VINZI
A STORY OF THE SWISS ALPS

The Stories All
Children Love Series

“This edition should be in every child’s room.”—Wisconsin Library Bulletin.

ALICE’S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND. By Lewis Carroll.

GRITLI’S CHILDREN. By Johanna Spyri.

EVELI, THE LITTLE SINGER. By Johanna Spyri.

“CARROTS.” By Mrs. Molesworth.

LITTLE ROBINSON CRUSOE OF PARIS. By Eugénie Foa.

CHILDREN OF THE ALPS. By Johanna Spyri.

RIP VAN WINKLE AND THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. By Washington Irving.

DORA. By Johanna Spyri.

VINZI. By Johanna Spyri.

HEIDI. By Johanna Spyri.

MÄZLI. By Johanna Spyri.

CORNELLI. By Johanna Spyri.

A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES. By Robert Louis Stevenson.

THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE AND OTHER STORIES. By Miss Mulock.

GULLIVER’S TRAVELS. By Jonathan Swift.

THE WATER BABIES. By Charles Kingsley.

PINOCCHIO. By C. Collodi.

ROBINSON CRUSOE. By Daniel DeFoe.

THE CUCKOO CLOCK. Mrs. Molesworth.

THE PRINCESS AND THE GOBLIN. By George Macdonald.

THE PRINCESS AND CURDIE. By George Macdonald.

AT THE BACK OF THE NORTH WIND. By George Macdonald.

A DOG OF FLANDERS. By “Ouida.”

BIMBI. By “Ouida.”

MOPSA, THE FAIRY. By Jean Ingelow.

TALES OF FAIRYLAND. By Ferguson Hume.

HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES.

THE SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON.

WHEN VINZI SAT ON HIS THRESHOLD HE HAD A GREAT MANY THINGS TO THINK OVER

Page 164

VINZI
A STORY OF THE SWISS ALPS

BY
JOHANNA SPYRI
AUTHOR OF “HEIDI,” “MÄZLI,” ETC.

TRANSLATED BY
ELISABETH P. STORK

ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR BY
MARIA L. KIRK

PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

COPYRIGHT 1923, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

FOREWORD

The story of Vinzi is one of the freshest and most attractive to be found in modern literature, yielding not at all to the author’s better-known Heidi. It is sure to delight all children and as many of their elders as have retained their youthful sympathies. The revival of other stories by Madame Spyri has shown that her simple charm never fails to win an increasing audience, but in Vinzi her gift is positively at its best. In none of her books is the interest centered and sustained more perfectly.

There are few things more enjoyable or profitable for children than to learn how children live in other countries. It stimulates their imaginations and enlarges their emotional powers in the healthiest manner possible. For this purpose the Swiss background of Madame Spyri’s books is particularly good, with its flood of sunlight over Alpine peaks and flowery meadows. And as the background, so the people; there is an unforced kindliness and heartiness in the characters that makes them lovable in a special way of their own. Their foibles and limitations merely increase the genuineness of their appeal.

Two themes are stressed in Vinzi, trust and the power of music. Both of these are timely today. We hardly need Monsieur Coué to tell us that a brave confidence in the future is one of the most valuable qualities of character, especially for a child. Philosophers, both theoretical and practical, dilate on the importance of freeing ourselves from fear and discouragement as early in life as possible. This is just what the story of Vinzi tends to do by presenting the small hero as a natural example of the well-known principle. No less practical is the influence of good music upon children, the value of which is just beginning to be properly recognized in school and home.

But no moralizing ever interferes with the course of the narrative, which flows along with a delicate intuition as to suspense and climax. The boy Vinzi’s love of music and his father’s determination to make a farmer of him provide the central motive. It is noteworthy that the father, who with a less skilful author would be the villain of the tale, is never made to lose our respect. But the best feature of the book is the joyous life of the children, which occupies by far the most space. Madame Spyri’s panacea for the ills of life is an old one, but it is doubtful whether anything better can be found than her combination, which is: Faith in God, active helpfulness toward all around, love of beauty, fresh mountain air, and good food. Surely so much happiness has seldom been packed within the covers of a children’s book as may be found in Vinzi.

Charles Wharton Stork.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

CHAPTER I
IN LEUK

THE June sun was streaming down upon the green slope above the village of Leuk, and the fresh green grass which covered the heights as far as the eye could see filled the air with fragrance. At an isolated house along the path which led to the baths of Leuk, two women were lost in lively talk; indeed it seemed as if they could never come to the end of everything they had to say to each other.

“Yes, Marianna,” said the more talkative of the two, “if you could furnish a couple of rooms the way I did, you would soon realize a good profit. You could soon get boarders among the people who have relatives at the baths. You know some of them do not want to go there, or are not allowed to, just like the three who are staying with me. You really are a little too far down, for people like to go a little higher up in the summer. If only you were living where those people over there do. They certainly have the best spot on the slope and own all the very best meadows. But I do not think much of them,” the woman concluded with an unfriendly glance toward the house which stood a little higher up and away from the road. “They are nearly eaten up with pride, especially she, and you ought to see her.”

“In what way do they show it?” Marianna asked.

“In what way? You might just as well ask in what way they don’t show it,” Magdalene replied quickly. “They show it in everything. In everything they do and in the way they dress as if it were always Sunday with them. She has brought up the children to be just as particular as she is. The boy’s black hair is always curled as if he were going to the church fair and the little one always carries her nose high in the air as if she meant to say, ‘Watch out, here I come!’”

“How can the little one help it if her nose has grown that way?” was Marianna’s opinion. “And the boy can’t help his curly hair either. Doesn’t the woman speak to you when you meet her?”

“Oh yes, she does, and I would not exactly advise her to let her pride go as far as that,” said Magdalene in a threatening manner, “but you are mistaken if you imagine that she ever stops a minute to say a few words to a neighbor. If one starts to talk with her, she just gives a short answer and hurries away as if she did not think one her equal. She can wait awhile before I ever say anything to her again.”

Marianna looked at the house in question and exclaimed full of astonishment, “How is that? As long as I can remember, the house over there looked old and gray, not a window was ever opened, and all the panes were dirty and dull from age. It looked like a robber’s den. Now it is snow-white and the windows shine in the sun. It can’t be the same house!”

“It certainly is! Now you can see how proud they are,” replied Magdalene eagerly. “Old farmer Lesa lived there with his old housekeeper more than fifty years; all that time he did not hammer in a single nail, for he was satisfied with the way it had been in his father’s and his grandfather’s time. Just as soon as his eyes were closed, his heir came across the Gemmi[A] and things were torn down, cleaned and renewed until one might think a count was moving in. Of course the woman was the cause of it all, for nothing that the parents had admired was good enough for her.”

“But I should think that it was not unnecessary to clean and straighten up a bit if the last owner had not fixed up a nail in the house for fifty years and had let things go as his father and grandfather had left them,” replied Marianna. “The old house certainly was ugly, and how changed it is! Why did you say that his heir came from across the Gemmi? Are the Lesas not from our parts?”

