# Life Is Worth Living and Other Stories/Life Is Worth Living

LIFE IS WORTH LIVING.
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ENTERTAINING AN ANGEL UNAWARES.
LIFE IS WORTH LIVING.
I. JOHN iii., 14, 17, 18; iv., 7, 8, 12, 20.
CHAPTER I.
A shoemaker and his family lived as tenants in the house of a brother peasant. He owned no land and had no home of his own. His name was Simeon, and he supported his wife and children by hard work at his trade. The cost of living was dear, while wages were low, and the shoemaker's earnings were barely sufficient to buy the necessary food. He had only one fur coat for himself and wife. As this garment contained many holes and was nearly worn out, he had been trying for more than a year to save enough money for the purchase of a new sheep-skin coat. By the autumn he had accumulated a little money—three rubles were lying in his ​wife’s trunk, and five rubles were due him from peasants in the neighborhood.
One morning Simeon went to the village to buy the long-coveted coat, wearing his wife's jacket (which was lined with raw cotton) and over it a woollen kaftan (peasant's outer garment). Cutting a walking-stick from the limb of a tree, and putting a crisp green bill representing three rubles in his pocket, he started on his journey immediately after his breakfast. He thought to himself: "I will receive five rubles from the moujiks [peasants], and, adding my three, I will be able to purchase enough sheepskins to make a coat."
At length the shoemaker arrived at the village, and, calling at the house of one peasant, was informed that he was not in, his wife promising in a week to send the money with her husband. Greatly disappointed, the poor man then visited another house; but the peasant declared that he had no money, though he gave him twenty kopecks for mending his shoes.
​Failing to secure a sufficient number of rubles with which to purchase the sheepskins, the shoemaker decided to obtain them on credit, but could not find a dealer who was willing to trust him. Each merchant to whom he applied said: "Bring the money in hard cash, and you can take your choice of the sheepskins in my store; but otherwise you cannot have them, as we know from experience what a difficult matter it is to collect debts."
Poor Simeon was unable to succeed in his undertaking, for he received only the twenty kopecks for repairing the shoes, and got from another peasant a pair of old felt ones to cover with leather. He worried a great deal and went into a tavern to drink, where he spent the entire twenty kopecks, returning to his home without the sheepskins for his coat. The morning was cold, but after drinking so much vodki (whiskey) he felt quite warm. He then turned his steps homeward, having in one hand the cane, with which he struck the frozen objects he en​countered on the road, and in the other hand he carried the old felt shoes he had taken to cover. As he walked along he conversed in cheerful tones with himself.
"I feel quite warm enough," he said, "without the fur overcoat. That glass of vodki which I drank sends the blood like fire coursing through my veins, and it is not necessary to fasten my sheepskin coat. I am returning home after having banished all my sorrow. See what kind of a man I am! What matters anything tome now? I can live without a coat. What care I if I have to do without a coat for all eternity? Only one thing worries me, and that is my poor wife. She will be dreadfully grieved. Yes, it is very annoying. You work for a man and he refuses to pay you. Very well; if he does not soon bring me the money I will take his hat. I call upon God to be my witness that I will do so. How strange it all seems! He pays me only twenty kopecks at a time. Well, what can I do witht wenty kopecks? It is only ​enough to pay for a drink. 'What need have you of money?' he says. He needs money, but asks of what use it is to me! He owns a house and cattle and has everything he wants. But what have I? Nothing but the clothes which I have on. He makes his own bread, but I have to buy mine. It costs me three rubles every week. When I get home all the bread will be gone, and I will have to pay out a ruble and a half for more. Let him return me what he owes me."
Thus talking to himself, Simeon reached a turn in the road, near which stood a chapel. As he glanced toward the rear of the building he thought he saw some white object moving. Owing to the darkness he was unable to distinguish what it was. What could it be? He had passed that way many times before, but he could not remember having seen a tombstone there. Then he thought that perhaps it was a cow which had gone in there to graze. But still, on looking again, he decided that it ​could not be. It looked more like a human form, but he was sorely puzzled to account for its being all in white, and then he wondered what a man would be doing there. As he approached nearer he could see more distinctly, and lo! he beheld the figure of a man. It was in a sitting posture, motionless, and leaning toward the chapel; but whether it was dead or alive he was unable to perceive. The shoemaker was almost paralyzed with fear as he thought: "Perhaps this man has been murdered by some one, robbed of his clothes, and left here to perish. If I should go near him I may get myself into trouble."
So Simeon passed him by, and when he reached the rear of the chapel he could no longer see him. Going further, however, he looked around and saw that the apparition had moved a short distance from the chapel and appeared to be gazing about. This made the shoemaker still more frightened, and he hesitated as to whether it were better to go to him or to continue on ​his way and leave him to his fate. To approach him, thought Simeon, might be dangerous, for who knows what manner of man he might be? He said to himself: "There must be something wrong with him or he would not be there. If I should go near him he may want to fight me—perhaps spring upon me and choke me to death before I could escape. What should I do when I meet a naked man?" said the shoemaker, finally, in despair. "Shall I take off my last cloak and give it to him? Oh, God! let this thing pass from me."
The shoemaker quickened his steps, leaving the chapel behind him; but his conscience was smitten with remorse, and he stood still on the road.
"What are you doing, Simeon?" he exclaimed, clutching at his hair. "The man is in distress and may be dying, and you, mean coward, intend to pass him by! Or have you suddenly become rich, that you are in fear of being robbed? Oh, Sim [diminutive of Simeon], it is disgraceful!"
