Little Frida Part 3

"Yes; Elsie has it carefully put away. There is a picture of Mutterchen on the one side, and of my father on the other."

"And did your mother ever speak to you of your relations either in Germany or England?"

"Yes, she did sometimes. She spoke of grandmamma in England and grandpapa also, and she said they lived in a beautiful house; but she never told me their name, nor where their house was. Father, of course, knew, for he said he was going to take me there, and he used to speak of a brother of his whom he said he dearly loved."

"But tell me," asked the pastor, "where did you live with your parents in Germany?"

"Oh, in a number of different places, but never long at the same place.

Father played at concerts just to make money, and we never remained long anywhere--we were always moving about."

"And your parents were Protestants?"

"I don't know what that means," said the child. "But they were often called 'Ketzers' by the people where he lodged. And they would not pray to the Virgin Mary, as many did, but taught me to pray to G.o.d in the name of Jesus Christ. And Mutterchen gave me a little 'brown Bible' for my very own, which she said her mother had given to her. Oh, I must show it to you, sir!" and, darting off, the child ran into the house, returning with the treasured book in her hand. The pastor examined it and read the inscription written on the fly-leaf--"To my dear Hilda, from her loving mother, on her eighteenth birthday." That was all, but he felt sure from the many underlined pa.s.sages that the book had been well studied. He found that Frida could read quite easily, and that she had been instructed in Scripture truth.

Ere he bade her farewell he asked her to promise him to read often from her little Bible to Wilhelm, Elsie, and Hans. "For who knows, little Frida, that the Lord may not have chosen you to be a child missionary to the wood-cutters, and to read to them out of His holy Word."

Frida thought over these words, though she hardly took in their full meaning; but she loved her Bible, and wished that the people who were so kind to her loved it also.

On his way home the pastor met Elsie with her babe in her arms, and told her of his farewell visit to Frida, and of his delight with the child's musical talent, and advised her to encourage her as much as possible to play on the violin.

Elsie's face brightened as he spoke, for she and her husband, like many of the German peasants, dearly loved music.

"O sir," she said, "have you heard her sing? It is just beautiful and wonderful to hear her; she beats the very birds themselves."

Thanking her once more for her care of the orphan child, and commending her to G.o.d, the pastor went on his way, musing much on the future of the gifted child, and wondering what could be done as regarded her education.

In the meantime Elsie went home, and entrusting her babe to the care of Frida, who loved the little helpless infant, she made ready for her husband's return from his work. Hans had gone that day to help his father in the wood, which he loved much to do, so Elsie and Frida were alone.

"Mutter," said the child (for she had adopted Hans's way of addressing Elsie), "the pastor was here to-day, and he played to me--oh so beautifully--on my violin, it reminded me of father, and made me cry. O Mutter, I wish some one could teach me to play on it as father did. You see I was just beginning to learn a little how to do it, and I do love it so;" and as she spoke, the child joined her hands together and looked pleadingly at Elsie.

"_Ach_, poor child," replied Elsie, "how canst thou be taught here?"

And that night when Elsie repeated to Wilhelm Frida's desire for lessons on the violin, the worthy couple grieved that they could do nothing to gratify her wish.

Day after day and week after week pa.s.sed, and still no answer came to any of the advertis.e.m.e.nts about the child; and save for her own sake none of the dwellers in the wood wished it otherwise, for the "woodland child," as they called her, had won her way into every heart.

CHAPTER VI.

ELSIE AND THE BROWN BIBLE.

"Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path."

Frida, as time went on, was growing hardy and strong in the bracing Forest air. Every kindness was lavished on her, and the child-spirit had a.s.serted itself, and though often tears would fill her eyes as something or other reminded her vividly of the past, yet her merry laughter was often heard as she played with Hans in the woods. Yet through all her glee there was at times a seriousness of mind remarkable in one so young, also a power of observation as regarded others not often noticeable in one of her years. She had become warmly attached to the kind people amongst whom her lot was cast, and especially so to Elsie.

