A little Swiss boy

by Johanna Spyri

Sitting on the beam which formed the sill of his door, he looked outside. The heavens were studded with brilliant stars. Then the moon rose from behind the mountains, lighting up the dark trees and meadows. The little church beyond gleamed white and the snow-capped mountains towering above the rocky cliffs became clearer and brighter every minute. Vinzi's eyes grew bigger and bigger. In his great fear of what lay ahead of him, he had seen little else than the gray stone house on his journey. But how different was this scene from anything he had pictured!

There was no wilderness of stones about him. The moonlight fell on a green earth and turned the tips of the larch trees yonder to silver. The ripple of the brook alone broke the deep silence. Vinzi listened to the beautiful tune and the notes became fuller and fuller; he heard whole melodies. He must have sat there a long time listening when a sudden gust of wind blew the door against his knee and startled him out of his dreaming.

He had never seen the stars so brilliant. The words of his mother, how the Lord was always above him, looked down on him and heard him, reached his heart as never before. Surely he was near Heaven there, and he was filled with gratitude to the God who had let him find good where he had feared only evil. His cousins had received him as a friend and he was already quite at home with them. He wished he might sing a loud hymn of praise out into the night, but it was too late for that; not a candle gleamed in any of the cottages.

So he closed his little door, bolted it, and sought his bed. It was soft and comfortable. Not a straw could prick him through the heavy linen sheets. He gazed at the brilliant star that shone through the air hole opposite his bed. Even when his eyelids tried to close, he opened them to gaze again. Yes, the star still shone on him, and when he fell asleep, it was with a wonderful melody resounding in his ears. The star was singing to Vinzi, and he heard it in his dreams.

The next morning he was awakened by a dreadful hubbub, for his name was being shouted by numerous voices. Stefeli, thought Vinzi, had never made such a noise when she came to wake him. But then he suddenly saw where he was and knew the voices that kept shouting louder and louder. Perhaps they had been calling for a long time. Hastily stepping into his clothes, he threw his door open and leaped down among his noisy cousins.

"Hurry up! Come along!" they chorused.

Vinzi replied that he had not washed yet so they should go along and he would follow. The two elder boys ran off, but Russli went to the stream with him, saying confidentially, "You don't need to wash; no one will ever notice it."

"No, Russli," objected Vinzi. "One must wash every morning. Besides, it makes one feel better. Oh, the lovely cool water!" And Vinzi knelt down by the brook and splashed the clear water over his face time and time again, and then drank one handful after the other.

Now he looked so fresh and happy that Russli, full of the pleasure of imitation, said, "I'll wash with you tomorrow morning, and drink too. I'll do it every day."

When they reached the house, the cousin and his wife were still at the breakfast table. Both gave Vinzi a friendly greeting, and Josepha set a large cup of coffee before him, suggesting that he eat plenty of bread with it, for the fresh mountain breeze would soon make him hungry.