CHAPTER II.
Simeon returned to the man, and on investigation found him to be young and powerful. While there were no bruises on his body, he was trembling and seemed stunned, as if from fear. He was sitting near the wall of the chapel, and appeared too feeble even to raise his eyes to look at the stranger who approached him. As Simeon came near the man suddenly awoke, and, turning his head, gazed earnestly upon him. The expression of his face pleased Simeon very much, and, throwing the old felt shoes on the ground, he unbuttoned his coat, and, taking it off, he handed it to the man, saying: "This is no time for talking. Put on the kaftan at once!"
The shoemaker then took the man by the ​arm and tried to lift him up. He succeeded after an effort in getting him on his feet, when he saw that he had a white, slender body, that his hands and feet were not injured, and that the expression of his face was very pleasant. Simeon placed the kaftan about the man's shoulders, and, finding that he was unable to help himself, he put it on for him, buttoned it, and adjusted the girdle round his waist. The shoemaker took off his hat also to give to the man, but, feeling the cold wind blowing on his bald pate, he thought: "I have no hair, while his head is covered with long ringlets." So Simeon replaced his hat on his head, remarking, "I had better put the old felt shoes on him."
The shoemaker asked the stranger to be seated while he adjusted the shoes on his feet, and after dressing him he said:
"Well, my brother, let us first make ourselves warm. As to the misfortune which has over-taken you, we shall discuss that afterward. Are you able to move?"
​The man stood looking affectionately at Simeon, but seemed unable to utter a word.
"Why don't you speak?" asked Simeon. "If we stay here any longer we shall freeze. We must try to reach a place of shelter at once. Here, take my walking-stick if you are weak, and come along as quickly as you can."
The man obeyed, stepping lightly after the shoemaker. As they walked along the road, Simeon inquired of his companion:
"Who are you?"
"I am a stranger and do not belong here," was the reply.
"I thought I knew all my neighbors," said Simeon; "but how does it happen that I found you, a stranger, near the chapel?"
"It is impossible for me to tell you."
"Perhaps somebody has abused you?"
"Oh, no! No man has hurt me. I am being punished by God."
"Well, all things are done by God; but you must have had an object incoming here. What ​is your destination? Where I go it matters not to me."
As Simeon talked with the mysterious stranger his surprise continued to increase. He thought to himself: "This does not look like a man bent on mischief. Although he speaks very pleasantly, he refuses to say anything concerning himself. Yet many strange things are happening every day in this wicked world." Then turning to the man he said:
"Well, I will take you to my house, where you can warm yourself and have a good test."
At length Simeon reached his home, with the stranger at his side. The wind was blowing cold, and the shoemaker felt that the effect of the vodki was passing off, for he began to tremble like a leaf. Buttoning his wife's jacket more securely around him, he thought to himself: "This is the fur coat you were going after, and you are returning home without even a kaftan. You are bringing instead a naked man, ​I do not think my wife, Matreona, will give me much praise."
This fear of his wife's displeasure worried Simeon very much. But, glancing again at his companion, he remembered the pleasant and kindly looks which he gave him as he stood by the chapel. The recollection filled his heart with happiness and great joy.
CHAPTER III.
Simeon's wife had got through with her household duties early in the day. She had chopped the wood, brought in the water, and fed the children and herself. Matreona was now lost in thought, for she was meditating as to whether she would prepare the bread that day or the next. She had yet left one good-sized loaf, and thought to herself: "If Simeon shall have had his dinner, and will not eat much supper, we will have enough for to-morrow." Matreona examined the loaf and continued her reverie: "I guess I need not prepare fresh bread to-day. There is left sufficient flour for only one more batch of bread, and we can manage till Friday with what we have."
Putting aside the loaf, she seated herself at the table to mend her husband's shirt. While ​Matreona was thus engaged, her thoughts wandered toward Simeon and his purchase of the sheepskins for the coat, when she murmured to herself:
"Perhaps he has been cheated by the sheepskin dealer, as he is not sharp enough for such people. He never cheats any one, and a little child could get the best of him. Eight rubles is a great deal of money. A very fine coat could be purchased for that amount. During last winter we had a hard time to get along without a furcoat. It was impossible to do my washing in the river, or to go anywhere else in the intensely cold weather. He has my jacket on him now, and I am left without anything to wear. He should have returned by this time. Perhaps my angel has gone on the spree."
At this point her meditation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the porch. Some one had entered the house, and, putting her needle aside, she went into the hall. She saw ​that two persons had come in—Simeon and some strange man, the latter without a hat and wearing felt shoes.
Approaching her husband, Matreona instantly detected the smell of vodki. "Well," she thought, "it is just as I expected. He has been drinking on the way home." Her surprise increased when she noticed that his kaftan had disappeared, and that only her jacket was visible, while no parcels were to be seen in his arms. This fact, coupled with his silent and confused manner of entering the house, aroused the gravest fears within her breast. Matreona's heart misgave her, and she broke down completely. She believed that Simeon had lost his money drinking with some bad man, and had afterward brought the creature to his home. Matreona followed them into the room, and she saw that the man was a stranger in those parts, and that he was young and very thin. She saw also that he was dressed in their kaftan, but that no shirt was visible under it, and that the man was ​without a hat. As he entered the room, he stood motionless, not even raising his eyes.
As Simeon's wife looked at him, she thought: "What a bad man he must be! He is afraid to look up, and keeps his eyes constantly on the floor." Matreona, now thoroughly angry, went over to the oven and waited to see what they were going to do.
