Chapter III: The Other Side of the Hedge

LOOKING far out over the wooded valleys and the glimmering lake stood a green height covered by meadows, in which during the spring, summer and fall, red, blue and yellow flowers gleamed in the sunshine. On top of the height was Mr. Birkenfeld's large house, and beside it, a barn and a stable where four lively horses stamped the ground and glossy cows stood at their cribs quietly chewing the fragrant grass, with which Battist, the factotum of long years' standing, supplied them from time to time.

When Hans, the young stable boy, and the other men employed on the place were busy, Battist always made the round of the stable to see if everything had been attended to. He knew all the work connected with animals, and had entered Mr. Birkenfeld's father's service as a young lad. He was the head man on the place now and kept a vigilant eye on all the work done by the other men. In the hay-lofts lay high heaps of freshly gathered hay in splendid rows, and in the store rooms in the barn all the partitions were stacked up to the ceiling with oats, corn and groats. All these were raised on Mr. Birkenfeld's property, which stretched down the incline into the valley on all sides.

On the other side of the house stood a roomy laundry, and not far from there, but divided off by a high, thick hedge from the large house and garden, was a cottage also belonging to the property. Several years ago, Mr. Birkenfeld had turned this over to Mrs. Kurd after her husband's death.

The warm sunshine spread a glow over the height, and the red and white daisies gazed up merrily from the meadow at the sky above. On a free space before the house lay a shaggy dog, who blinked from time to time in order to see if anything was going on. But everything remained still, and he shut his eyes again to slumber on in the warm sunlight. Once in a while a young gray cat would appear in the doorway, looking at the sleeper with an enterprising air. But as he did not stir, she again retired with a disdainful glance. A great peace reigned in the front part of the house, while towards the garden in the back much chattering seemed to be going on and a great running to and fro. These sounds penetrated through the hallway to the front of the house.

Approaching wheels could now be heard, and a carriage drove up in front of the widow's cottage. For a moment, the dog opened his eyes and raised his ears, but not finding it worth while to growl, slept on. The arrival of the guests went off most quietly indeed. Mrs. Kurd, the schoolmaster's widow, after politely receiving her new arrivals, led them into the house and at once took them up to their new quarters. Soon after, Aunt Ninette stood in the large room unpacking the big trunk, while Dora busied herself in her little chamber unpacking her small one. Uncle Titus sat in his room at a square table, carefully sorting out his writing things.

From time to time, Dora ran to the window, for it was lovelier here than in any place she had ever been. Green meadows spread out in front with red and yellow flowers, below were woods and further off a blue lake, above which the snow-white mountains gleamed. Just now, a golden sunset glow was spread over the near hills, and Dora could hardly keep away from the window. She did not know the world could be so beautiful. Then her aunt called over to her, as some of her things had been packed in the large trunk and she had to take them to her room.

"Oh, Aunt Ninette, isn't it wonderful here?" exclaimed Dora upon entering. She spoke much louder than she had ever done since she had come to her uncle's house to live. The excitement of the arrival had awakened her true, happy nature again.

"Sh-sh! How can you be so noisy?" the aunt immediately subdued her. "Don't you know that your uncle is already working in the next room?"

Dora received her things, and going by the window, asked in a low voice, "May I take a peep out of this window, aunt?"

"You can look out a minute, but nobody is there," replied the aunt. "We look out over a beautiful quiet garden, and from the window at the other side we can see a big yard before the house. Nothing is to be seen there except a sleeping dog, and I hope it will stay that way. You can look out from over there, too."

As soon as Dora opened the window, a wonderful fragrance of jessamine and mignonette rose to her from the flower beds in the garden. The garden was so large that the hedge surrounding green lawns, blooming flower beds and luxurious arbors seemed endless. How beautiful it must be over there! Nobody was visible but there were traces of recent human activity from a curious triumphal arch made out of two bean poles tightly bound together at the top by fir twigs. A large pasteboard sign hanging down from the structure swayed to and fro in the wind, bearing a long inscription written in huge letters.

Suddenly, a noise from the yard before the house made Dora rush to the other window. Looking out, she saw a roomy coach standing in the middle of the yard with two impatiently stamping brown horses, and from the house rushed one—two—three—four—yes, still more—five—six boys and girls. "Oh, I want to go on top," they all cried out at once, louder and ever louder. In the middle of the group, the dog jumped up first on one child, then on another, barking with delight. Aunt Ninette had not heard such noise for years and years.

"For heaven's sake, what is going on?" she cried out, perplexed. "Where on earth have we gotten to?"

"O come, aunt, look, look, they are all getting into the coach," Dora cried with visible delight, for she had never in her life seen anything so jolly.

One boy leaped up over the wheel into the seat beside the driver, then stooping far down, stretched out his arm towards the barking, jumping dog.

"Come, Schnurri, come Schnurri!" cried the boy, trying in vain to catch hold of the shaggy dog's paw or ears.

At last, Hans, the coachman, almost flung the pet up to the boy. Meanwhile, the oldest boy lifted up a dangling little girl and, swinging her up, set her in the coach.

