“It does not quite follow, as I can show you by another tale, which I believe to be quite true. It happened to the King of Prussia, the great-grandfather of the present emperor. He was walking one day in the outer park surrounding the castle where he was then living, and he was wearing his undress uniform, so that there was nothing to distinguish him from quite an ordinary soldier. As he drew near to the gateway he saw a little boy with a donkey, and the little boy called out to him and beckoned him to come. Very much amused, the king approached, and the little boy said, ‘Look here, I want you to hold my donkey. I’ve got a letter which I must leave at the castle, and I may not take my donkey inside the gate. But if you will take care of him till I get back you shall not be the loser. I’ll give you something for your trouble when I get back!’ So the king took the donkey by the bridle and held him whilst the little boy ran up to the castle and delivered his letter. Then when the little fellow had come back, he pulled out a little silver halfpenny (such as they had in Germany then) and gave it to the king, saying, ‘There, my good friend, that’s for your trouble, and thank you!’ and then he got on his donkey and rode off. But the king kept the silver halfpenny and took it home with him, and when he reached his wife’s room he went in and held it out on the palm of his hand, and said—’See there, wife; there is the first money that thy husband has ever earned by the work of his own hands!’”
Both boys laughed merrily at this story, and forgot the grave thoughts which had gone before. But they did not forget to think of Herr Adler’s words many times during the days that flew so happily by. Seppi never blushed nor made excuse for the poor or coarse fare he brought with him, and Squib would eat it as readily and with as good an appetite as Lisa’s cakes, thinking of the prince in the wood, and how he found all so good when it was seasoned by a good appetite. He and Seppi would play at the prince and the charcoal-burner, and numbers of other games suggested by Herr Adler’s tales; and he came often to see them in their favourite valley, and Squib declared that he was sure the sun shone brighter and the flowers came out better and faster on the days Herr Adler came.
“He’s the most splendid man for stories that ever was!” he cried in great admiration one day; “but I feel that, if I had as many stories in my head as he has, it would just burst!”
CHAPTER VIII.
A WONDERFUL WALK.
“Do come to see my home and my mother,” pleaded Squib one day; “I should so like it—and I’m sure she would too!”
So Herr Adler smilingly consented, and climbed up over the brow of the hill with Squib, pointing out to him a hundred curious and beautiful things along the path that he had never seen before, or rather, had never noticed. There was nobody at home at the chalet when they got there, as the ladies had gone out for a walk before their noonday lunch or breakfast. But Squib did not mind this, for he wanted to show Herr Adler all his collections, and to ask him a lot of questions about the specimens he had picked up and stored away in his cupboards.
Of course Herr Adler knew just what he wanted, and told all about it so interestingly, that they were a long while in getting through the collection. But Squib kept finding again and again how careless and slovenly his work often was. He wanted to dry some plants as specimens, but he was always in a hurry over it, and did it so carelessly that the poor plant was quite spoiled; and even his butterflies and moths were many of them ruined because he did not take enough pains with pinning them down properly. When the little boy saw how patiently and gently Herr Adler fingered the specimens, and how understandingly he treated them, he felt ashamed of his own hasty slovenliness, and heaving a great sigh he said,—
“Oh, I wish I were clever like you! It must be nice to do everything so well!”
“No, no, my little friend, that is not it at all,” answered Herr Adler. “You could do all this just as well as I am doing now with my big, clumsy fingers; but you must have patience, and you must take pains. Nothing is ever done well in this world without care and time and patience.”
“Ah, that’s just it!” sighed Squib, “and I’m not patient. I’m always in a hurry to get to something else. I want to do things; but I can’t do them well.”