Simeon took off his hat and seated himself on the bench, as if nothing unusual had occurred. Presently he said to his wife:
"Well, Matreona, are you going to give us some supper?"
But Matreona, without replying, stood by the oven and looked from one to the other of the men. She finally shook her head in a despondent way, but did not offer to produce any food.
Simeon saw that his wife was annoyed, but he did not appear to notice it; and taking the stranger by the arm he said: "Be seated, brother, and we shall have some supper."
​The stranger took the seat indicated on the bench.
"Well," at last asked Simeon of his wife, "have you prepared anything to eat?"
At this question Matreona became very angry.
"Yes," she replied, "I prepared supper; but not for you. I see that yow have been drinking away your senses. You went to purchase a fur coat, and you return without even your kaftan. Instead, you have brought home with you a naked tramp. No; I have no supper for drunkards."
"Enough, Matreona," said Simeon; "you chatter without sense. Before you heap such abuse upon us would it not be better to ask who the stranger is that I have brought with me?"
The now thoroughly irate woman said, in angry tones: "You must tell me what you did with the money!"
For reply, Simeon put his hand in the pocket of his kaftan and drew forth a bill, which he showed to her, saying: "Here is some money; ​but Trifonoff did not pay me. He promised to do so to-morrow."
Matreona on hearing this became still more angry because her husband had not bought the fur coat, and the only kaftan they owned he had given to the strange man whom he had brought home with him.
Simeon's wife snatched the bill from the table and carried it to a place of safety, muttering as she went: "I have no supper for you. I cannot feed all the naked tramps you choose to pick up and bring here with you."
"Oh, Matreona," said he, "do hold your tongue! Listen to what we have to say before you condemn us."
But the shoemaker's wife retorted: “I will not become much wiser by listening to the chatter of drunken fools. I had good reasons for not wishing to marry you, you drunkard, for you have drunk up all the linen which my mother gave me on my wedding-day. You got money to buy a fur coat and you drank that too!"
​Simeon tried to explain to his wife that he had spent only twenty kopecks in vodki, and also about his finding the man; but Matreona would not give him a chance to say a word.
She spoke at such a rapid rate that she managed to get in two words to his one. In her anger she reminded him of things which had occurred ten years before, and during her excitement she sprang at Simeon and caught him by the sleeve of his coat.
"Give me back my jacket at once!" she shouted. "It is the only one I own, and you have appropriated it to your own use! Give it to me instantly, you dog; and may perdition be your lot!"
Simeon started to take off the jacket, but when he freed himself of one sleeve his wife took hold of the garment, and pulled at it with such force that she nearly tore it to pieces. She snatched the jacket away, and, throwing a shawl over her head, went to the door.
It was Matreona's intention to leave the room, ​but she paused on the doorstep. While she was terribly excited, and was filled with a desire to punish her husband for his supposed misconduct, yet she was very curious to find out the identity of that mysterious stranger.
CHAPTER IV.
Simeon's wife, standing by the door, said to her husband: "If he were a decent man he would not be naked, for he is without even a shirt. If you were a good and proper husband you would tell me where you found such a specimen of humanity."
"Yes," said Simeon, at last getting a chance to speak; "I am about to tell you how, in passing the chapel, I found him sitting naked and frozen almost to death. You see, it is not summer, when one can go without clothing (if forced to do so) and not suffer. God must have sent me to him, for otherwise he would have perished. However, when I first saw him, I was in doubt as to what I should do with him. But, considering the many strange things which happen to men nowadays, I took him and brought ​him home with me. Suppress your anger, Matreona, for it is as in. We all have to die."
Matreona seemed still anxious to quarrel, but catching the stranger's eye she became silent. The man was sitting motionless on the edge of the bench, resting his hands on his knees. His head had dropped on his breast and his eyes were closed, while he knit his brows as if in despair.
Taking further advantage of his wife's silence, Simeon continued:
"Matreona, have you Christ in your heart or have you not?"
On hearing this the shoemaker's wife glanced toward the stranger, and instantly her angry and quarrelsome spirit left her. She went to a corner near the stove and began to prepare supper. Placing cups on the table, she poured quass into them. She also brought out their last loaf of bread, and finally she produced some knives and spoons. Turning to the men, she said: "Come; you are welcome to what I have."
Simeon hereupon led the stranger to the ​table, saying, "Come here, my good man." He next proceeded to cut the loaf into slices, which they broke into their cups and started to eat.
Matreona was seated at one corner of the table, and, with her head resting on her hands, she gazed intently at the stranger. A feeling of pity took possession of her heart, and she felt that she liked him. Suddenly the man ceased to knit his brows, his face brightened, and, raising his eyes, he smiled upon Matreona.
At the conclusion of the meal, Simeon's wife proceeded to put everything away, and while doing so she said to the stranger:
"Who are you, anyway?"
"I am a stranger," he replied.
"But how did it happen that you found yourself alone on the road?"
"I cannot tell you."
"By whom were you robbed?"
"I have been punished by God."
"But you were lying naked, my husband says?"
​"Yes; I was lying naked and slowly freezing. Simeon saw me and had pity upon me. He took off his kaftan and helped me to put it on, and afterward brought me here. And you also have pitied me, giving me food and drink. The Lord will reward you."
Arising from her seat, Matreona took from the window-sill the old shirt which she had been mending, and finding also a cast-off pair of her husband's trousers, she gave both to the man, saying:
"Take these; I see you have no clothing. Dress yourself, my good friend, and lie down to rest. You may select the stove, or any part of the bench which suits you."
