Audubon County journal. (Exira, Iowa) 1884-1993, 1910-01-13
Why Grandmother
Could Not Write
Copyright. by Short Stories Co.. Ltd.)
By RUDOLF BAUhBAcH

Copyright. by Short Stories Co., Ltd)
In front of the last of the little
houses scattered along the edge of
the forest sat curly headed boy on
stone bench drawing humpbacked let
tiers on the slate which he held on his
knees. Every now and then he cast
longing glance toward the distant vii
lage green, where his playmates look
ed like little colored dots running to
and fro. Then he drew a long sigh
and held his slate pencil idly in his
hand till his sense of duty warned
woman stepped out of the house. She
was the child's grandmother. She
leaned over his shoulder and looked
pityingly at the scrubbed letters.
"You poor little fellow" murmured
she, stroking her grandson's curly
head with her bony hand, "they don't
give you any peace even on the Lords
day." The little fellow made a dole
full face and looked piteously up at his
grandmother.
"They ask so much of children now
adays," continued the old woman, and
seated herself on the stone bench be-
side the boy. 81 can neither read nor
write, yet have always been respect
ed and have wellbehaved children
and grandchildren. OF what use is
learning to us peasant folk?" Her
words sounded like songs from angel
lips to the youngster.
Cant you write, grandmother"
asked he.
NO." said the old woman, with dig
nifty, and drew herself up. A long
pause followed
Were there no schoolmasters when
you were little?" asked the inquisitive
grandchild, after while.
ooh, yes indeed!" answered grand.
mother. 1--WE had schoolmaster;
and such schoolmaster! He
drummed the Ten Commandments and
whatever else we needed to know into
our heads, so that the parish priest
was very proud of us when he cate
chized us, but he wasn't very particu-
lar about anything else. Oh, there
are no such men nowadays But there
was very special reason why did
| not learn to write, and that is very
remarkable story. I may thank my
motherhood rest her soul-that I
| never learned to write. She couldn't
write, either, and her not knowing
how to write saved her from great
| danger. When my mother was first
| married, she and her husband had a
hard time getting along. They worked
| early and late and still hardly earned
their daily bread. One day my moth
er went out into the woods to get lit
| ter for the goats, and her heart was
so full of sorrow over her poverty
| that she sat down on the ground and
cried bitterly enough to melt the
heart of stone. All of a sudden a
stately gentleman stood before
| her, dressed like huntsman and
| wearing a cocks feather in his hat.
He asked my mother why she was
crying, and when She told him how
| poor she was, he laughed and said:
I will help you. will make you rich,
so that you will have enough as long
as you live Then he drew little
red book out of his pocket and hand.
ed it to my mother, and giving her
| also a pencil said: Write your name
in that book There are the names of
good many people whom l have
helped in there already
Then my mother quite overjoyed,
seized the book and the pencil to do
as the gentleman had requested, but
as she did not know how to write. she
| made cross. In moment the book
| turned red hot in her hand, and she
| threw it away with scream, and 1t
| burned up in the twinkling of an eye.
When she looked up, the strange man
had disappeared and the whole air
smelt horribly of birthstone. Then
| my mother felt her blood turn cold
and she knew that the strange gen.
| tleman must have been the devil him.
self. She ran home heels over head,
and it was a long time before she got
over it. Her making a cross in the
| DEVILS book because she did not know
how to write had saved her soul from
everlasting damnation and so she in.
| sisted that no child of hers should
ever learn to write. If l had my way,
| you should never learn either but
things are not as they used to be in
the good old times"
L