“Yes, they are, and there are several of that name hereabouts,” replied Magdalene, “but one of them is supposed to have married across the Gemmi and to have stayed there with his wife near Berne or Freiburg. But I only know this from hearsay, for it was either a hundred or two hundred years ago. When old Lesa died, it was found that his nearest relatives were the same we were talking of, so it happened that Vinzenz Lesa moved here with his wife and two children about two years ago. I heard that there too they have a fine house and a lot of cows, and that their pastures over there are very fine, as well as their breed of cattle. I think Vinzenz’s brother now takes care of the other place. I do not know whether Vinzenz is going back there again when he has put everything here in good shape, nor whether he means to sell this place, for he does not say much.”

“Dear me, I must go,” Marianna exclaimed, quite startled when she heard the sound of a bell from the village below. “I have to go up to the baths, and I must not get back too late, because my husband and the children don’t like to be kept waiting for supper. Where did old Lesa’s housekeeper go?”

“She was his cousin and died a short time after him,” Magdalene informed her. “She had been with him fifty years and was well past seventy, so she could not very well have started on anything new. Look, there they come towards us across the meadow. Now you can see for yourself Lesa’s wife and her dressed-up children; just wait till she comes.”

Marianna needed no further urging for she was curious to see the people they had been discussing.

They were coming close, and one could see that the children had a great deal to tell their mother. They talked to her steadily so that one might have thought the woman could not possibly see or hear anything else. As soon, however, as she reached the house where the two women had withdrawn a little into the open doorway, she greeted them pleasantly. The boy immediately pulled off his cap and the girl called out “Good-day” with a ringing voice. When they had gone a few steps further, their lively conversation began anew.

“I must say they look nice,” said Marianna, gazing after the group with visible satisfaction. “I see no pride there, Magdalene, but neatness and cleanliness in the children as well as in the mother. Everything looks well on her and I wonder how she does it. She just wore what we do, only it looks better on her. Didn’t the boy’s black curls tumble out from his cap in a nice way! And I like the way the little one with the snub nose has her brown hair braided about her head. She looks as bright and happy as a little bird.”

“What else have you to say?” retorted Magdalene, slightly annoyed.

“You are right; I should do better to go my way instead of idly talking,” said Marianna, getting ready to leave. “It does one good to see people who teach their children good manners and keep them as if they meant to make them into something decent. There are too many of the other kind, and one often wonders if it is possible to raise children to anything good. That woman has given me a mind to imitate her as far as I can, for I’d like my children to look as nice and speak as politely as hers. I must go now. Do not take amiss anything I said. Good-bye, Magdalene.”

Marianna set out now and hurried along towards the height. Mrs. Lesa in the meantime climbed up the mountain slope with her children. They kept on talking steadily, sometimes the boy alone or the girl, and sometimes both at once.

“Just think, mother,” the boy informed her, “the child is hardly any bigger than Stefeli. When we passed Mrs. Troll’s house yesterday evening we first saw her standing before the door, then she ran into the house and suddenly we heard the most beautiful music through the open window. I asked the brother who had stayed outside with a book what it was and he said, ‘Alida is playing the piano.’ Imagine, such a young child! I should have loved to listen a while, but I was afraid to, because Stefeli said that it was late and we had to go home.”

“And so it was,” Stefeli affirmed. “I should have loved to stay, too, but we had to go home. Don’t you remember, father was already at table when we came? I found out that the boy’s name is Hugo and that the crooked lady lives with them, because I heard Alida say to her brother, ‘I simply have to go in now, otherwise Fraulein will fetch me in and everything will go crooked.’”

“No, no, Stefeli, it was not meant that way,” said the mother. “I don’t think the lady is crooked. The idea probably was that things would go crooked with Alida if she did not obey. Are not the children’s parents with them?”

“No I don’t think so, but I am not sure. What do you think, Vinzi?” asked Stefeli, turning toward her brother.

He gave no answer.

“What makes you stare into the distance, Vinzi, and why don’t you answer?” now asked the mother.

“Listen, mother, listen!” Vinzi replied in a low voice. “Can you hear those beautiful sounds?”

The mother stood still. The wind was wafting up the sounds of an evening bell from the valley, which, as they reached the heights, faded away only to rise more loudly from far below. The wind must have come straight from that direction, for one could hear them very plainly. Now the tones had died away.

The mother’s glance rested on the boy with a mingled look of anxiety and surprise, while he was lost in listening. She remained quiet a while longer for Vinzi had not yet moved. He still seemed to listen eagerly to something he heard from far away, despite the fact that no more sounds reached her ear.

“Vinzi, can you hear us again now?” Stefeli asked, not in the least surprised at her brother’s ways.

“Yes,” he responded as if awakening from a dream.

“Is the lady who lives with Alida and Hugo really crooked?” asked Stefeli, for she was anxious to have that question cleared up.

“Yes, perhaps,” the brother replied with a slightly abstracted air.

But Stefeli did not tolerate such uncertainty.

“If she is not crooked, she is straight, but you must not say perhaps,” she exclaimed, a little angry. “We can easily go down right away to Mrs. Troll’s house, can’t we, mother, and then we’ll find out what the lady is like.”

“No,” replied the mother, “we shall certainly not go back to the house on account of that. It is, however, time to turn back, otherwise father will get home sooner than we do and that must not happen. We had better return the way we came, it is the shortest way. But, Stefeli, you must not think that we’ll stop at Mrs. Troll’s house till we see those people.”

“They may be sitting in front of the house,” said Stefeli, holding fast to her intention.

As the mother turned back the little girl ran ahead; she wanted to see the house as soon as possible in order to discover anybody who might be sitting there. The question they had been discussing was not however the only thing on her mind. Stefeli longed most of all to see the two strange children who had moved into the house and whom she had seen the evening before.

Vinzi quietly wandered along at his mother’s side. He was not talkative any longer, but his mother was well accustomed to these changes in her boy.

“Tell me, Vinzi,” she asked now, “why did you keep on listening after the sound of the evening bells had died away?”

“I could still hear them,” Vinzi answered. “I suddenly heard such a wonderful song, which came down from the hills; the black fir trees seemed to join in with a deep bass and through it all the bells were tinkling their sparkling melody. Oh, it was beautiful! If only I could repeat it!”

“Wasn’t it a song you have heard before?” the mother asked sympathetically, seeking to understand. “If you sang me part of it I might find out which song you mean and tell you the words of it.”

“No, no,” Vinzi remonstrated, “it is no song I ever heard. The melodies were all entirely new. I still hear them but can’t repeat them.”

Meditating deeply the mother remained silent, for she could not understand what Vinzi meant. She herself had always found much pleasure in music and singing. She had taught her children to sing as soon as they were able to talk, and her boy had always enjoyed their daily evening song.

“Come, Vinzi,” she said at last, “let us sing a song now; then we’ll both feel happy again. Which one do you want to sing?”

“I don’t know, mother; if only I could sing the tune I hear,” he answered.

“I suppose you have some music running in your head. Sing out and you can’t help enjoying it,” said the mother, starting up a song Vinzi knew well.

At first he hesitated, but soon the well-known melody carried him along. His clear, sure voice joining hers, they finished the song before they reached Mrs. Troll’s cottage. Stefeli suddenly leaped forward from behind a tree, from which hidden spot she had watched the two children who were both sitting in front of the house with a book. It had not escaped Stefeli that Alida did not look much at her book and was constantly turning her head from side to side to see what might be going on. Stefeli was dreadfully anxious to run over to Alida and start a friendship with her. But suddenly the governess, who was not crooked at all, but on the contrary very stiff and straight, came out of the house. This intimidated Stefeli so much she hid further and further behind the tree in order not to be discovered. Stefeli told her mother and brother of these things and was glad to have them by her side when passing the house, because the governess was still sitting there. When closer, all four children eagerly examined each other, for they were very much interested.