Removing the kaftan, the stranger put on the garments which the woman had given him and lay down on the bench to rest.
Taking the kaftan in her hand, Matreona extinguished the light, and joining her husband she retired for the night. Although she covered herself with a portion of the coat, she was ​unable to sleep. Her thoughts constantly wandered to their strange guest. The fact also forced itself upon her that they had eaten their last loaf of bread, and that nothing remained for the morrow. She reflected, too, upon the humble gifts which she had bestowed upon the man, and her heart was filled with sadness. Yet, when she recalled how pleasantly he smiled, her regrets were changed to gladness.
For a long time sleep refused to come to Matreona's eyes, and, noticing Simeon's efforts to cover himself with the kaftan, discovered that he also was unable to sleep. Finally she called:
"Simeon!"
"Eh?" was her husband's only reply.
"The last of the bread has been eaten," she said; "and I have not set any more to raise. I do not know how we are to manage for to-morrow—unless my godmother, Malanya, can spare us some."
"If we are alive," Simeon replied, "the Lord will see that we are fed."
​This unexpected reply silenced. the shoemaker's wife for a few moments, when Simeon continued:
"He seems to be a good fellow, though a little strange. He would not say anything about himself. It may be that he is unable to do so."
"Sim!"
"Eh?" repeated the shoemaker.
"We give to others," said Matreona, "and why is it that no one gives us anything?"
To this question Simeon could make no reply, but after remaining silent for a few moments he said: "Well, I think we have talked enough for to-night;" and, turning over, he went sound asleep.
CHAPTER V.
Simeon awoke early the next morning and missed his wife from his side. He supposed she had gone to the neighbors to see if she could borrow some bread. The children still slept.
Getting up and dressing himself, Simeon went to look for the stranger he had brought home the previous day. He found him seated on the bench, attired in the clothes which the shoemaker's wife had given him. His eyes were turned heavenward, and the expression of his face was much brighter than Simeon had yet seen it.
Addressing him, the shoemaker said: "Well, my dear friend, the body needs food and raiment. You will have to do something to ​procure both for yourself. What can you do?"
"I do not know how to do any kind of work," the stranger replied.
On hearing this, Simeon was very much surprised, and he said: "If only you are willing, you can learn to do everything. People who are in good health should always work. I have to work very hard." Then, after a pause, he asked, "What is your name?"
"Michael," replied the man.
"Well, Michael," the shoemaker said, "you do not appear to care to say much about yourself. But that is your own business. What we have to consider is how you are to be fed. If you will follow my directions I will see that you get what you need."
"God bless you!" replied Michael. "I am only too willing to learn. Show me what to do and I will do it."
Simeon took a rough waxed-end, and placing it around his finger proceeded to attach a bristle ​to it. "You see," said Simeon, "it is not such a very difficult thing to do. You have only to pay attention."
Michael did as he was told, and he found the task a very light one.
Simeon instructed him how to do many more things, all of which he did without the slightest trouble. He seemed to understand at once. The shoemaker took great delight in teaching him the different parts of the trade. Michael learned so quickly that by the third day he could do as good work as his instructor. He worked hard and ate but little, especially if there was no work to do. At such times the stranger was very silent, and his gaze constantly wandered upward. He did not seem to care about going on the street, as do most men. He did not talk much and never joked nor laughed. Only once—on that memorable first evening when Matreona prepared supper and invited him to partake of it—did they see his wonderful smile.
CHAPTER VI.
Days, weeks, months passed, until a year had gone by, and Michael was still living in Simeon's home. He had proved himself a faithful worker, and had gained a good reputation as an expert shoemaker. No one could surpass him in making the best and strongest shoes. His fame spread to the surrounding villages, and people came from long distances to have him make boots and shoes for them. Thus, through Michael's reputation as an expert workman, Simeon became prosperous and happy.
One intensely cold morning in the winter, while the two men were at work, they heard the sound of bells in the distance. They came nearer and nearer, and presently a troika (three horses attached to a carriage on runners) stopped in front of the door. Looking through the ​window, they saw the driver jump from his seat and open the carriage door, after which a nobleman, dressed in rich sables, alighted and directed his steps toward Simeon's humble home. As he entered the porch, Matreona jumped from her seat and threw the door wide open to receive the distinguished guest.
As the stranger was rather tall, and as the doorway was not very high, he was obliged to stoop quite low to effect an entrance. Once inside the room the nobleman stood erect, when he found that his head nearly touched the ceiling, and, being stout in proportion, he filled the whole of one corner.
Seeing so distinguished a visitor, Simeon arose and with a low bow motioned his welcome. He had never before seen such a high personage in his humble home. The nobleman was in strange contrast to the other occupants of the room, who were all very thin and had a care-worn look.
The visitor was possessed of a large, round, ​red face, and his herculean figure seemed as if it were cast-iron. The exertion caused him to gasp for breath, and it was with the greatest difficulty that he succeeded in freeing himself from his great-coat, after which he seated himself on the bench.
Looking toward the two men, he asked: "Which of you is the expert shoemaker of whom I have heard so much?"
Simeon, stepping forward, said: "I am he, your high nobility."
Being thus informed, the nobleman called to his servant: "Ho, Fedka [diminutive of Theodore], bring that bundle here!"
The servant brought the package, and his master, taking it from him, placed it on the table and ordered him to open it.
The nobleman took out some leather, over which he passed his hand caressingly, at the same time saying to Simeon:
"Hear me, you shoemaker! Do you see these goods?"
​"I see, your high nobility."
