The Portland daily press., 1875-07-17


Peter, stepping wearily in the dust, stopped |
every few minutes to flick his handkerchief |
over some part of his attire.
We had an engagement, you sea very |
grand engagement for us-and our walk must |
needs be a cheerful one. though it was long
and sultry. we were to play all the after |
noon on the hill where the picnic was to be
held, then go down to the house of the gen.
tleman who gave the party, and play there
during the supper and dance.
The nearest way to the hill had been
pointed out 10 us, and we were very glad to
leave the dusty road at last, and turn into
the woods. What relief this shadow was,
after the burning sun-rays! 1t was a wonder
full wood, reminding us little of the beauty
and the awful solitude of our own forests.
Kallschen was tired now, and fingered at my
side; even Fritz, who scarcely ever owned to
being tired, and who had been scampering in
the bracken like young stag, Jagged present
ly, and walked sedately among us. AS we
went on we began TO recall the wild, weird
legends of our native forests. We did it part
ly to shorten the way, and partly because
such memories came easily to us in this scene,
and we only laughed to see the rapt faces of
the lads as they listened. Story after story
we told of travlers lost or robbed or murdered
in the forests, and of the gnomes and spirits
and fairies which haunt them.
Presently Heiner, who had evidently been
ransacking his brain for the dolefullst thing
he could remember, told us of forest he
knew, so vast and silent and dim, and where
the solitude was so solemn and so terrible
that those who lost their way there at once
committed suicide, unable to endure the aw-
full loneliness and stiffness and how in conse-
quence of this, their unquiet and unhappy
spirits haunted it always.
Committed snicidev' exclaimed Peter.
"Mein Gott, that's about the last thing
should do in such case"
''It was about the last thing they did, too"
'The shortest way of getting out of the
| wood" explained Heiner coolly. "and I can
| tell you wouldn't be there after dark for a
| thousand thalers.'
"Suicidep exclaimed Fritz, raising his
wondering eyes to Heiner. "What are theyr'
We were all fools enough to help Clarry in
his dreary explanation, and then we laughed
at the sudden scream little Karl gave when
| pheasant started Unexpectedly from the cov-
ert before us.
| "Were you-frightened ?' asked Fritz
| looking with a smile into his little brothers
| face; but noticed that his own had whit
| ened too, and 1 was not sorry to leave the
wood and begin the ascent of the hill, though
| Behr's breath grew short with the weight of
| his 'celo and his own ponderous person.
''May 1 carry it a bit, Behr?" asked Fritz,
wose step was as light upon the hillside as IN
| the wood below.
laughed at the notion, but Cello conde-
| scended no reply.
| 1t was not till we'd been some time in our
| places that we had time or opertunity to look
| about us among the gay party assembled on
| the hill. 1t is but seldom that in our wander
| ing lives we meet again faces that we know or
| recognize, but almost in that first minute
recognized one of the faces here, the sweet
| est and the prettiest of all; the face of the
| young lady who, on that bitter Winter even
| ing six months before. had stood in the snow
| to listen to us. When l saw and recognized
| her, I looked round at once for the gentleman
| who had been with her on that night. 1t
was good while before saw him at all, and
then l noticed how far away from her he
kept; and through ali the time watched him
1 could see that he never once glanced in her
direction; while beside her hovered short,
dark gentleman, a good bit older, and as diff
ferent from him as cloud from sunshine. OF
course, didn't see it all at once; I had the
whole day to make my observations; but 1
did notice this-the short, dark gentleman
| hardly left her az all, hardly allowed her to
talk TO any one else, and kept, in way. sole
possession of her. Yet never saw him look
at rest in her presence. He was suspicious,
I think, and fidgety. And she? Well, the
eyes that had been that night so bright and
| lustrous in the snow were sad and unsatisfied
| now in the brilliant sunshine. And the 9TH
| er gentleman-the one to whom we owed the
| Winter nights rest and refreshment? He
never came near her, and never seemed even
to glance at her. While the party dined, we
| played little apart, and it was just the same;
! still the short dark gentleman kept close to
| her, waited upon her, talked to her, and
| laughed with her; and still that other kept
| aloof. Of course, l could not understand it,
but worried over it more than should have
liked to tell. tancied Peter fretted over it as
1 did, and once fancied that even Heiner
| noticed it, his countenance being lugrubrious
| beyond the common.
When the guests dispersed, one of the serv-
| ants guided us down the hill and through the
wood to the house of the short dark gentle
| man who had given the picnic. Although
| we reached it from another quarter, knew
| the house again directly. 1t was the man
! sion which had looked so warm and light up
on that Winter night six months before, and
| from which we had been turned away. The
| short, dark gentleman, then, was master
| here!
| As we unpacked our instruments, l was
| startled by an angry German oath from
missing. We all helped him to search, but
| we knew the labor would be in vain, as, of
course, if no bow was in the bag when the
bag was unfastened, there couldn't have been
one in when it was tied up.
''Never mind, Cello," remarked Peter,
cheerfully, "you must conduct u.s."
''Could you borrow bow@' suggested,
anxiously; bu. Behr had followed the boys,
who were looking for it outside.
By the time had arranged the music we
were summoned to our supper, and could
not speak to any of the band till it was over.
Then l said, seizing at once On Behr,
''Where's Fritz?"
'Gone for my bow" he returned, stoldy
"My heavens, Cello you've never sent
the child back to the hillp' exclaimed,
flushing red in my anger.
eff there hadn't been such fuss made be-
fore he went, he'd have been back before
now," grumbled Behr.
Leader, was to go, and was-fright-
ened," whispered Kallschen, looking terri
fled up into my face.
81 wish I'd known. I'd rather have gone
myself ten times over, or lost our engage
ment altogether" 1 muttered, pacing the
ground in hottest vexation.
''Don't worry about it, Leader" said Pc
ter, "The boy won't come to harm. He's
clever, fearless little fellow; you needn't fear
for him."
'He'd no business to interfere when 1 |
threatened to send Karl" put in Behr; I
daresay shouldn't have sent either then."
"What pity it all is!' murmured Heiner,
examining his reed with sigh. ''There's |
that gloomy wood for the child to 60 through |
in the dark, and don't know when he can
get back, and we shall be wretchedly off |
without him.
This was not exactly Peters way of look
ing at things, aud did not do us any good |
at all.
''Cello, can you play for Fritz 2" I asked.
in despair. 'Not having your own bow, of |
course you've nothing else to do"
1t was settled so, and we turned back to- |
gether to the ballroom. l expect we all |
played our best, but l never saw anything |
like Peter. He stood on my empty cornet- |
box, and performed with the energy of
whole band melted into ole. Behr handled |
the little violin with a kind of savage con
tempt; but he made the toy speak well, and |
only now and then startled us with the cello |
lingering. Karlschen, in mortal terror of |
his huge leader, made his notes truer and |
clearer than he had ever thought to do un- |
der the shielding wing Of little Fritz; and |
Heiner never took any secret rests, except |
just before his cadenzas or bars solo which |
fell to him.
''Surely now," 1 thought, looking down |
the room among the gay and snowy figures,
''those two will dance together"