“They are the same ones we saw yesterday,” Alida said with half-raised voice. “I think I’ll go over and make their acquaintance.”

“Indeed you won’t Alida! We don’t even know who they are,” quickly replied the governess.

Despite the fact that the words had been spoken under her breath, those who were passing had been able to hear them.

“She doesn’t want Alida to talk with us, did you hear it, mother?” said Stefeli when they had gone a little further.

“Yes, I did,” the mother replied. “It is lucky that you didn’t run over to them. You must never do it, Stefeli; do you hear?”

“Yes, but then we’ll never meet and Alida wanted to so much,” Stefeli said rebelliously.

“You see, Stefeli, the governess probably has charge of the children’s education and is responsible for what they do and with whom they play. They might hear and learn from others all kinds of things that they shouldn’t do,” the mother explained. “Maybe Alida is a little like you, Stefeli, and likes to stick her little nose into every opening and look through every hole in a hedge. That is probably why the governess has to watch her and choose her friends very carefully.”

This made Stefeli more eager than ever to meet Alida and be her friend.

“I see father over there,” said Vinzi. “We ought to hurry if we want to get home at the same time as he does.”

This was the mother’s intention, and, walking fast, they joined the father not far from the house. Soon afterwards the little family sat down to supper in their comfortable room.

The meal passed very quietly because the children knew that they had to be silent, and the parents themselves said little. As soon as the children had finished, Vinzi asked, “Can we go out?” As the request was readily granted, they hurried over to the barn, where many delightful corners could be found for playing hide and seek.

It was a bright, warm June evening. Vinzenz Lesa had leisurely risen from the table, and going out he lit his pipe and settled himself on the bench before the house. His wife soon afterwards came out and sat down, too. Now he grew talkative and told her of a visit he had made to an acquaintance of his in the valley whose meadows, fields and cattle he had examined. He had compared his own property with what he saw, and when he had thoroughly looked everything over he could not help saying to himself, “Vinzenz Lesa, you are blessed with a fine property.”

“Yes, we certainly ought to be grateful and I am sure we are,” said his wife.

“Yes, it is true,” he continued, “but whenever I am very happy about it and begin to plan how to improve and develop the farm it always seems as if some one were throwing an obstacle before my feet and keeping me from going further. I mean Vinzi. For whom should I do all of it if not for him, and what kind of a boy is he? He has no eyes in his head and shows not the slightest pleasure or interest in taking to pasture the most beautiful cows that can be found far and wide in the whole neighborhood. If I say to him, ‘Just look what wonderful fodder is in this meadow!’ he says ‘yes’ and stares into the distance so one can see that he has neither listened nor really looked at the meadow he is standing in. I am afraid there is something wrong with him.”

“No, no, Vinzenz, you must not say that,” his wife interrupted eagerly. “If Vinzi does not always listen and has his thoughts elsewhere and does not show the real pleasure he should have in farming, he has never done anything wrong. You must not say that.”

“I don’t say it,” the man went on, “but what is wrong is wrong, and when a boy has no feeling for such meadows, fields and cows as we own, and everything connected with a farm, something must be wrong. But I am sure I don’t know how to help it.”

“He may yet change; just think how young he is!” said the wife comfortingly, though her secret anxiety about the boy had grown again that day during her stroll. She knew well enough that there was something about the boy difficult to understand and she also realized that his thoughts never were on the objects before him. Deeming it wise to change the subject, she talked about seeing the strangers who had taken the upstairs rooms at Mrs. Troll’s cottage for the summer. She told him that the children had looked so nice that she would not mind taking them into her own home. This might easily be managed in their big house, where a few nice rooms could be fitted up for that purpose.

“Well, what on earth will you say next, and can’t we even have peace in our own house?” said the man, half frightened, half angry. “Why should we take other people’s children into our house when we have children of our own?”

“If they are as nice as those we saw, and as well brought up, ours could only learn good things from them,” answered the woman. “We all like to see our children clean and well-behaved rather than tumbling about like little pigs and using rough words.”

“Oh, well, all children have bad manners, and when they get too bad one can let them know. I know quite well what you are aiming at, but you might just as well give it up because there is no use,” the farmer said. “I shall not tolerate strangers in the house. I mean to live by myself and I absolutely forbid the children to have anything to do with those city folks. Don’t let them go over there or our girl will soon become as spoilt as the boy. I am glad to say she is still different from him. She runs after the cows and strokes them like friends and the young cattle run after her, eat from her hand and rub their heads against her like comrades. If one says anything, the child pays attention and minds her business and uses her own eyes besides. She knows exactly what is lacking in the barn or stable and knows how everything should be. But the boy neither sees nor knows anything. It would be quite different if I could change those two around, make the girl into the boy, and the boy into the girl. But as long as things have to be as they are, I have no inclination to have her changed, too.”

“The way you talk, Vinzenz, one might think you consider it a sickness to be well brought up,” the woman replied calmly. “But you need have no fears; a governess is looking after those children who is going to see to it that hers don’t come near ours. It is late, we had better go in now.”

At the same time she called to the children to sing their daily evening song. As soon as they arrived the mother began, and both joined in with clear, sure voices. They knew the song well and each apparently had a good ear for music. Even as little children they had been able to repeat the mother’s songs correctly. As the beautiful melody was resounding through the calm, peaceful evening air, father Vinzenz regained his usual composure, which had been so disturbed that day by anxious thoughts and fears.

CHAPTER II
ON THE PASTURE

THE children had no school during the summer months because at that time they were all needed for light tasks in the fields and meadows. School began again late in the autumn.

On Monday morning the sun had only just flushed the tops of the mountains before rising above the wooded heights, when, early as it was, Stefeli, already neatly washed and dressed, rushed into Vinzi’s little chamber. She found him still fast asleep.

“Wake up, Vinzi,” she cried out. “The man has just brought back the cows from the pond and as soon as we have had breakfast, father wants us to go up to the pasture to watch them. The man has to come back when we get there. We’ll take lunch with us and stay all day long because it’s too far to come all the way home. Won’t we have fun eating out of doors? Please hurry.”

Vinzi had awakened meanwhile. When he gazed at his sister with his large dark eyes he still seemed lost in revery.

“Oh, I had such a wonderful dream,” he said. “Mother and I were in Litten, the place we went to last year. We went to church together and everything was exactly as we had seen it then. An organ was playing the most beautiful piece and it was more wonderful than I could tell you. Do you know what an organ sounds like?”

“Oh, Vinzi, you must come now. Please hurry up and don’t talk about an organ now,” Stefeli urged. “Mother has already taken in the coffee and father is having breakfast. You know we won’t have any fun if father gets cross. Do hurry up.”

With these words Stefeli ran away.