"But do you understand what kind of goods it is?"
At this point Simeon touched the leather and said: "It is of a very fine quality."
"Yes," remarked the nobleman, "I should say it was fine! You fool, you have never before seen such goods in all your life. It has been imported from Germany and cost me twenty rubles."
On hearing this, Simeon became confused and said: "Oh! Where could we obtain such leather?"
"Why," replied the nobleman, "you can make from this very stuff a pair of boots for me."
"Yes, your high nobility," was Simeon's delighted rejoinder; "we would be pleased to do so!"
"But," interrupted the distinguished customer, "do you understand for whom you are to make the boots, and the quality of the leather you are to use? You must make me a pair of ​boots that will last me a whole year, without losing their shape, and having no holes or cracks in them at the end of that time. If you can do this, you may take the order and begin cutting the goods at once. If not, you had better decline and not touch the leather. If you comply with these conditions, I will pay you ten rubles at the expiration of the year; but I warn you beforehand that if the boots do not give perfect satisfaction I will have you put in prison."
Simeon had by this time become quite alarmed, not knowing what to say. He glanced at Michael, and, nudging him with his arm, he whispered, "Shall I take the order or not?"
Michael did not reply in words, but he nodded in the affirmative.
Simeon acted upon his assistant's suggestion, undertaking to make the boots and guaranteeing that they would last a year and prove to be all their owner desired.
The nobleman, calling his servant, ordered him to take off his shoes. This done he thrust ​forward his foot, saying: "Here, take my measure, and be quick about it."
Simeon thereupon cut a strip of paper ten inches long. He next wiped his hands upon his apron, so as not to soil his "high nobility's" stocking, and proceeded to take the measurement of the nobleman's foot. He succeeded in taking the sole and the instep, and then attempted to measure the calf of the leg, but found that the paper was not nearly long enough. The leg was as thick round as a log.
"Look here," said Simeon's august customer, "you must be careful not to make the boots tight there."
While the shoemaker went for a longer piece of paper, his customer spent the time in playing with his fingers and gazing at the people about him. As his eyes wandered round the room, his attention was attracted particularly to Michael, who sat in one corner by himself.
Turning to Simeon the nobleman said: "Who is this man you have with you?"
​"He is the master shoemaker about whom you have heard so much," Simeon answered, "and it is he who will make your boots."
Looking at Michael, the distinguished customer said: "You must be careful with my work. Remember, the boots have been guaranteed to last a year without break or blemish. You know the consequences if they do not turn out as I expect."
Simeon looked at Michael to learn, if possible, what effect the nobleman's words had on him; but he found him looking into space, apparently far beyond the customer. It seemed as if he were holding communion with some unseen person. After looking for some time, Michael smiled, and instantly his face brightened and seemed transformed.
The customer, on seeing Michael smile, became angry and said: "You fool! What are you grinning at? You had better attend to the making of my boots and see that they are done in time."
​Michael replied: "They will be ready in good time,"
"That is well," the nobleman answered.
His measure having been taken, the noble customer proceeded to put on his fur coat, which he buttoned up, and then he moved toward the door. Not remembering the size of the doorway, he neglected to stoop, and coming in contact with the top of it he struck his head with great force, which caused him to swear roundly. Rubbing his head vigorously, he entered the carriage and took his departure.
After he had gone Simeon turned to the others and remarked: "Well, he was a hard case, wasn't he? I believe you could not kill him even with a hammer, for he nearly carried away the top of the doorway on his head, and yet he did not seem to mind it."
"Yes," replied Matreona; "but that is from high living. See how round and smooth he is! He is so hardened that even death will not overcome him."
CHAPTER VII.
After some further conversation, Simeon turned to Michael and said:
"Well, we have taken the order; but I fear we have got ourselves into trouble. This is very expensive leather, and that nobleman is a hard customer to deal with. We will have to be careful not to make any mistake in the work; and, as your eyes are sharper than mine, you had better make the boots yourself. Here is the measure. Cut the leather and I will make the uppers for you."
Spreading the leather out upon the table, Michael doubled it, after which he seized his knife and began cutting.
While he was thus engaged, Matreona approached the table and was much surprised on seeing what he was doing. She was sufficiently ​acquainted with the details of shoemaking to notice that Michael was not working in accordance with the rules governing shoemakers' work, but instead was making some very peculiar round cuts. Simeon's wife was on the point of interrupting the assistant's labors, when she thought to herself:
"Perhaps I do not understand the making of shoes. Michael surely knows more about such things than I do, and it would be wiser on my part not to interfere."
Michael, after having cut out his work, began to sew—not, however, as if he were making boots, but slippers instead.
Although much surprised at this, Matreona did not even then make any remark, and he was allowed to pursue his work without interruption.
When dinner-time came Simeon arose, and approaching his assistant learned for the first time what he was doing—that he had cut the nobleman's leather into slippers instead of boots.
​"Ah!" exclaimed Simeon, as he thought, "this is strange. Michael has been with us now one year, and I have never known him to make a mistake about anything. This, I fear, will cause us much trouble, for the nobleman ordered long boots and he is making slippers—without even soles to them. He has spoiled the leather, and what can I do about it? I am sure that I will never be able to replace the goods. I do not see how I can ever again face my aristocratic customer—he will be so dreadfully angry."
Then turning to Michael the shoemaker continued:
"What have you done, my dear friend? I will surely be killed, for the nobleman ordered boots, and see what you have made!"
