.’

“Then the prince got rather vexed, and said impatiently, —

“’What’s the use of that, I should like to know? You must just come with me, my good fellow, and show me the way yourself.’

“But at that the charcoal-burner broke into a gruff laugh.

“’I go with you, indeed! I leave my meiler to take care of itself whilst I show you the way out of the forest! That’s a pretty thing to ask! Why, sir, if I were to leave my meiler for a quarter of an hour as she is now, the whole batch of charcoal would be spoiled. Why, I must watch her half the night through, as a cat does a mouse. Leave my meiler to show you the way out of the wood! No, my fine gentleman, that I can’t do;’ and the old man laughed again at the notion.

“For a moment the prince was inclined to be angry, for he was not accustomed to be spoken to in that free and easy way; but he reflected that the man did not know him, and was quite right to do his work well and conscientiously. So he checked the impatient words that rose to his lips, and asked quietly, —

“’But, my good friend, if you cannot leave your meiler, pray, what am I to do? I have no wish to get hopelessly lost in the forest, and, perhaps, fall a prey to wild beasts.’

“’Well, sir, then why not stay here for a few hours, till the meiler has cooled down, and I can go with you through the forest? I’ve a fine, comfortable hut over yonder, and a bed fit for a prince, so soft and warm. You can have it, and welcome, since I must watch by the meiler till dawn. As for your horse, he will find plenty to eat if you turn him loose. He will shift for himself well enough, never fear.’

“’Oh, the horse will do well enough; I’m not afraid for him,’ answered the prince. ‘It’s of myself I am thinking. I am really starving; I’ve had nothing to eat for hours. What am I to do for supper? Where can I get something to eat?’

“’Oh, as for that, I’ll share my supper with you,’ answered the old man readily. ‘You know the saying that tells us, “Where one can dine, two can dine.”’

“’Well,’ said the prince, who had by this time got off his horse and removed saddle and bridle, so that the animal could feed at will, ‘I must needs accept your hospitality for the night, since there seems nothing else to be done.’

“The charcoal-burner had gone back to his meiler, and was heaping on earth here and there; but presently he came back again, and said cheerfully, —

“’Come, sir, I will show you the hut – such a beautiful hut. Not a drop of rain can find its way through the roof; and as for the bed, why, you need never wish for a cleaner or softer one. I made it myself from dried moss and fern and pine needles. A prince could not wish a better; and for sleeping, there’s nothing like it. Why, I fall asleep almost as soon as I lie down, whether by day or night. Come and see.’

“The prince followed him into the little dark hut, where he soon blew up a few sparks of fire, and lighted some dry twigs, which blazed merrily. The prince could see that the hut was clean, though so small and dark, and the charcoal-burner pointed to the bed in the corner.

“’There, sir, you can make yourself comfortable there; and I’ll get the supper as fast as I can.’

“The prince was so tired that he was glad enough to stretch his limbs even on such a rude couch as that one; but he was too hungry to go to sleep yet.

“’Make haste with that supper, my good friend,’ he kept saying. ‘I hope you have something good to give me.’

“’Oh, excellent,’ answered the old man, who was dividing his attention between his meiler and his guest, often darting out to the former, but coming quickly back again to his hospitable cares; ‘good bread and plenty of it, and the most excellent cheese. Why, it gives me an appetite even to think of it! It is all so good. Drink, did you say, sir? Why, to be sure. There is water in the brook – such fresh, sparkling water! Why, no prince in his palace could have better. Oh, you shall sup well, sir; never fear. Everything is of the very best.’

“The good man spoke with such hearty conviction that the prince could not but smile. However, he was so hungry that he really found pleasure in eating the coarse fare of the peasant, and was ready to agree with him that the food was excellent. The spring water was clear and pure, and the cup from which he drank, although only of earthenware, was quite clean, though the prince could not but feel amused to think what his knights and servants would think could they see him sharing the supper and resting on the bed of the old charcoal-burner.