Vinzi had realized the truth of his sister’s words. He quickly jumped out of bed and completed his necessary toilet. Soon he stood in the room ready to start off. He speedily swallowed his milk and coffee and stuck the bread into his pocket, before the three others had half finished theirs. The father, looking at the boy, thought to himself, “He can hurry if he wants to. Perhaps something can still be done with him.” The mother had packed the children’s lunch neatly into a bag, which she hung around Vinzi’s shoulder. Stefeli now came skipping along with a straw hat on her head and in her hand a rod which Vinzi had cut for her. This she used for gently urging the cows ahead whenever they needed it, but she never beat them. When the children went out, followed by the parents, Vinzi discovered that he had left his whip in the barn. All cow-herds carried one in order just for fun to flick it sharply from time to time. A sound like thunder would re-echo from the mountains roundabout. As Vinzi did not care for this pastime with the whip he regularly forgot where he had put it. While he hunted about uncertainly his father began to frown. But suddenly, in leaps and bounds, his sister, who had noticed where he had left it, appeared with the whip.

At last the children started off. “Keep the cows from going across the stream, Vinzi,” the father called after them.

“Take care not to go too near the rushing stream yourselves,” was the mother’s last reminder.

“Yes, yes,” the children called back gaily, as they hurried along towards the mountain pasture. As soon as they arrived Stefeli began to shout violently. She had not forgotten that their man was to return to the farm as soon as they had arrived to take charge of the cows. He did not hear for quite a while because he happened to be on the other side of the roaring stream. Stefeli, however, did not give up till he had heard and understood her cries. He then hurried away.

“We have to see that the cows stay on our own pasture and that Schwärzeli does not jump about too much, for if she doesn’t eat she’ll get thin,” said Stefeli. “Come, Vinzi, let’s sit down over there under the tree; for if we leave our bag in the sun, the bread will get dry.”

Vinzi, who had already settled down, got up. He followed Stefeli, watching her while she carefully laid their provisions in the shadow of the broadest branches. Then they both sat down in the cool shade under the spreading tree where earlier the ground had been thoroughly dried by the sun.

THE SHINY BLACK COW WAS GOING IN BIG LEAPS TOWARD THE RUSHING STREAM

The fresh morning wind was soughing through the branches and blowing over the pasture far and wide till its roaring was finally lost in the distance. Suddenly Stefeli bounded up and shot away like an arrow. With tail raised high the shiny black cow was going in big leaps towards the rushing stream. “Schwärzeli, Schwärzeli,” the child called repeatedly, “Schwärzeli, please wait for me!” But the high-spirited animal only jumped higher and had nearly reached the stream. “She will drown if she jumps in,” thought Stefeli, terribly frightened. By that time they had come to the dangerous place of which the mother had warned her. “Schwärzeli!” the child called once more with so much authority in her excited voice that far and wide her echo repeated, “Schwärzeli, Schwärzeli!”

Suddenly the fugitive stood still and turned around, while Stefeli rushed breathlessly towards the young heifer, who was quietly awaiting the arrival of her mistress.

“You are a bad Schwärzeli to scare me so,” Stefeli exclaimed, firmly grasping the rope about Schwärzeli’s neck, on which a little bell was fastened. “Just wait! If you go on like this I certainly won’t bring you any more salt to lick. You know you love it as if it were good sugar!” Schwärzeli was tenderly rubbing her head on Stefeli’s shoulder now as if to say, “I meant no harm, but it is such fun to caper across the meadow.”

“Yes, yes,” Stefeli answered, as if she had understood everything Schwärzeli had been trying to express, “you want me to forgive you now, but stop running towards the stream. You can run towards the other side all you want. Oh, I see, you think it more fun to run downhill than uphill. I know. Come along with me.”

As the two wandered peacefully back to the place which was meant to be the pasture of the day, Vinzi met them half way. Quite surprised, he asked, “But Stefeli, why did you run away? It was so nice under the tree. I was hearing the most beautiful music. I was just going to ask you if you heard it too, when I found you were gone. Only then I saw you coming back with Schwärzeli.”

Despite being used to her brother’s ways, Stefeli could not help being astonished that he had not been aware of what was going on. She told him about the chase and her great fear that Schwärzeli might gallop straight towards the stream, fall down the banks and drown. It was lucky that the little beast had suddenly become manageable. Stefeli was eager to know what Vinzi had heard in the meanwhile.

“Oh, it is such a shame you did not hear it,” he said, “for one can hardly describe such music. A chorus of deep, strong voices was rising from the tree above me and floating far across the meadow. Then high, clear voices joined in and were lost in the distance till they resembled the sounds of waters far away. Oh, it was so beautiful. Come, we might still hear it if we go back.”

“Go now, Schwärzeli, and behave yourself,” said Stefeli, letting go of the rope by which she had held the heifer. Then she followed Vinzi.

But she had scarcely settled down beside Vinzi when both jumped up again. They noticed simultaneously that the brown cow had strolled as far as a fence which formed the boundary between their own and another pasture. In order to get through she was pushing hard against the boards. Soon the children had fetched her back and the cow was slowly wandering to the proper field. Stefeli discovered an especially inviting spot where fragrant mountain pinks were nodding in the grass. “Come, Vinzi, we’ll stay here. I am sure we couldn’t possibly hear the tunes any more.” To this Vinzi gladly assented. A great peace enveloped the heights, and the cows were quietly wandering about. Schwärzeli was usually either at the head or the rear of them, but she gave no more disorderly leaps. Only when changing ground she trotted about a bit.

The children looked with happy faces at the lovely scene before them. After enjoying it silently for a while, Stefeli said, “I should just love to be a cow-herd all my life. Would you like it, too, Vinzi?”

“No, I should not like it,” was his answer.

“But why not?” Stefeli questioned a little reproachfully. “It couldn’t anywhere be more beautiful than here.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Vinzi admitted, “but I should not like to take care of cows all my life. I should like another profession better than watching them and keeping them from running away.”

“What would you rather do?” Stefeli wanted to know.

After meditating a little Vinzi answered, “I don’t know what the profession is in which I could do what I like best of all.”

“What do you like to do best? I never saw you do it, I think,” Stefeli said, quite surprised that she should not know.

“I like above all to listen to the bells and all the sounds in the branches of the trees. Also those that drift down from the mountains on all sides. Can you hear how it seems to sing everywhere about us? Can you hear it?” Vinzi’s eyes grew more large and gleaming while he listened.

Stefeli pricked up her ears. “Those are only the gnats,” she said in a slightly disdainful voice.

But Vinzi, continued: “When I hear such beautiful sounds I always try to remember them so that I can sing them or imitate them. I wonder how I could do it.”

“But that couldn’t be a real profession,” Stefeli interrupted him.

“That’s what I am afraid of, too,” Vinzi admitted, quite discouraged, “but I can’t help thinking about it all the time. I have cut so many pipes and have tried out what one can play on them. I already have made five; on one I can blow very deep, and on another very high tones, and the others can play middle tones. I was just puzzling out how to play two or three at the same time, so that they could all sound at once like the church bells.”

“You might become a piper,” Stefeli exclaimed, quite happy over her inspiration, “that might be quite a good profession.”

“I don’t know,” Vinzi replied uncertainly. “Father would surely not let me, even if I could. He found my pipes in the barn one day and threw them all away. He told me to think of useful things instead of collecting pipes and thinking about such rubbish.” Poor Vinzi was quite depressed at those memories and it smote Stefeli’s heart.