Just as Simeon began to scold his assistant there came a knock at the door. Looking out of the window, they saw that some one had arrived on horseback and was fastening his animal to a post. Soon after the door opened and the nobleman's servant entered.
​"Hello!" he said.
"Well, what is it? What is the matter?" the shoemaker asked.
"My mistress has sent me to you," he continued, "to see about the boots which my master has just ordered."
"Well, what about the boots?" Simeon asked.
"I have been sent to tell you that the boots are no longer required," the servant answered; "my master is dead."
"What!" ejaculated the now thoroughly astonished shoemaker.
"My master, after leaving here," he went on, "never reached his home alive. He died in the carriage while I was driving him there. We had the greatest difficulty in getting him out of the vehicle, for he was already stiff when we arrived at the house. My mistress now sends me to you to say that from the leather left here you are to make slippers, and not boots. They are to be worn by the dead man, ​and I am to wait until they are finished and take them with me."
When the servant had concluded his message, Michael, who had been standing by listening, went quietly to the table, and taking from it the slippers and the remainder of the leather, did them up into a small bundle, which he handed to the messenger. The latter took it, and as he went out of the door he said:
"Good-by, bosses! Good luck to you!"
CHAPTER VIII.
Year after year went by until they numbered nearly six, and Michael was still an inmate of Simeon's humble home. In all that time his mode of life had remained always the same. He never visited with the neighbors and spoke but little. He had been seen to smile only twice—once when Simeon's wife prepared supper and invited him to eat, and again when the nobleman came to order the boots.
The shoemaker was very much pleased with his fellow-worker, and did not further question him as to where he came from. His one great fear was that Michael might not care to remain always with him, for he had become very much attached to the strange, taciturn man.
Once they were sitting in the room together, ​while Matreona was preparing some things to put in the oven and the children were running around the benches, when suddenly one of the latter stopped to look out of the window. Simeon was sewing some boot-legs and his assistant was making heels. As the boy ran around the bench he went to where Michael was sitting, and, leaning his head on his shoulder, he looked out of the window a second time. He had been there but a moment when he said:
"Oh, Uncle Michael! There is the merchant's wife and two little girls with her, and they are surely coming to our house! One of the girls is lame."
As the boy finished speaking Michael threw aside his work, and, turning to the window, he looked out. This movement on his part very much surprised Simeon. He had never seen Michael display such interest in anything before. He was leaning on the window-sill and gazing intently at something or some one outside.
Simeon's curiosity being aroused, he also ​looked out of the window and saw a well-dressed woman entering his yard. She had with her two little girls, who were dressed in rich furs and had handsome shawls upon their heads. The children greatly resembled each other. Indeed, they were so much alike that it was difficult to tell them apart, the only difference between them being that the right leg of one was shorter than the other, which caused the girl to walk lame.
They entered the porch, and the woman, finding the knob of the door after a time, turned it, and, pushing the children into the room before her, followed immediately after, saying:
"Bosses, how do you do?"
"You are welcome," answered Simeon; "what can we do for you?"
The woman seated herself by the table while the little girls pressed close to her knees. They were very bashful in the presence of strangers.
"I would like you to make shoes for my little ​ones," the woman said; "something suitable for spring wear."
"Very well, we will do that for you with pleasure," the shoemaker replied. "We have never before made shoes for children, yet I am sure we can do so. Do you wish the shoes made plain or with linings? Here, Michael, you know most about such work."
Simeon, on turning to Michael, saw that he had dropped his work and was looking earnestly and rather anxiously at the little girls. This action on the part of his assistant very much surprised the shoemaker.
The children were remarkably pretty, having large dark eyes and full round faces, in which a healthy color glowed. Their dress was rich and tasteful. Yet with all these attractions Simeon was very much puzzled to understand why Michael displayed such deep interest in them. He was looking at them as if they were old acquaintances.
The shoemaker, on seeing his faithful helper ​so deeply engrossed, turned to the woman and began arranging about the price of the shoes. That matter being satisfactorily settled, Simeon proceeded to take the children's measures. Taking the lame girl upon her lap, the woman said:
"See here, my man; take your measure from the feet of this child—one shoe for the lame foot and three for the other. Barring this girl's defect, the feet of both are of the same size; for the children are twins."
The shoemaker did as he was directed, meanwhile asking a number of questions.
"How does it happen that she is lame?" he inquired of the woman. "She has such a pretty face! Was she born lame?"
"Not exactly," was the reply. "Soon after her birth her mother lay heavily upon her and accidentally crushed her foot."
At this point the curiosity of Simeon's wife became very much aroused, and she could not withstand the temptation to take part in the ​conversation. She was anxious to learn to whom the children belonged, so she said to the woman, "Are you not their mother?"
"No," said the woman, "I am not their mother, nor yet any relation to them. They were strangers to me, and I have adopted them."
"They are not your children," said Matreona, "and yet you appear to love them so much!"
"How could I help loving them? for it was I myself who nursed them into life. I had a child of my own at the same time, but the good Lord took it away from me. I felt oh! so sorry for it; and yet I had infinitely more pity for these motherless babes."
"But, pray, whose children are they?"
CHAPTER IX.
The woman seemed willing to speak, and she told her story as follows:
"It was just about six years ago that inside of a week these poor children lost both of their parents. The father was buried on a Tuesday, and on the following Friday the mother died while bringing these little girls into the world. I was at that time living on a farm with my husband, and our house was not far from their home. The father of the little ones was by trade a woodman, and on that fatal day had gone to the forest to chop down trees. From one tree he could not escape in time, and it fell upon him, injuring him so badly that he expired just as he reached the threshold of his humble home. The poor wife was in despair at the loss of her husband, and on the Friday after his burial the babes first saw the light. The wom​an was alone at the time and her lot must have been an extremely unhappy one.
