Stories by Foreign Authors: German Volume II Part 6

"Uncle!" cried Ephraim, as he raised the farmer's hand to his lips, "is all this to be mine? All this?"

"Yes, my boy, yes; it IS a deal of money isn't it?" ... said Gudule's brother, accompanying his words with a sounding slap on his ma.s.sive thigh. "I should rather think it is. With that you can do something, at all events ... and shall I tell you something? In Bohemia the oat crop is, unfortunately, very bad this season. But in Moravia it's splendid, and is two groats cheaper ... So there's your chance, Ephraim, my child; you've got the money, buy!" All at once a dark cloud overspread his smiling face.

"It's a lot of money, Ephraim, that I am giving you ... many a merchant can't lay his hands on it," he said, hesitatingly; "but if ... you were to ... gam--"

The word remained unfinished, for upon his arm he suddenly felt a sensation as of a sharp, p.r.i.c.king needle.

"Uncle Gabriel!" cried Viola--for it was she who had gripped his arm--and the child's cheeks were flaming, whilst her lips curled with scorn, and her white teeth gleamed like those of a beast of prey. "Uncle Gabriel!" she almost shrieked, "if you don't trust Ephraim, then take your money back again ... it's only because you are our mother's brother that we accept it from you at all ... Ephraim shall repay you to the last farthing ... Ephraim doesn't gamble ... you sha'n't lose a single penny of it."

With a shake of his head the farmer regarded the strange child. He felt something like annoyance rise within him; an angry word rose to the lips of the usually good tempered man. But it remained unsaid; he was unable to remove his eyes from the child's face.

"As I live," he muttered, "she has Gudule's very eyes."

And with another thumping slap on his leg, he merrily exclaimed:

"All right, we'll leave it so then.... If Ephraim doesn't repay me, I'll take YOU, you wild thing... for you've stood surety for your brother, and then I'll take you away, and keep you with me at home. Do you agree... you little spit-fire, eh?"

"Yes, uncle!" cried Viola.

"Then give me a kiss, Viola."

The child hesitated for a moment, then she laid her cheek upon her uncle's face.

"Ah, now I've got you, you little spit-fire," he cried, kissing her again and again. "Aren't you ashamed now to have snapped your uncle up like that?"

Then after giving Ephraim some further information about the present price of oats, and the future prospects of the crops, with a sideshot at the chances of wool, skins, and other merchandise, he took his leave.

There was great surprise in the Ghetto when the barely fifteen-year-old lad made his first start in business. Many made merry over "the great merchant," but before the year was ended, the sharp-seeing eyes of the Ghetto saw that Ephraim had "a lucky hand." Whatever he undertook he followed up with a calmness and tact which often baffled the restless activity of many a big dealer, with all his cuteness and trickery.

Whenever Ephraim, with his pale, sad fnce, made his appearance at a farmstead, to negotiate for the purchase of wool, or some such matter, it seemed as though some invisible messenger had gone before him to soften the hearts of the farmers. "No one ever gets things as cheap as you do," he was a.s.sured by many a farmer's wife, who had been won by the unconscious eloquence of his dark eyes. No longer did people laugh at "the little merchant," for nothing so quickly kills ridicule as success.

When, two years later, his Uncle Gabriel came again to see how the children were getting on, Ephraim was enabled to repay, in hard cash, the money he had lent him.

"Oho!" cried Gudule's brother, with big staring eyes, as he clutched his legs with both hands, "how have you managed in so short a time to save so much? D'ye know that that's a great deal of money?"

"I've had good luck, uncle," said Ephraim, modestly.

"You've been...playing, perhaps?"

The words fell bluntly from the rough country-man, but hardly had they been uttered, when Viola sprang from her chair, as though an adder had stung her. "Uncle," she cried, and a small fist hovered before Gabriel's eyes in such a threatening manner that he involuntarily closed them. But the child, whose features reminded him so strongly of his dead sister, could not make him angry.

"Ephraim," he exclaimed, in a jocund tone, warding off Viola with his hands, "you take my advice. Take this little spit-fire with you into the village one day...they may want a young she-wolf there." Then he pocketed the money.

"Well, Ephraim," said he, "may G.o.d bless you, and grant you further luck. But you won't blame me if I take the money,--I can do with it, and in oats, as you know, there's some chance of good business just now. But I am glad to see that you're so prompt at paying. Never give too much credit! That's always my motto; trust means ruin, and eats up a man's business, as rats devour the contents of a corn-barn."

There was but one thing that constantly threw its dark shadow across these two budding lives,--it was the dark figure in a distant prison.

This it was that saddened the souls of the two children with a gloom which no sunshine could dispel. When on Fridays Ephraim returned, fatigued and weary from his work, to the home over which Viola presided with such pathetic housewifely care, no smile of welcome was on her face, no greeting on his. Ephraim, 'tis true, told his sister where he had been, and what he had done, but in the simplest words there vibrated that tone of unutterable sadness which has its constant dwelling-place in such sorely-tried hearts.