“You mustn’t get sad on account of that, Vinzi,” she said comfortingly. “I am sure father just meant you not to have the pipes at home in the barn and stable. But why shouldn’t you have them up here in the pasture and think about them. I can easily watch and call out when I need you. Then you can go on cutting your pipes and we can put them into a hole under a tree and take them out when we are up here. I could help you blow them. I’ll blow the high one and you can play the low one and they’ll sound together like the bells.”

But these words failed to give Vinzi thorough consolation. He kept sadly staring at the ground before him and saying nothing more.

“Let’s talk about something else, now,” his sister said decidedly, for she did not like the effect their conversation had had on Vinzi. But before another subject was begun Stefeli started up violently, and calling her brother, flew away. Vinzi, glancing up, ran after her toward a party of strangers, who had been going over a narrow wooden bridge which led across the stream, when a little dog belonging to them suddenly darted into the midst of the cows and yelping loudly, drove them in every direction. The scared animals rushed hither and thither in their fright, and Schwärzeli, with her tail raised high, was galloping to and fro. This urged the dog to still more furious onslaughts. Stefeli rushed after the cows to quiet them, while Vinzi, going straight up to the dog, applied his whip so vigorously that the animal turned about and ran whining after the party. All this had proved to be such hot work that the children sought together the welcome shade under the big tree and flung themselves down there. They felt in need of regaining their breath and cooling off under the deliciously swaying branches. The cows also were peaceful again.

“I wish the dog had been on the side where the path leads up to the pasture,” Vinzi said now, sitting up. “I saw the most brilliant red flower there and it looked perfectly enormous, even from where I was. I never saw a bigger one; I’d run down to get it if it were not so far away. It is getting very hot.”

“Oh, I can find it,” Stefeli said with determination. “If the flower is so wonderful I won’t mind going so far.”

Vinzi was just going to declare himself willing to fetch the flower for Stefeli, when the latter sped away so fast that the boy could not possibly have caught up with her. Therefore he stayed seated and as the noonday bell was ringing in the village below, he forgot everything else in listening to its sounds.

“Here is your flower,” a voice suddenly said beside him as Stefeli laid a brilliant red cloth before her brother. Having been lost in deep thoughts he had not noticed how the time had passed and he could not wonder enough at Stefeli’s speedy return. He meditatively looked at what he had imagined to be a flower. It had the same deep red the flower had had, but he could not help wondering where he had seen that cloth before. “Oh, I know now,” he exclaimed suddenly, “I saw it on the chair near Mrs. Troll’s house where the little girl was. It must belong to her.”

Stefeli also remembered having seen a red object there and besides that she had seen some children in the party near the bridge. They must have been the same children. Vinzi began to consider what to do with the cloth, and as it was best to immediately return to the owner whatever was found, he wanted to run right over to Mrs. Troll’s house and take it along. But Stefeli would not hear of this, because dinner time had come for everyone and there was plenty of time in which to do it later. As soon as Stefeli mentioned lunch, Vinzi suddenly felt how immensely hungry he was and saw that his sister was right. He set to work and gathering thin, dry sticks from under the tree, built a little fire and lit it. As the wood was very dry, the flames leaped up gaily. Stefeli had transformed the grassy ground into an appetizing dinner table, set with two large slices of buttered bread and two snow white eggs which their mother had cooked at home, and which only needed peeling. Stefeli brought the bag near the fire and only waited for the right moment when the wood had burnt low to put the clean round potatoes one after another into the coals. Soon they smoked and sizzled so invitingly that the children were glad when, with a willow stick, they could lift them out of the glowing ashes. As soon as the potatoes had cooled off a bit, the children heartily bit into them and ate them all, including the firmly-baked crust, which was really the best part. They did not despise the rest of their lunch, and Vinzi attacked his bread and butter vigorously, while Stefeli heartily enjoyed her egg. All morning the cows had been pasturing busily, so the time had come for them also to rest a bit. One after the other they lay down on a fine, sunny spot. Even Schwärzeli had settled down, but her little black head moved from side to side in a lively manner which showed that one could not yet quite trust her to be quiet.

The children had neatly cleaned up their place under the tree, for egg-shells and scraps of paper were not to be left on the fine green carpet of their living room. Looking out over the pasture, they were happily enjoying the deep peace about them.

“I might take the shawl back now,” said Vinzi after a while. “Don’t you think the cows will stay quiet till I come back?”

“Yes, I think so,” Stefeli replied. “The big ones are sure to lie down for a while, and if Schwärzeli begins to jump about and wants to run towards the stream, I can lure her here. I kept the salt mother gave us for our eggs, we both took none and Schwärzeli just loves it.”

Vinzi took up the red shawl which Stefeli had neatly folded up and ran away. Despite his speed it was a good quarter of an hour before he stood in front of Mrs. Troll’s house. The front door was open and everything in the house was still. Somebody was apparently hoeing in the garden, it was probably Mrs. Troll herself. Suddenly, however, quite different sounds drew the boy irresistibly up the stairs. Through a half-open door quite near at hand he caught a delightful, gay melody. Walking up close he laid his ear on the door to listen. But as Vinzi, in his desire to hear, had strongly pushed his head against it, it suddenly flew wide open. As soon as the little musician, who was sitting on a high stool before the instrument, saw Vinzi, she sprang up and went to him.

“Oh, did you find my shawl? How quickly you have brought it back!” she called out, spying the shawl in Vinzi’s hand. “It’s lucky for me because Miss Landrat has already scolded me for losing it. As punishment for my carelessness I was to go all the way back where papa and the other gentleman took us this morning. I was to look for it, but as it was so far she refused to go along. I’ll give you some reward for finding it. What would you like to have?”

Vinzi was still gazing full of surprise at the wonder-child, who had played such gorgeous music and was now talking to him exactly as if she had known him a long, long time. Hesitating with his answer, he finally asked a little shyly, “Can I really say what I want?”

“Certainly,” his new acquaintance replied firmly. “But you know,” she continued, “only ask for something I can really give you, not perhaps a boat or a real, live horse.”

“Oh, no, I don’t mean anything like that. I only want to hear the music again.”

“The music? Do you mean the piece I was playing when you came in? But I don’t call that a present. What is your name?” the girl suddenly changed her line of thought.

“Vinzi,” he informed her.

“Is it? My name is Alida Thornau,” she continued. “When I have to practice I find it so dreadfully tiresome that I always play a little piece between whiles. Do you have to practice, too?”

“What is practicing?” asked Vinzi.

“Oh, you are lucky if you don’t know what that is,” Alida exclaimed. “You see, practicing is sitting still on a round stool and playing up and down on a piano with your hands. This is called playing scales, and repeating the same tones about thirty times to and fro is called finger practice.”

“Why do you have to practice?” asked Vinzi, wondering deeply.

“Because one has to obey,” replied Alida, “and I have to practice every day from two to three o’clock because Miss Landrat tells me to. I have no lessons here the way I have in Hamburg. Every time father comes down here I have to promise him to obey Miss Landrat. He is up at the baths with my mother because she is ill.”

“How did you learn to play that beautiful piece?” Vinzi inquired, following all her information with great interest.

“Oh, one can easily do that when one practices so much and knows the notes. All one has to do is to play the notes that are written there,” was Alida’s explanation.