"The morning after this event I went to visit my neighbor, to learn if there was anything I could do for her. I was too late to be of any assistance, for I found her body already stiff and cold. In her death-struggle she had turned over on this child [pointing to the lame girl] and crushed her tender little foot.
"On learning the state of affairs I went among the village folk and informed them of the sad occurrence,and between us we obtained a cheap coffin. After washing and dressing the body we gave it decent burial. The helpless babes were still to be cared for, and it was a difficult matter for us to know what to do with them, as we were all poor people struggling for a living. I alone of all the women present had but one child. It was my first—a boy just eight weeks old.
"The men of the village called an assembly of the people to discuss what would be best to do ​with the children thus suddenly thrown on the mercy of the world. Turning to me, those present said: 'Mary, you have but one child. Will you not take the infants and keep them until we can decide what will be best to do with them?' I willingly agreed to this, and taking the babes in my arms I immediately began to feed the uninjured child—to the neglect of the other, as I did not believe the deformed one would live.
"On second thought I asked myself why that angelic soul should be permitted to pass away, and my sympathy was aroused on behalf of the little waif. I then began to feed it also. I was young, strong, and healthy, and the good Lord enabled me to care for all three of the children. I fed two at a time, and when they were satisfied I fed the third one. Thus it was that through God's will the lives of the children were spared. My little boy lived two years and then he was taken from me, and we have not yet been blessed with any more. We have prospered greatly since that time, and we are ​now living in the mill, having been employed by the merchant. We are well paid and have the best of food, but have no children of our own to gladden our home.
"I could not live now without these dear little girls. I love them very dearly, as I have no one else to love in all the wide world."
As she finished speaking she tenderly pressed the lame girl to her side with one hand, while with the other she dried her tears, which were slowly coursing down her cheeks.
Sighing deeply, Matreona said: "How true is the proverb that 'we can live without father and mother but we cannot live without God!'"
While they were thus speaking among themselves a brilliant light seemed suddenly to come from the corner where Michael was seated. All eyes were instantly turned in that direction, and this is what they saw: Michael sitting with his hands resting on his knees, his eyes looking heavenward, while a beautiful smile illumined his countenance.
CHAPTER X.
The woman and the children took their departure. When they had gone Michael arose from the bench. Putting his work aside and taking off his apron, he turned and bowed very low to Simeon and his wife, saying:
"I know, my friends, that you will forgive as God has already forgiven me."
As Michael spoke a bright light enveloped him.
Simeon arose and, bowing low before this strange being, said:
"I see, Michael, that you are no ordinary man, and I would not dare to question you or detain you longer under my roof. Only be pleased to tell me one thing: Why were you so despondent when I first found you and brought you home with me? When my wife gave you ​something to eat you smiled on her so sweetly, and at once became brighter. Again, when the nobleman came and ordered the boots, you smiled a second time, and from that time on you became still brighter. Then you smiled for the third time when the woman came bringing the little girls with her, and you were brighter than before, while a beautiful light shone about you. Tell me where the wonderful light came from, and why you smiled those three times."
Michael answered:
"The light that enveloped me was a token from God that he had forgiven me the sin for which he had punished me. I smiled three times, for it was necessary for me to learn three of God's great truths. The first I learned when your wife had pity on me, and therefore I smiled the first time. The second great truth I learned when the rich man ordered the boots, so I smiled the second time. Through the little children I learned the third truth, and I smiled the third time."
​Simeon then said:
"Michael, please tell me the nature of the sin for which God punished you, and also what his three great truths are, that I may understand and follow them."
Michael answered:
"God punished me for my disobedience. I was one of the angels in heaven, and God sent me down to earth to carry from it a woman's soul. I came to this earth and found the woman sick and alone. She had just brought twin girls into the world and she was too feeble to care for them. The woman realized that I was the Angel of Death and that God had sent me for her soul, and she said: 'I know you are an angel sent by God, but please hear me. My husband was buried only last Tuesday. He was killed by a tree falling upon him. I have neither father nor mother, brothers nor sisters, nor relatives of any kind. There will be no one to care for my orphaned children. Do not take my soul from my body, but spare me so ​that I may bring up my little ones and be happy with them. It is impossible that they can live without either father or mother.'
"I listened to the mother's pleadings," continued Michael, "and taking the children from her side I placed them in her arms and forthwith proceeded to heaven, where I said to the good Lord: 'My courage failed me and I could not take the woman's soul, as you directed me to do. Her husband had been killed only a few days before, and two little children had just come into the world, so she begged me for their sakes not to deprive her of her soul, saying: "Please give me a chance to rear my children, for it is impossible that they can live without either father or mother." I therefore granted her request and left her soul in her body.'
"On hearing this the Lord said: 'Go instantly and do asI ordered you. Remove the woman's soul, and you will in time learn three great truths: What people are made of, what they do not need, and what sustains life.' The Lord ​then said: 'When you shall have learned these three great truths you will be allowed to return to heaven.'
"Hearing these angry words, I flew back to earth to fulfill the Lord's command. I took the woman's soul from her. The babes fell from her arms, and in her struggle with death she crushed the foot of one of the twins. I attempted to soar above the village, wishing to carry the woman's soul to God; but I was seized by a strong wind and my wings were carried away. The soul went alone on its way to heaven, while I dropped to the earth, alighting in the churchyard where you found me."