"Me, too, Jul, me, too! Lift me still higher, lift me still higher!" cried out two little boys, one as round as a ball, the other a little taller. They jumped up, begging their elder brother, crowing with anticipation at what was coming.

Then came twice more the swinging motion and their delight was accompanied by considerable noise. The big boy, followed by the eldest girl, who had waited until the little ones were seated, stepped in and the door was shut with a terrific bang by Jul's powerful arm. When the horses started, quite a different noise began.

"If Schnurri can go, Philomele can go too! Trine, Trine!" cried the little girl loudly. "Give me Philomele."

The energetic young kitchen-maid, at once comprehending the situation, appeared at the door. Giving a hearty laugh, she took hold of the gray cat that sat squatting on the stone steps, and looking up mistrustfully at Schnurri on top, and threw her right into the middle of the carriage. With a sharp crack of the whip the company departed.

Full of fright, Aunt Ninette had hastened to her husband's room to see what impression this incident had made upon him. He sat unmoved at his table with his window tightly shut.

"My dear Titus, who could have guessed such a thing? What shall we do?" moaned the aunt.

"The house over there seems rather blessed with children. Well, we can't help it, and must keep our windows shut," he replied, unmoved.

"But my dear Titus, do you forget that you came here chiefly for the fresh mountain air? If you don't go out, you have to let the strengthening air into your room. What shall we do? If it begins that way, what shall we do if they keep it up?" wailed the aunt.

"Then we must move," replied the husband, while at work.

This thought calmed his wife a little, and she returned to her room.

Meanwhile, Dora had busily set her things in order. A burning wish had risen in her heart, and she knew this could not be granted unless everything was neatly put in its right place. The crowd of merry children, their fun and laughter had so thrilled Dora that she longed to witness their return. She wondered what would happen when they all got out again. Would they, perhaps, come to the garden where the triumphal arch was raised? She wanted to see them from below, as the garden was only separated from Mrs. Kurd's little plot of ground by a hedge. There must be a little hole somewhere in this hedge through which she could look and watch the children.

Dora was so filled with this thought, that it never occurred to her that her aunt might not let her go out so late. But her desire was greater than the fear of being denied. She went at once to her aunt's door, where she met Mrs. Kurd, who was just announcing supper. Dora quickly begged to be allowed to go down to the garden, but the aunt immediately answered that they were going to supper now, after which it would be nearly night.

Mrs. Kurd assured her aunt that anybody could stay out here as long as they wished, as nobody ever came by, and that it was quite safe for Dora to go about alone. Finally, Aunt Ninette gave Dora permission to run in the garden a little after supper. Dora, hardly able to eat from joy and anticipation, kept listening for the carriage to return with the children. But no sound was heard.

"You can go now, but don't leave the little garden," said the aunt at last. Dora gave this promise gladly, and running out eagerly, began to look for some opening in the hedge. It was a hawthorne hedge and so high and thick that Dora could look neither through it nor over the top. Only at the bottom, far down, one could peep through a hole here and there. It meant stooping low, but that was no obstacle for Dora. Her heart simply longed to see and hear the children again. Never in her life had she known such a large family with such happy looking boys and girls. She had never seen such a crowd of children driving out alone in a coach. What fun this must be!

Dora, squatting close to the ground, gazed expectantly through the opening, but not a sound could be heard. Twilight lay over the garden, and the flowers sent out such a delicious fragrance that Dora could not get enough of it. How glorious it must be to be able to walk to and fro between those flower beds, and how delightful to sit under that tree laden with apples, under which stood a half hidden table! It looked white with various indistinct objects upon it. Dora was completely lost in contemplation of the charming sight before her, when suddenly the merry voices could be heard, gaily chattering, and Dora was sure the children had returned. For awhile, everything was still, as they had gone into the house. Now it grew noisy again, and they all came out into the garden.

Mr. Birkenfeld had just returned from a long journey and his children had driven down to meet him at the steamboat-landing on the lake. The mother had made the last preparations for his reception during that time and arranged the festive banquet under the apple tree in the garden. As the father had been away several weeks, his return was a joyous occasion, to be duly celebrated.

As soon as the carriage arrived, the mother came out to greet him. Then one child after another jumped out, followed by Philomele and Schnurri, who accompanied the performance with joyous barks. All climbed up the steps and went into the large living room. Here the greetings grew so stormy that their father was left quite helpless in the midst of the many hands and voices that were crowding in upon him.

"Take turns, children! Wait! One after another, or I can't really greet you," he called into the hubbub. "First comes the youngest, and then up according to age. Come here, little Hun! What have you to say to me?"

Herewith, the father drew his youngest forward, a little boy about five years old, originally called Huldreich. As a baby, when asked his name, the little one had always called himself Hun and the name had stuck to him, remaining a great favorite with his brothers and sisters and all the other inmates of the house. Even father and mother called him Hun now. Jul,* the eldest son, had even made the statement that the small Hun's flat little nose most curiously reminded one of his Asiatic brothers. But the mother would never admit this.