“Oh, you are lucky to be allowed to practice so much,” said Vinzi, gazing at the piano with such an expression of longing that Alida suddenly remembered the reward he had been promised.

“I’ll play you the piece now,” she said. “Shut the door and come near to me so that you can hear it well.”

Vinzi obeyed and expectantly posted himself behind the piano stool.

With an eagerness never before exhibited, Alida played her Spring Song through, never once stopping or hesitating till she came to the end. Never had such a thing happened before! To have such a keen listener had made her able to perform unusually well.

VINZI STARED AT HER FINGERS AS IF HER PLAYING WERE A MIRACLE

Vinzi stared at her fingers as if her playing were a miracle. In a mirror which hung over the piano Alida had seen how breathlessly he followed her. This pleased her and when she had finished the piece she began it all over again. In the midst of it she suddenly seemed to be struck by a new idea. She paused abruptly and turning about on her chair she asked, “Would you like to learn how to play the piano?”

Vinzi’s eyes sparkled, but only for a moment; in the next he looked at the floor saying sadly, “Oh, I never could do it.”

“Oh, yes, you could easily,” replied Alida with conviction. “I can teach you and you’ll soon know all I know. You can practice with me and that will be heaps more fun than to sit and play here all alone. You can play a little piece like the one you like so much. It won’t take you long. Do you want to?”

Vinzi’s eyes had grown bigger and bigger with surprise and longing. The incomprehensible joy of playing music like that himself, lay suddenly before him. All he had to do was to say yes. Everything was to be so easy and perfectly natural. He could not believe that he might be granted such happiness.

But his great inner emotion kept him from uttering a sound.

“Why don’t you say yes? I am sure you must want to if you like it so much,” Alida said with slight impatience. “You can come here every day at two o’clock because Miss Landrat always takes a walk with Hugo at that time. I am supposed to practice till three and sometimes even longer if they happen to be away. Then we’ll be quite alone and I can teach you everything. We can either play together or take turns.”

When Vinzi saw it so clearly put before him it seemed at last possible. With a voice clearly showing his delight he said, “There is nothing I should love better in this world.”

“So now it’s all settled that you come to me tomorrow,” said Alida with satisfaction, “or do you want to begin today?”

However anxious Vinzi was to do so, he realized that he had already stayed away from Stefeli long enough. But he gladly gave his promise to come the next day, if nothing prevented him from doing so. He could hardly yet believe his good fortune, but Alida’s sureness about the matter proved catching and he ran away in high glee. The thought of what Stefeli would say to the plan chiefly occupied his mind, as he ran along. Maybe she would refuse to be left alone each day and perhaps she would think their father might be angry if he knew. Therefore he still felt slightly uncertain.

When he reached the pasture he found everything in perfect order. The cows were lying on the self-same spots and Schwärzeli was wandering quietly about. He ran to Stefeli, who sat under a tree singing a song.

“What a long time you have been away,” said Stefeli, interrupting her song. “What did she say?”

Vinzi, sitting down beside his sister, began to relate what had happened. She heard of the joyous prospect Alida had offered him, namely, to go to her an hour every day to practice. But he had not yet accepted because he did not know what Stefeli would say to being left alone for a whole hour every day.

Stefeli pondered for a moment. “You can easily do it, Vinzi,” she said eagerly. “I know that it will please you more than anything.”

“Oh, yes, I know it, too,” said Vinzi with gleaming eyes. “Don’t you think that there won’t be much trouble with the cows at that time? They are still quiet.”

“There won’t be any,” Stefeli reassured him. “All the time you were gone they lay still and looked around. Schwärzeli just walked about and it is like this every afternoon.”

Vinzi had known it well, but was glad to have Stefeli’s confirmation. Vinzi’s new prospect had made the children talkative, and they discussed the coming events and their possible consequences. They could talk without any interruption, for the cows were feeding quietly again, as they were supposed to do. All at once the sound of horns could be heard from different sides, warning them that the time had come to drive the cattle home to be milked.

Vinzi leaped up with surprise when he realized how quickly the evening had come. Stefeli took the bag on her arm and her stick in her hand and fetched Schwärzeli from where she was wandering about. Vinzi whistled and called his cows together and before long the children were on their way home with the little herd. The father was already waiting for them near the stable. On the days when the children had to go to the pasture with the cows their work was done for the day when they came home. As soon as their father returned from the stable they had supper, and soon after, when the mother had finished her tasks in the kitchen, she sat down to sing with them; after this they went to bed, and gladly, too, knowing that next morning another early start had to be made.

CHAPTER III
UNLOOKED-FOR EVENTS

AS soon as Vinzi was awake next morning he wished it were two o’clock right away, for he simply dreaded the long morning he had to live through before his lesson. But it went by much more quickly than he expected. A lot of running about had been necessary to keep the cows together, as they were always very lively at that time.

When lunch was over and the cows had settled down to rest, Vinzi looked steadily towards the mountains. Suddenly rising from the ground he said, “It must be two o’clock now. Yesterday the sun was just above that rocky peak when I got back. In an hour it will be above the peak.”

“Yes, Vinzi. The sooner you go the sooner you’ll be back. I want to hear all about it,” said Stefeli.

Vinzi lost no time. As he was climbing up the steps at Mrs. Troll’s he found Alida waiting for him. “You came at just the right time,” she called to him; “they are both away and we’ll be entirely alone. You must always come at this time.”

When Vinzi entered the room he glanced quickly at the clock. “I know exactly how high the sun must be when I leave,” he said with satisfaction. “It is just ten minutes after two.”

“Let’s start in now,” Alida proposed. “First, I’ll tell you what the notes are called, and next, which of the keys one has to play on. After that you can begin.”

She took up a little sheet of music and began to teach him. As Alida did not care to linger long over anything her instruction was rather hurried. But Vinzi had so attentively followed every word and had comprehended her so quickly, that his teacher proceeded as rapidly as she had wished.

“I’ll show you the keys now. As soon as you play a bit you’ll get to know the notes better,” she said. Reading the notes to him had begun to seem extremely tiresome.

As she taught him the keys, Alida played them too in order to make the lesson more vivid.

Vinzi could not help wondering profoundly.

“How is the music made?” he asked suddenly.

“It is already made and printed in the book, from which we can read and play it,” answered Alida.

“But hasn’t somebody made it up before others can play it?” asked Vinzi modestly. “Don’t you think that one could write down tunes one hears inside one’s head, if one only knew how? Then one could play it all on the piano.”

“But that’s not a bit necessary. I am quite sure that enough music has been written already,” Alida said, glancing with a deep sigh at the large book in which were printed all the exercises she had to learn.

Vinzi was also looking at it, absolutely absorbed. The large black dots seemed to him nothing short of a miracle.

“Now I’ll play you the little piece you liked so much,” Alida continued. “Soon you’ll be able to play it, too. It is awfully easy.”

Vinzi’s eyes glowed as he listened. He drank it in with all his senses.

Just as Alida had reached the end the black-forest clock on the wall struck three.

“The lesson is over, but come again tomorrow,” said Alida jumping up from her chair.