Several times she had observed her looking anxiously at the babe in her arms, taking her to the light and endeavouring to attract her attention to the plaything which she held before her. Then when the babe, now some months old, showed no signs of observing it, Frida would see a great tear roll down Elsie's cheek, and once she heard her mutter the words, "Blind! my baby's blind!" Was it possible? Frida asked herself; for the child's eyes looked bright, and she felt sure she knew her, and had often stretched out her little arms to be taken up by her. "No," she repeated again, "she cannot be blind!" Poor little Frida knew not that it was her voice that the baby recognized. Often she had sung her to sleep when Elsie had left her in her charge. Already father and mother had noted with joy the power that music had over their blind babe. One day Frida summoned courage to say, "Mutter, dear Mutter, why are you sad when you look at little Anna? I often notice you cry when you do so."

At that question the full heart of the mother overflowed. "O Frida, little Frida, the babe is blind! She will never see the light of day nor the face of her father and mother. Wilhelm knows it now: we took her to Dringenstadt last week, and the doctor examined her eyes and told us she _ist blind geboren_ [born blind]. O my poor babe, my poor babe!"

Frida slipped her hand into that of the poor mother, and said gently, "O Mutter, Jesus can make the babe to see if we ask Him. He made so many blind people to see when He was on earth, and He can do so still. Let me read to you about it in my little brown book;" and the child brought her Bible and read of Jesus healing the two blind men, and also of the one in John ix. who said, "Whereas I was blind, now I see."

Elsie listened eagerly, and said, "And it was Jesus the Virgin's Son who did that, do you say? Read me more about Him." And the child read on, how with one touch Jesus opened the eyes of the blind. She read also how they brought the young children to Jesus, and He took them into His arms and blessed them, and said to His disciples, "Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of heaven."

"Oh," said Elsie, "if only that Jesus were here now, I'd walk miles and miles to take my Anna to Him; but, alas! He is not here now."

Frida was a young child, and hardly knew how to answer the troubled mother; but her faith was a simple one, so she answered, "No, Jesus is not here now, but He is in heaven, and He answers us when we pray to Him. Father once read to me the words in Matthew's Gospel--see, here they are--'Ask, and it shall be given you.' Shall we ask Him now?" and kneeling down she prayed in child language, "O Lord Jesus, who dost hear and answer prayer, make little Anna to see as Thou didst the blind men when Thou wert on earth, and oh, comfort poor Elsie!"

As she rose from her knees, Elsie threw her arms round her, saying, "O Frida, I do believe the G.o.d my mother believed in hath sent thee here to be a blessing to us!"

Often after that day Frida would read out of her brown Bible to Elsie about Jesus, His life and His atoning death. And sometimes in the evening, when Hans would sit cutting out various kinds of toys, for which he had a great turn, and could easily dispose of them in the shops at Dringenstadt, she would read to him also; and he loved to hear the Old Testament stories of Moses and Jacob, Joseph, and Daniel in the lion's den; also of David, the sweet psalmist of Israel, who had once been a shepherd boy. They were all new to poor Hans, and from them he learned something of the love G.o.d has to His children; but it was ever of Jesus that Elsie loved to hear, and again and again she got the child to read to her the words, "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." And erelong it was evident, though she would scarcely have acknowledged it, that she was seeking not only the rest but the "_Rest_-Giver." And we know that He who gave the invitation has pledged His word that whosoever cometh to Him He will in no wise cast out.

All this while Wilhelm seemed to take no notice of the Bible readings.

Once or twice, when he had returned from his work, he had found Frida reading to his wife and boy, and he had lingered for a minute or two at the door to catch some of the words; but he made no remark, and interrupted the reading by asking if supper were ready. But often later in the evening he would ask the child to bring out her violin and play to him, or to sing one of his favourite songs, after which she would sing a hymn of praise; but as yet it was the sweetness of the singer's voice and not the beauty of the words that he loved to listen to. But notwithstanding, by the power of the Holy Ghost, the Bible was doing its work--slowly, it may be, but surely; so true is it that G.o.d's word shall not return to Him void.

