PART III
They came home rather late that evening and found the farm in a great state of commotion. The red-haired cow-herd was shouting and crying in an unintelligible way; the house seemed to be deserted. They met the Herr Baron also preparing to set out in a hurry.
"What's the matter? Where is everybody?" said mother.
"The silly old cow-herd has lost one of the best cows; it has strayed off among the bushes, and may die if it is exposed all night. Who knows where the poor creature may have got to in these vast woods?"
The search went on till late at night; the men, including the Herr Baron, walked miles with their lanterns, but in vain. The deaf mute was in a dreadful state of mind and kept crying out in his harsh, disagreeable voice: "Not my fault—Schimmel's fault." (Schimmel was the cow.)
It was difficult enough to sleep that night; but when mother had at last dropped into a light doze, it must have been about four o'clock in the morning, she and the children were aroused by a great shouting and disturbance in the house. They looked out of the window and—what do you think?—there was the lost cow, who had returned after all of her own accord. And with her a dear little black and white calf, who frisked and bounded along as if it thought it was fine fun to be in the world on this lovely morning. Now wasn't that a queer thing, children, queerer than all the fairy stories you have read? for this story is quite true, you must know!
It was an exceptionally fine Sunday, and as father had come down to spend the week-end, mother and the children were in the seventh heaven of joy. It was not possible to go to church; for the nearest town was two hours' walk away, and would be partly over fields that were exposed to the heat of the midday sun. So father and mother and their two little daughters went to the great woodland cathedral.
The service was on the Stellerskuppe; surely no one could wish for a more beautiful place of worship. Mountain after mountain ranged in the distance, some with rounded or knolled heads, others rising to a peak. Lottchen called the most pointed one Mesuvius, because she always forgot the "V."
As the children sat there and sang hymns, with their white Sunday frocks on, mother fancied that eyes were peering at them from out the forest depths. If they were merely those of the gentle deer, or if stranger creatures still were watching them as if fascinated, she did not know: she felt there were lookers-on. There is the old story of the God Pan who played so divinely that all living things came to listen to him. Perhaps there may be a stirring at times in the souls of the mysterious dwellers in the forest that makes them yearn for immortality and gives them a fuller sense of existence. So that all the woodland sang too at that Sunday service.
On Sunday afternoon, father and mother wanted to go for a longer walk than usual; but the lazy children petitioned to be left behind.
"You will promise not to go near the pond," said mother. "Remember it is Sunday, and you have your best frocks on; you must not romp or climb trees."
"O no, mother, of course not," said Trudel. "We'll stay in the garden and promise to be very good."
When father and mother returned from their walk, the first thing they saw was Lottchen staggering along with a stand of empty beer-bottles.
"Whatever are you doing, Lottchen?"
"Oh, mother, there are such heaps of people here this afternoon, and there are not enough waitresses to serve them; so Trudel and I are helping. Trudel has got such a lot of tips already; she has bought chocolate with the money. Do tell her to divide it fairly with me!"
Mother looked round. The whole place was covered with tables and benches; a number of gaily dressed people from the neighbouring town were drinking coffee and eating cake or waffeln, a kind of pancake for which the inn was celebrated.
"Mother, don't speak to me, I'm too busy," said Trudel. "I've been waiting on those gentlemen; the maids were shy of them, so I said I would go and ask what they wanted." She pointed out some young men in officers' uniform, who had come from a military school. "I've got 6d. in tips, and I spent it on chocolate."
"Well I never!" said mother, astonished at her daughter's prowess—"you have turned into a waitress, and on Sunday afternoon too. Whatever would your aunts say?"
"I think I had better tell you what the young men said to me," said Trudel seriously. "They said I was a sweet little thing, and that if I were older, they would fall in love with me. I laughed of course; I could see they were only silly old stupid heads. I told them they had not much taste; for their military school was the ugliest building in all the town. They quite agreed with me about this, however, and then they asked me who my father was, and when I said he was a professor, they laughed till I thought they would burst. But now you must excuse me, really, mother darling. I have promised to go into the kitchen and wash up cups and saucers!"
The landlady could not praise Trudel enough. Such a useful little girl, she does everything in a most orderly way and wipes down the table when she has finished! "If ever you want her to learn housekeeping, pray send her to me, I should be delighted to teach her," she said.
"Yes," thought mother, "and make a nice little slavey of her into the bargain. No, no, our Trudel is not going to turn into a housemaid!"
If Trudel had been some years older, father and mother might have objected to these experiences; but, as it was, they only laughed.