Shaking hands, Vinzi quickly hurried away. Three days passed in the same way. Vinzi proved such an apt pupil that his teacher could not help wondering at his progress. He had played the little piece through once, for he knew it by heart. Reading the notes still gave him trouble. When he had played it only with his index finger, Alida was much shocked. She forbade him ever to play that way again. No human being played like that, she said, for all five fingers of the hand were meant to be used in playing. But it had seemed a much easier way to Vinzi. In the end he saw how much better her way was as it was too difficult for the left hand to move quickly.

Vinzi was grateful for being sent to the pasture every day. It would have been hard for him to work with his father in the barn or stable, because his thoughts were so completely filled with his new studies that it always took him a moment to comprehend what people were saying to him. Once in a while when his father had needed him for little tasks he had shaken his head. “Well, where is your head nowadays, boy?” he had said as he sent him off.

The day had come for the fourth lesson. In happy anticipation Vinzi had been running and was already half way up the stairs, when a sharp voice called to him from below, “Hey there, what does this mean? Come straight down, you forward boy.”

“I am only going up to Alida,” said Vinzi a little frightened.

“What, to Alida? You know no Alida here, and she does not know you, either,” Mrs. Troll cried out indignantly. “Come down this minute or I’ll fetch you down myself in a way you won’t like at all.”

Vinzi went down the stairs obediently, but not without calling out with all his might, “Alida, I am not allowed to come to you. But I want you to know that I was here.”

“What are you saying?” said the woman furiously. “I see, you meant to fool me and make me think that you know the little girl whose name you happened to hear once? Look, here is the door.”

But Alida, who had heard him, now came running down.

“Why do you send Vinzi away? He came to see me,” she said in a superior tone.

“Oh, I see, the matter was arranged beforehand,” said Mrs. Troll, but she used quite a different tone of voice now. “Does Miss Landrat know that he was expected?”

“No, but I know,” Alida answered obstinately.

“If we tell Miss Landrat the matter will be settled,” Mrs. Troll said with a shade of sarcasm. “But the best he can do now is to go where he belongs.”

Vinzi couldn’t help agreeing to that. Giving Alida his hand, he went sadly away with the conviction that everything was now over. Alida was filled with rage that the woman should be allowed to send her dear friend away like that.

“I’ll tell father everything,” she cried out passionately, “and he won’t have Vinzi treated that way again.” Her anger giving her wings, she flew up the stairs.

As soon as Mrs. Troll saw Miss Landrat approaching with Hugo she went out quickly and gave a thorough report of what had happened. “It is quite evident that the boy has been here before,” she concluded her tale excitedly. “Everything was planned, for he shot up the stairs as if he were perfectly at home here. The girl was apparently waiting for him upstairs.”

The governess was simply petrified.

“How could Alida presume to do such a thing? The idea of making friends with a cow-herd whose father we know nothing about,” she cried out with indignation. “I’ll have to tell her parents.”

“It might be the boy who found her shawl,” said Hugo, who had kept quiet till then. “We saw him on Sunday with his sister. He looked very nice, and I don’t see why Alida shouldn’t be friends with him.”

Miss Landrat had no words left to show her disapproval; turning about she went up the stairs. Hugo followed.

“Who came here while we were gone?” asked the governess, throwing open the door.

“Vinzi,” replied Alida.

“If that is the boy’s name who was here, I should like to know what brought him here,” continued the lady in great agitation.

“He came to take a music lesson,” was the answer.

“Do you think I am joking, Alida,” said Miss Landrat, still more furious.

“No, I don’t think so,” replied the girl.

“Will you please give me a sensible answer!” exclaimed the governess. “Why did it ever occur to you to ask the boy here? What did he want?”

“He wanted his music lesson,” replied Alida, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“But why don’t you tell me who wanted to give him a music lesson,” Hugo interposed.

“I was to give it,” Alida replied seriously.

Hugo exploded with laughter.

“Didn’t he laugh at the idea of your giving him a music lesson?” he asked.

“No, he was very attentive,” said Alida.

“This is enough!” exclaimed the governess angrily. “Do not ask anything more, Hugo. Alida is wrong if she thinks it funny to invent such rubbish. I shall write to your papa at once. But before everything else I’ll—” with this she left the room.

Hugo renewed his examination now. He heard to his great amusement that she had given Vinzi several lessons and that he had already learned much. Alida also wanted her brother to know that she fully meant to tell her papa how Vinzi had been treated by Mrs. Troll.

In the meantime Miss Landrat had sought out Mrs. Troll. She told her to send Vinzi away if he ever should venture near the house again, and roundly to forbid him entering it.

The same evening Vinzi’s father passed Mrs. Troll’s house as he cut across the field on his way home. As she happened to be in her garden at the time she called out to him. “Hey there! neighbor Lesa, I have something to say to you.”

He approached.

“I wonder,” she continued, “if it would not be better for your boy if he had something to do, instead of running into other people’s houses and getting into mischief.”

“What do you mean, neighbor?” asked Lesa, pressing his lips together.

“You ask what I mean? Well, your boy has been here several times to amuse the little girl who boards here. They play music together and such stuff,” said Mrs. Troll. “But the governess won’t hear of it and the boy must stay where he belongs from now on.”

“He’ll stay there safe enough; good-bye,” said Lesa, going his way.

At supper time he came home. Both children were seated at the table, because the mother liked to have everything ready for her husband. She immediately brought in the supper and sat down, too. But he said nothing. Once in a while the mother looked questioningly at him, but as he took no notice she realized that something must have happened. Her husband apparently wished to be alone. Therefore as soon as the meal was done and she had finished the necessary tasks, the children were sent to bed. When Lesa found himself alone with his wife he said to her, “Sit down, I must talk to you.”

She did as she was bid.

“I have had enough of the boy now,” he began in quite a temper. “It is not enough that he does nothing, understands nothing, and can’t be good for anything on the farm; now he even has to bring shame and dishonor upon us. This is the end now and I’ve made up my mind to send him away.”

The woman had grown pale with fright.

“But for heaven’s sake, what has Vinzi done?” she asked anxiously. “It is not a bit like him. What did he do, Vinzenz? Please tell me; did he really do some wrong?”

“Ask him yourself what he has done. It is enough for me to have to hear from a neighbor that it would be better for my boy to have something to do instead of running into other people’s houses and fooling around. That a thing like that should be said to me! Matters have gone on long enough now, and this is the end. I am simply going to send him away.”

In his agitation Vinzenz Lesa had risen from his chair but after walking once across the room, he came back to his seat.

“I can’t understand what has happened,” said the woman, when he was sitting beside her again, after she had been able to think a little. “It certainly is not Vinzi’s way to go into people’s houses without a cause; there must have been a reason. Let us first talk to the boy and ask him why he did it, for it is not fair to judge him otherwise. He is sure to tell us the truth. But think, Vinzenz, what it would be to send away a twelve year old boy! He is much too young for that.”

“I won’t stop you from talking to him,” replied the husband, “but one thing is clear. He simply has to go. I have thought of it for a long while and now the time has come. He must go to a place where there is no possible chance for him to hear such nonsense. He must go where there are few people, but the kind who get full pleasure from their work. I mean people who stay by themselves and who do not sit together with strangers.”

“But the first thing of all should be to know the people,” the wife interrupted eagerly. “I hope you do not mean to send Vinzi to the first person who happens to like his work on a farm.”