CHAPTER VII.

IN DRINGENSTADT.

"Sing them over again to me, Wonderful words of love."

Three years had pa.s.sed. Summer had come round again. Fresh green leaves quivered on the trees of the Forest, though the pines still wore their dark clothing. The song of the birds was heard, and the little brooks murmured along their course with a joyful tinkling sound.

In the Forest it was cool even at noontide, but in Dringenstadt the heat was oppressive, and in spite of the sun-blinds the glare of light even indoors was excessive.

In a pleasant room, into which the sun only shone through a thick canopy of green leaves, sat a lady with an open book in her hand. It was an English one, and the dictionary by her side showed it was not in a language she was altogether familiar with. The book evidently recalled memories of the past. Every now and then she paused in her reading, and the look which came into her eyes told that her thoughts had wandered from the present surroundings to other places, and it might be other days.

Sitting beside her, engaged in doing a sum of arithmetic, was a beautiful child of some ten years old, neatly though plainly dressed.

The lady's eyes rested on her from time to time, as if something in her appearance, as well as the book she was reading, recalled other days and scenes.

"Frida," she said, for the child was none other than our little friend found in the Forest, "have you no recollections of ever hearing your mother speak of the home of her childhood, or of her companions there?"

"No, dear Miss Drechsler, I do not remember her ever speaking of any companions; but she told me about her mother and father, and that they lived in a beautiful house in England, somewhere in the country; and whenever she spoke of her mother she used to cry, and then she would kiss me, and wish she could show me to her, for she knew she would love me, and I am sure it was to her that my father was taking me when he died. See, here is my little brown Bible which her mother gave to her and she gave to me."

Miss Drechsler took the Bible in her hand, and examined the writing, and noted the name "Hilda;" but neither of them seemed to recall any special person to her memory.

"Strange," she said to herself; "and yet that child's face reminds me vividly of some one whom I saw when I was in England some years ago, when living as governess to the Hon. Evelyn Warden, and I always connect it with some fine music which I heard at that time."

Then changing the subject, she said abruptly, "Frida dear, bring your violin and let me hear how far you are prepared for your master to-morrow."

Miss Drechsler, true to her promise to the German pastor, had kept a look-out on the child known as "the wood-cutters' pet," who lived in the little hut in the Black Forest. From the time Pastor Langen had left, she had her often living with herself for days at a time at Dringenstadt, and was conducting her education; but as she often had to leave that town for months, Frida still had her home great part of the year with the Horstels in the Forest. At the time we write of, Miss Drechsler had returned to her little German home, and Frida, who was once more living with her, was getting, at her expense, lessons in violin-playing. She bid fair to become an expert in the art which she dearly loved. She was much missed by the kind people in the Forest amongst whom she had lived so long. Just as, at Miss Drechsler's request, she had produced her violin and begun to play on it, a servant opened the door and said that a man from the Forest was desirous of seeing Fraulein Heinz. The girl at once put down her instrument and ran to the door, where she found her friend Wilhelm awaiting her.

"Ah, Frida, canst come back with me to the Forest? There is sorrow there. In one house Johann Schmidt lies nigh to death, caused by an accident when felling a tree. He suffers much, and Gretchen is in sore trouble. And the Volkmans have lost their little boy. You remember him, Frida; he and our Hans used to play together. And our little Anna seems pining away, and Elsie and all of them are crying out for you to come back and comfort them with the words of your little book. Johann said this morning, when his wife proposed sending for the priest, 'No, Gretchen, no. I want no priest; but oh, I wish little Frida were here to read to me from her brown book about Jesus Christ our great High Priest, who takes away our sins, and is always praying for us.'"