Dame Care Part 8

Since that day he would not see "Black Susy" any longer. She was put into the farthest shed, and stood there in concealment many a year without anybody ever looking at her.

Only Paul from time to time secretly took the key of the shed and crept in to the black monster that he loved more and more, and which at last appeared to him like a dumb, ill-treated friend.

CHAPTER VII.

When Paul was fourteen years old his father decided to send him to confirmation-cla.s.ses.

"He will never learn anything decent in school, anyhow," he said; "time and money are thrown away upon him. Therefore, he shall be confirmed at once, so that he can make himself useful on the farm. He will never be anything better than a peasant, anyhow."

Paul was satisfied, for he was longing to take a part of the care which pressed on his mother upon his own shoulders. He thought of making himself a sort of inspector, who could at any time replace the absent master, and work himself where the farm-servants needed a good example.

He hoped this activity might be the beginning of a new, prosperous time, and when he lay in his bed at night he dreamed of waving cornfields and brand-new ma.s.sive barns. The resolution to use all his strength to bring the neglected Haidehof into good repute became stronger and stronger.

The brothers one day should be able to say of him: "He has been of some good, after all, even if he could not follow us in our brilliant careers."

Yes; the brothers! How tall and distinguished they had grown meanwhile.

One of them studied philology, and the other had entered a big bank as clerk. In spite of their good aunt, both wanted money, much money--far, far more than their father could send them. Paul hoped that for them also, as a result of his beginning farming, a better time would come.

All surplus money should be sent to them, and he! oh, he would save and sc.r.a.pe, so that they might strive for their lofty aims, free from need and care.

With these pious thoughts Paul made his way to the first confirmation cla.s.s. It was a sunny spring morning at the beginning of the month of April.

The fresh gra.s.s on the heath shone in greenish lights, juniper and heather budded with new tender shoots, anemones and ranunculus were blooming at the edge of the wood.

A warm wind waved over the heath towards him; he could have shouted aloud, and his heart was quite filled with rapture.

"There must be something sad in store," he said to himself, "for on earth one may not feel so happy."

Before the rectory garden there stood a long row of conveyances, only a few of which he knew. There was also aristocratic carriages among them.

The coachmen with their shining b.u.t.tons sat on their boxes with proud smiles and threw contemptuous glances all around.

In the garden were a.s.sembled a big troop of children. The boys and girls stood apart. Among the boys were the two brothers from whom he had had to suffer so much formerly, and who had ceased going to school for the last year. They gave him a friendly greeting, and while one of them shook hands with him the other tripped him up.

Some of the girls walked arm in arm on the paths. Some also had put their arms round each other's waists and giggled. Most of them were strangers to him. Some seemed especially aristocratic; they wore fine gray ulsters, and had hats with feathers on their heads. The carriages outside must belong to them.

He looked down at his jacket, to a.s.sure himself that he had nothing to be ashamed of. It was made of fine black cloth, from an old evening suit of his student brother's, and looked as good as new, only that the seams were a little shiny. Taken altogether, he did not need to be ashamed of himself.

A bell sounded. The candidates were called into the church. Paul felt light-hearted and pious in the solemn twilight of the house of G.o.d. He did not think of his jacket any longer; the forms of the boys around grew shadowy.

At both sides of the altar benches were placed. On the right the boys were to have their seats, and on the left the girls.

Paul was pushed into the back row, where the little ones and the poor sat. Between two barefooted cottage children, who wore coa.r.s.e, ragged jackets, he took his seat. Past the shoulders of the boys before him he saw how the girls on the other side ranged themselves: the most distinguished in front, and then the more poorly clad.

He was thinking whether in heaven the order of rank would be a similar one, and the verse occurred to him:

"Blessed are the meek and lowly, for they shall be exalted."

The vicar came.

He was a comfortable-looking man, with a double chin and light, spare whiskers. His upper lip shone from frequent shaving. He did not wear his robe, but a simple black coat; nevertheless, he looked very dignified and solemn.

He first spoke a long prayer on the text, "Suffer little children to come unto Me," and added an exhortation to consider the coming year as a time of consecration, not to romp wildly or to dance, for that would not be in keeping with a student of religion.

"I have never romped or danced," thought Paul, and for a moment he was filled with pride over his pious conduct. "But it was a pity all the same--" he thought afterwards.

Then the vicar praised as the highest of all Christian virtues: humility. None of these children should feel above the others because their parents happened to be richer and more distinguished than those of their humbler brethren and sisters, because before G.o.d's throne they were all equal.

"That's for you," thought Paul, and lovingly seized the arm of his ragged neighbor. The latter thought he wanted to pinch him, and said, "Ow, don't!"

Then the vicar took from his pocket a piece of paper, and said, "Now I will read you the order of rank in which you will have to sit henceforth."

"Why this order of rank," thought Paul, "if before G.o.d's throne we are all equal?"

The very first name startled Paul, for it was "Elsbeth Douglas." He saw a tall, pale girl, with a gentle face and fair hair smoothly combed back, rise and walk towards the first place.

"So that's you," thought Paul, "and we shall be confirmed together." His heart beat with joy, but also with fear, because he was anxious at the same time lest she should think him too much beneath her. "Perhaps she does not remember me any more," he thought.

He watched her as she took her seat with downcast eyes and a kind smile.

"No; she is not proud," he said softly to himself; but to make sure he looked at his jacket.

Then the boys were called up. The brothers Erdmann came first. Without asking, they had already placed themselves comfortably on the first seats, and then his own name was called out. At this moment Elsbeth Douglas did exactly as he had done before. She raised her head quickly and scrutinized the ranks of the boys.

When he had seated himself in his place he also looked down on the ground, for he wanted to imitate her humility; and when he looked up again he saw her eyes on him, full of curiosity. He blushed and picked a little feather from the sleeve of his jacket.

And then the lesson began. The vicar explained pa.s.sages from the Bible and heard verses of hymns. It was Elsbeth's turn first. She raised her head a little, and repeated her verses quietly and modestly.

"Oh golly! the hussy has courage," mumbled the younger Erdmann, who was at his left side.

Paul felt sudden anger rise within him. He could have cudgelled him in open church. "If he calls her 'hussy' again I shall thrash him afterwards." He promised this solemnly to himself. But the younger Erdmann no longer thought of her; he was busy sticking pins into the calves of the boys sitting behind him.

When the lesson was over, the girls left the church first, marching in couples. Only when the last were outside, the boys were allowed to follow. Just outside the church he met Elsbeth, who was walking towards her carriage. Both looked a little askance at each other and pa.s.sed on.

An old lady, with little gray curls and a Persian shawl, stood near her carriage; she probably had waited for her at the vicarage. She kissed Elsbeth's forehead, and both seated themselves on the back seat. The carriage was the finest one in the whole row. The coachman wore a beautiful fur cap with a red ta.s.sel; he had also smart braid on his collar and cuffs.

Just as the carriage had started, Paul was attacked by the two Erdmanns, who thrashed him a little.

"You ought to be ashamed, two against one," he said, and they let him go.

He went home very contentedly. The midday sun glittered on the open heath, and in misty distance the carriage rolled before him; it grew smaller and smaller, and at last disappeared as a black spot in the fir-wood.

When he arrived home his mother kissed him on both cheeks, and asked, "Well, was it nice?"

"Quite nice," he answered, "and, mamma, Elsbeth from the White House was there, too."

Then she blushed with joy and asked all sorts of things: how she looked, whether she had grown pretty, and what she had said to him.

"Nothing at all," he answered, ashamed; and as his mother looked at him surprised, he added, eagerly, "but you know she is not proud."