“Easy, easy, I am coming to that,” the man continued in a calm voice. “You know that I went up to the Simplon last fall where a cousin of mine, Lorenz Lesa, lives. Well, he has a fine farm with a few splendid cows, and though it isn’t big, everything is in excellent order. I liked it up there and I’ll send the boy to him. Vinzi may still come out all right if he sees other boys who are happy and content in that kind of life.”

“Is it really possible that you mean to send the boy so far away!” cried out the woman with a wail, “so high up into the mountains? It must be dreadfully lonely up there. I can’t even imagine what things would be like. I don’t know either your cousin or his wife. How could they be expected to receive the boy? You send him to them like a good-for-nothing with whom one can do nothing more at home. It would seem as if our Vinzi had become a criminal who had to be sent into banishment.”

“You need not get excited, woman,” retorted the man, “the change is not to be a punishment but a means of bringing him around. My cousin Lorenz is a good, sensible man who won’t treat him badly, and Cousin Josepha is a splendid woman who is bringing up her three boys in such a way that it gives one pleasure to look at them. I saw them right in the midst of their cows and I never heard such singing and jokes and such cracking of whips. They seem to have an eternal holiday. Don’t you believe yourself that our boy might change in such surroundings and realize how lucky he is to have been born to be a farmer? Nothing better could possibly happen to him than to go.”

The woman said nothing more, but she was far from convinced that Vinzi would feel at home among boys so different. She could not help wondering what the cousins would think of Vinzi’s rather odd ways. Many other thoughts disturbed her, but she knew how useless they were. Of course Vinzi had to go and she knew no other place to send him to. She asked her husband how soon they could hear whether their relations would take the boy, and when Vinzi would have to leave them. So her husband told her that he had clearly shown Lorenz how he liked the boys and had admitted how much he wished his boy were happy and bright, too, instead of being so dreamy. Lorenz had asked him then and there to send Vinzi to him for a summer whenever he wanted to. In the gay company of the other boys he might wake up. Lorenz also promised to do his share, as happy boys appealed to him much more than obstinate ones.

So it had been settled between them that Vinzi was to go and that in return one of the three boys was to spend a summer with them. It would do him good to see a new place and different ways of working. Lesa believed that a man who lived in the valley was soon going to drive his cattle over the mountain and that would give them a good opportunity to send Vinzi.

The mother went to bed with a heavy heart that night. Vinzi was to be sent to perfect strangers into surroundings she did not know. Besides it was so far away that she could not even keep an eye on him. Why did it have to be? Another great sorrow was the thought that Vinzi must have done something to draw his father’s discontent upon him. She hardly slept that night. As soon as it had grown bright the next morning and before anyone in the house had wakened, she went into Vinzi’s chamber. She wanted to have a quiet hour with the boy in order to hear what he had done. She also had to prepare him for what was to happen, for she realized that it would probably be very soon. Vinzi, opening his large, dark eyes, gazed with surprise at his mother. She was sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his hand in hers.

“Tell me, Vinzi,” she began, “while nobody can disturb us, why you made father so angry yesterday. You had better tell me everything.”

Vinzi had to think a little. He remembered how furiously Mrs. Troll had sent him away the day before and he supposed his father had heard about it. He told her the whole incident of the music lessons and how raging Mrs. Troll had grown, also how desirous Alida had been to continue the lessons.

A great load fell from the mother’s heart when she found that Vinzi had done no wrong. She understood, however, that their neighbor’s words had specially irritated her husband, because Vinzi had for a long while caused him secret anxiety and grief. She found it necessary to explain to her boy, how wrong it had been to tell her nothing of the matter. She wondered if it had not occurred to him that nothing like that should have been begun without telling them at home. Vinzi here quite frankly admitted that he had been afraid of not getting his father’s permission, and as he had been so dreadfully eager to learn something about music, he and Stefeli had talked it all over and had decided that it was a good time to leave the pasture. They had thought their father would not mind so long as nothing happened to the cows. But the mother said that his secrecy had not been right and was bringing bad consequences, though she hoped these might also lead to good. Here she spoke of his father’s plan and their hope that Vinzi would learn to enjoy all the farm work his three cousins seemed to relish so much. She hoped he would heartily enter into everything with them and return bright and happy; which would make his father overjoyed. However delicately the mother had mentioned their decision, Vinzi had only heard the fact that he had to leave his home. The boy looked terror-stricken, but did not utter a word. The mother was glad enough that he did not complain, because his frightened face alone had brought the tears to her eyes.

Everything took its usual course that day. The children went up to the pasture again, and the cows, after they wandered about for a bit, had quietly settled down. Stefeli was quite accustomed to Vinzi’s long silent spells, when he seemed to listen to all kinds of sounds she could not hear. But that day he went too far.

“Say something to me, Vinzi. You might just as well not be here at all,” she finally said a little crossly.

“Oh yes, and I won’t be here much longer. I can’t help thinking of your being all alone when I can’t come to the pasture any more,” Vinzi said dolefully. Then Stefeli heard that he was to be sent up to a high mountain, to people he had never seen. She could not believe that anything so unheard-of could suddenly come to pass.

“When will you have to go?” she asked, wholly overcome by this dreadful change.

As his mother had not mentioned this, Vinzi did not know.

“Oh, I am glad,” she cried out decidedly relieved, “it may not be for quite a while. And if it is put off a long while, it may never happen at all. Cheer up again, Vinzi.”

Stefeli had a way of finding a consoling side to everything and had often brightened Vinzi’s despondent mood by her cheerful outlook. That day also the boy was affected by her words, and the sunny afternoon ended much more happily than it had begun.

When the children had gone to bed and the parents were sitting alone together Lesa told his wife that he had gone to the village that day and that when he had asked after his friend he had found that the latter had just that day driven his cows over the mountain. But there was no loss in that; on the contrary. He had at the same time heard of a young workman from Gondo who was going home to his village next Monday. As he would make the road from Brieg on foot, he expected to spend the night in Berisal on the way. This was much better, as Vinzi would not be obliged to make the whole journey on foot. Lesa also knew an innkeeper in Berisal who would provide good board for the travellers.

The woman, who had listened silently till now, here said, “How can you give our boy in charge of a person nobody knows anything about, except that he is going up the mountain.”

“I immediately went to see him and talked it all over,” replied the father, “and I found him a good fellow. When I inquired about him I heard nothing but good of him. All Vinzi needs is to have a companion, for he can look after himself perfectly well. No boy is a little child any more at twelve.”

“Young enough, to go away alone,” uttered the mother with a sigh. “Does he really have to go on Monday? Tomorrow is Sunday.”

“Nothing could be better,” the husband said decisively. “If a thing has to be done, it is best to have it settled right away. I can’t see anything dreadful in it. He is not going to Australia, and next winter he’ll be home again.”

“It is a blessing that we can give him into the protection of our Father in Heaven. I find this my only consolation now when the boy goes away, and I don’t even know the people he is going to,” said Mrs. Lesa.

“That is quite true,” the husband replied, happy at the thought that his wife had found a consolation. “I think everything is all right now,” he said after a pause, pushing his pipe from one corner of his mouth to the other. But something still seemed to be on his mind. “I think the boy ought to be told about going.”

“He knows, for I told him this morning; only I didn’t know when.”