Meanwhile, a great change had come over Viola. Nature continues her processes of growth and development 'mid the tempests of human grief, and often the fiercer the storm the more beautiful the after effects.

Viola was no longer the pale child, "the little spit-fire," by whom her Uncle Gabriel's arm had been seized in such a violent grip. A womanly gentleness had come over her whole being, and already voices were heard in the Ghetto praising her grace and beauty, which surpa.s.sed even the loveliness of her dead mother in her happiest days. Many an admiring eye dwelt upon the beautiful girl, many a longing glance was cast in the direction of the little house, where she dwelt with her brother. But the daughter of a "gambler," the child of a man who was undergoing imprisonment for the indulgence of his shameful vice! That was a picture from which many an admirer shrank with horror!

One day Ephraim brought home a young canary for his sister. When he handed her the bird in its little gilt cage, her joy knew no bounds, and showering kisses by turns upon her brother, and on the wire-work of the cage, her eyes sparkling with animation:

"You shall see, Ephraim, how I'll teach the little bird to speak," she cried.

The softening influence which had, during the last few months, come over his sister's nature was truly a matter of wonder to Ephraim. Humbly and submissively she accepted the slightest suggestion on his part, as though it were a command. He was to her a father and mother, and never were parents more implicitly obeyed by a child than this brother by a sister but three years his junior.

There was one subject, however, upon which Ephraim found his sister implacable and firm--their absent father, the mere mention of whose name made her tremble. Then there returned that haughty curl of the lips, and all the other symptoms of a proud, inflexible spirit. It was evident that Viola hated the man to whom she owed her existence.

Thus had it come about that Ephraim was almost afraid to p.r.o.nounce his father's name. Neither did he care to allude to their mother before Viola, for the memory of her death was too closely bound up with that dark form behind the distant prison walls.

Let us now return to the night on which Ephraim opened the door to his father. How had it come about? A thousand times Ephraim had thought about his father's return--and now he durst not even kindle a light, to look upon the long-estranged face. As silent as when he had come, Ascher remained during the rest of the night; he had seated himself at the window, and his arm was resting upon the very spot where formerly the cage had stood. The bird had obtained its freedom, and was, no doubt, by this time asleep, nestling amid the breeze-swept foliage of some wooded glen. HE too had regained his liberty, but no sleep closed his eyes, and yet he was in safe shelter, in the house of his children.

At length the day began to break. The sun was still hiding behind the mountain-tops, but its earliest rays were already reflected upon the window-panes. In the Ghetto footsteps became audible; here and there the grating noise of an opening street-door was heard, while from round the corner resounded, ever and anon, the hammer of the watchman, calling the people to morning service; for it was a Fast-day, which commenced at sunrise.

At that moment Ascher raised himself from his chair, and quickly turned away from the window. Ephraim was already by his side. "Father, dear father!" he cried from the inmost depths of his heart, as he tried to grasp the hand of the convict.

"Don't make such a noise," said the latter, casting a furtive glance in the direction of the window, and speaking in the same mysterious whisper in which he had asked for admittance into the house.

What a strange awakening it was to his son, when, in the gray twilight of the breaking day, he looked at Ascher more closely. In his imagination Ephraim had pictured a wan, grief-worn figure, and now he saw before him a strong, well-built man, who certainly did not present the appearance of a person who had just emerged from the dank atmosphere of a prison! On the contrary, he seemed stronger and more vigorous than he had appeared in his best days.

"Has he had such a good time of it...?" Ephraim felt compelled to ask himself... "how different our poor mother looked!"

With a violent effort he repressed the feelings which swelled his bosom.

"Dear father," he said, with tears in his eyes, "make yourself quite comfortable; you haven't closed your eyes the whole night, you must be worn out. You are at home, remember...father!"

"It's all right," said Ascher, with a deprecating gesture, "WE fellows know other ways of spending the night."

"WE FELLOWS!" The words cut Ephraim to the heart.

"But you may be taken ill, father," he timidly observed.

"I taken ill! What do you take me for?" Ascher laughed, boisterously.

"I haven't the slightest intention of falling ill."

At that moment the watchman was heard hammering at the door of the next house. The reverberating blows seemed to have a strangely disquieting effect upon the strong man: a violent tremor seized him; he cast one of the frightened glances which Ephraim had noticed before in the direction of the window, then with one bound he was at the door, and swiftly turned the k.n.o.b.

"Father, what's the matter?" Ephraim cried, much alarmed.

"Does the watchman look into the room when he pa.s.ses by?" asked Ascher, while his eyes almost burst from their sockets, with the intentness of their gaze.

"Never," Ephraim a.s.sured him.

"Let me see, wait..." whispered Ascher.

The three well-known knocks now resounded upon their own door, then the shadow of a pa.s.sing figure was thrown upon the opposite wall. With a sigh of relief, the words escaped Ascher's bosom:

"He did not look inside..." he muttered to himself.

Then he removed his hand from the door-k.n.o.b, came back into the centre of the room, and approaching the table, rested his hand upon it.