The Penn's Grove record., 1886-04-10
GRETA'S FAITH.

Her big blue eyes dppSdleu W nv
crusty old bachelor that | was; ana, as
she trudged along beside us switching
flies from our horses legs with a fra.
grant bunch of walnut leaves, L wished
that her poor little feet were better
covered for the journey up the long hlll
before us, and that her patient fulni'
ment OF a rather igHOble duty spoke less
of keen poverty.
She was far prettier than most Swiss
peasant-children, and did not looK more
than seven years old. One plat OF her
blond hair had lost Its decoration OF
common Irvine, and hung in curly waves
to her waist, its brightness relieving
the nondescript brown of her dress.
AS we arrived at the brow of the hill
she stayed the carriage-wheel with a
block of wood carried for the purpose
under sunburnt arm, n spoke
to her for the first time. She informed
me that her name was Greta, but was
unable to tell either her age or her
fathers name-in fact, she eeme TO
doubt the existence of such an indlvld-
nal either at the present time or in the
past. explaining that she lived at the
mill below in the valley, and was a des-
titute orphan supported by the charity
OF the milIer's family and the other
villagers.
"Can you earn much money switch
ing fiesp" 1 asked.
sob, yes-sometimes sixty centimes
a dayI The travellers in the Lauter-
brunnen valley are very kind"
"And do you save your earningsr'.
"No; 1 must give them all to the mil
ler's wife," she answered quietly.
l felt disappointed, for the pleasure
of making her a little gift of money
was marred for me.
sis this child telling the truth about
herself?" l asked of the driver in
French.
"Greta? Yes, she is honest as gold; l
wish l could say the same of the other
children about her. Her little basket
of fruit are never sold to strangers with
a layer of good berries on top and the
stale ones of yesterday below. Oh,
yes. Greta is to be trustedI The poor
little thing seems grateful for the neigh
bors' charity, though she has been used
to it since her babyhood."
"What kind Of people were her pa
rentsp"
s'Who knows?" the man replied,
with an expressive shrug of the Shout
ders.
Arrived before a wayside inn, Greta
babe us adieu, with her eyes full OF
thankful wonder at the bright gold
piece | had given her-possibly the first
coin of the kind she had seen. l felt
greatly interested in the child, and
thought more of her wide open eyes,
blue as harebells, than Of the magnifi-
cent range of sDow.clad mountains
opening before me as l continued on
my way.
l wished that l could take the little
thing away from her present life of sor-
did duties and hard fare, and raise her
to something better. What a comfort
she might be to me in my declining
years as she grew olderl For mine was
a lonely life, and l sometimes shudder-
ed when l thought how desolate my
latter years were likely to be.
This dream of adopting Greta or any
other child was very foolish for a man
of my meagre fortunes. 1 had a small
annuity which procured for me only
the barest necessities of life, and for
any other outlay, such as my present
tourney, | depended upon the few
gulneas which at rare intervals l gath
cred together for w~ater-color sketches
which l was passionately fond of x e
cutting.
The day of my meeting with Greta
should be marked with a red letter in
my life's calendar on more accounts
than one.
That afternoon, while l was sketch
ing a glimpse of the Staubbach, an
elderly lady came towards me and
asked permission to look at my work
She seemed pleased with 1t, for on the
following day she bought the sketch,
paying me considerable more than my
price. Furthermore, at the end of a
week she offered me a salary which
seemed to be a mine of wealth, if l would
come to England to instruct her daugh-
ter in my art. I awaited myself of this
opportunity, of course; and, my duties
at an end with II pupil, l took others,
and many years passed before l again
quilted my native land.
AT last the rowing ct seized me again,
and for the second time l found myself
in the L~auterbrunnen valley. The
familiar scene brought wildly before
me the summer-day of nearly ten years
before, when the blue-eyed child trudg-
ed beside my carriage switching flies.
1 descended from my etnspanner as we
passed the old mill; and 1 entered,
ostensibly TO ask for a drink of wine OF
milk, but in reality to inquire what had
been the fate of my little friend of long
ago.
A glass of milk was served me by a
pleasant-voiced girl of about sixteen OF
seventeen, in a neat peasant-costume,
and with frank lovely eyes of an intense
blue. l seemed to have met tho glance
Of those eyes before, and something
told me that the child whom 1 had
longed for in years gone by now stood
before me transformed into tall hand
some girl. / asked what had become
Of the child Greta, who lived at the
mill long before. She looked at me
with wide open eyes.
81 am Greta," she replied. "What
does the qnadige Herr ask9"
SONY because 1 was here once N old
times" l answered. "YOu came up
the hull and talked to me, and at part
ing you were very pleased when | gave
you a gold piece. DO you remember"
To my establishment, she showed Inc
the coin suspended from her neck by a
bit of velvet. She seemed delighted to
see me again. and grew very friendly
and confidential. She told me that il
was her good fortune to be the betroth-
ed wife of Max Ulrich, employed in a
vineyard near Interthal. His master