CHAPTER XI.
It was only now that Simeon and Matreona began to understand whom they had fed and clad—that they had been entertaining an angel unawares; and they cried from feelings of mingled fear and joy, while the angel continued:
"I was left alone and naked in the field, without any previous knowledge of human needs. I had never known either cold or hunger, and all at once I became endowed with human attributes. I felt both hungry and cold and did not know what to do. I saw a chapel which had been built and dedicated to the service of God. I went there expecting at least to find a place of shelter; but instead I found the door locked, and that it was impossible to enter. In despair I seated myself at the rear of the chapel, that I ​might protect my naked body from the wintry blasts.
"When evening came I had grown still more hungry and cold and had become utterly sick. Suddenly I heard footsteps, and on looking around I saw a man coming along the road. He was carrying in his hand a pair of old felt shoes and was talking to himself. For the first time since I had become a human being I saw the face of man, and it seemed to me that the sight was horrible to behold. I turned from it in disgust.
"I heard this man talking to himself as to how he should protect his body from the chilly winds of winter, and also how he should manage to feed his wife and children, and I thought: 'Here am I perishing from hunger and cold, and here is this man walking along the road and thinking how he shall feed and clothe his wife and children, and I am powerless to help him.'
"The man glanced upward, and on seeing ​me he frowned, the expression of his face becoming still more horrible. He passed me by and I was in despair. Almost immediately I heard the man retrace his steps. He was coming toward me. I looked at him and found him so much changed that I scarcely recognized in him the same man who had passed me but a few moments before. Then his face bore the impress of death, but now I saw that his countenance was transformed and bore the likeness of God.
"He came to me, and taking off his own clothes he put them on me and took me to his home. When we reached his house a woman came toward us and began to speak. The expression of the woman's face was, if possible, still more horrible than that I had seen on the face of the man. Out of her mouth proceeded a spirit of Death, and I could breathe only with difficulty for the terrible odor that oppressed me. She wanted to drive me forth into the cold night, and I knew that if she did so she ​would surely die. Her husband suddenly reminded her of God, and her manner changed at once.
"When she invited me to partake of the supper she had prepared I saw her looking at me very earnestly. There was no sign of death in her face. Then she was alive, and I recognized God's likeness in her features. It was then that I learned the first of the three great truths—what people are made of—and I discovered that in every human heart there is—love.
"I was greatly rejoiced to learn that God had already revealed to me one of the truths of which he had spoken. It was then that I smiled for the first time. But I had not yet learned all, for I could not understand what people do not need, nor yet what sustains life.
"I began to live with you and had been here a year when a man came and ordered boots that were to last one year and at the expiration of that time to be in perfect order. Looking at him, I saw standing behind him my old friend ​the Angel of Death. No one but myself saw him at the time, but I recognized him immediately, and I knew that before sunset that day the soul of the rich man would be called to heaven.
"God's second truth was then revealed to me. I already knew what people are made of, and I now learned what they do not need. (It is not necessary for people to care for the future needs of the body.) The knowledge of the second truth caused me to smile a second time. I was rejoiced to see again my old comrade the Angel of Death, for through him God had revealed to me his second truth.
"Still, I was not able to understand all, for I had yet to learn what it is that sustains life. I continued to live with you while awaiting the last of God's revelations tome. In the sixth year the woman came, bringing the twin girls with her. I recognized them at once, and for the first time learned in what manner their lives had been saved. I recalled how the mother ​pleaded for the sake of these children that her soul might remain in her body, and I believed her when she said that without father and mother it would be impossible for them to live.
"Yet this strange woman has fed and clothed them and brought them up, and when her heart was moved with pity for the children she shed tears. I saw at once that God lived in her, and then I understood what sustains life. Through these little ones I learned that God had revealed to me the third truth, and also that I was at last forgiven. I smiled, therefore, for the third time."
CHAPTER XII.
At this point the form of the angel was revealed to Simeon and his wife. It was all in white, and about it shone a light so bright that it was impossible to look at it. And the angel spoke again. The voice became louder and louder and seemed not as if it proceeded from him, but from heaven, and the shining angel said:
"I learned that man lives not for himself alone, but for the love of humankind. It was not revealed to the mother what was necessary for the life of her children. It was not revealed to the rich man what was most necessary for him. It is not revealed to any one what he or she will most need—boots or slippers—before the sun sets.
"When I was a man my life was saved, but ​by what means I found out—that it was love in the heart of the man who first passed me, and whose heart prompted him to return and care for me. Both he and his wife took pity on me and loved me.
"The orphaned children are alive, but not through any means arising from a discussion of their future. It was love in the heart of a strange woman that saved their frail lives. All people live not for the care of themselves, but for the love of others.
"I knew before that God gave life to the people, but now I understand what his object was. I have learned that God did not wish his people to live independently of each other, and therefore did not reveal to each individual what is necessary for him or her alone. He wished that they should live in harmony as one people, and he revealed to them only that which was necessary for their mutual happiness.
"Now I understand that it is the people's duty to provide for their own physical needs, ​But without love for one another in their hearts this existence is a mere animal one, for they alone are really alive who live for love.
"'God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him.'"
And the angel sang a song of glory, to God, and the solemn majesty of his voice caused the house to tremble. The ceiling opened, and a pillar of fire ascended from earth to heaven.
Simeon and his wife and children fell to the floor unconscious.
The angel spread his wings and departed for his celestial home.
When the shoemaker awoke the room presented its former appearance, and he found himself alone with his family.