This small boy had so much to tell his father, that the latter had to turn from him long before he was done with his news.

"You can tell us more later on, small Hun. I must greet Willi and Lili now. Always merry? And have you been very obedient while I was away?"

* Pronounced Yule in the original.

"Mostly," answered Willi, with slight hesitation, while Lili, remembering their various deviations from the paths of righteousness, decided to change the subject of conversation, and gaily embraced her father instead. Willi and Lili, the twins, were exactly eight years old and were so inseparable that nobody even spoke of them separately. They always played together, and often undertook things which they had a clear glimmering that they should not do.

"And you, Rolf, how are you?" said the father, next, to a boy about twelve years old with a broad forehead and sturdy frame. "Are you working hard at your Latin and have you made up some nice riddles?"

"Yes, both, papa. But the others won't ever try to guess them. Their minds are so lazy, and mamma never has time."

"That is too bad, and you, Paula?" continued the father, drawing to him his eldest daughter, who was nearly thirteen. "Are you still longing for a girl friend, and do you still have to walk about the garden alone?"

"I haven't found anybody yet! But I am glad you are back again, papa," said the girl, embracing her father.

"I suppose you are spending your holidays in a useful fashion, Jul?" asked the father, shaking hands with his eldest.

"I try to combine my pleasure with something useful," replied Jul, returning his father's handshake. "The hazel nuts are ripe now, and I am watching over their harvest. I also ride young Castor every day, so he won't get lazy."

Julius, who was seventeen years old, and studied at a high school of the nearest town, was home for his holidays just now. As he was very tall for his age, everybody called him "big Jul."

"I must ask you to continue your greetings in the garden, papa. All kinds of surprises await you there," began Jul again, coming up to his father, who was pleasantly greeting Miss Hanenwinkel, the children's governess and teacher.

But Jul had to pay dearly for this last remark. Immediately Willi and Lili flew at him from behind, enjoining him to silence by pinching and squeezing him violently. Fighting them off as best he could, he turned to Lili: "Let me go, little gad-fly. Just wait, I'll lead up to it better." And turning towards his father he said loudly, "I mean in the garden where mother has prepared all kinds of surprises you won't despise. We must celebrate by having something to eat, papa."

"I agree with you; how splendid! Perhaps we shall even find a table spread under my apple tree. I should call that a real surprise!" cried the father, delighted. "Come now!"

Giving the mother his arm, he went out, followed by the whole swarm. Lili and Willi were thrilled that their papa thought this was the only surprise in store for him.

Upon stepping outside, the parents stood immediately under a triumphal arch; at both sides hung small red lanterns which lit up the large hanging board on which was a long inscription.

"Oh, oh," said the father, amazed, "a beautiful triumphal arch and a verse for my welcome. I must read it." And he read aloud:

"We all are here to welcome you beside the garden gate;
And since you've come, we're happy now, we've had so long to wait.
We all are glad, as glad can be, our wishes have come true;
You've got back safe, and we have made this arch to welcome you."

"Beautiful, beautiful! I suppose Rolf is the originator of this?"

But Willi and Lili rushed forward crying, "Yes, yes, Rolf made it, but we invented it. He made the poem, and Jul set up the poles, and we got the fir twigs."

"I call this a wonderful reception, children," cried the delighted father. "What lovely little red, blue and yellow lights you have put everywhere; the place looks like a magic garden! And now I must go to my apple tree."

The garden really looked like an enchanted place. Long ago the small colored lanterns had been made, and Jul had fastened them that morning on all the trees and high bushes of the garden. While the greetings were taking place in the house, old Battist and Trine had quickly lit them. The branches of the apple tree also were decorated with lights, making it look like a Christmas tree, with the apples gleaming out between the lanterns. They threw their light down on the table with its white cloth on which the mother had set the large roast, tempting the guests with the special wine for the occasion and the high pile of apple tarts.

"This is the nicest festival hall I can imagine!" exclaimed the father happily, as he stood under the sparkling tree. "How wonderful our dinner will taste here! Oh, here is a second inscription."

Another white board hung down on two strings from the high branches behind the trees. On it was written:

"Happy all at my first are reckoned,
Christmas is in the state of my second,
And for my whole the feast is spread
With candy, nuts and gingerbread."

"Oh, I see, a riddle; Rolf must have made this for me!" said the father, kindly patting the boy's shoulder. "I'll set to work guessing as soon as we have settled down. Whoever guesses the riddle first may touch glasses with me before the others. Oh, how pleasant it is to be together again."

The family sat down under the tree, and the conversation soon began to flow. From big Jul down to little Hun there seemed to be no end of all the experiences everybody had to tell.

A sudden silence fell when the father pulled out from under his chair a large package, which he promptly began to unpack. The children watched his motions with suspense, knowing that a present for everybody would now come to light. First, came shining spurs for Jul, then a large blue book for Paula. Next emerged a rather curious object, turning out to be a large bow with a quiver and two feathered arrows, a present for Rolf. As the father took out the fine arrows with sharp iron points, he said with great emphasis:

"This weapon belongs to Rolf only, who knows how to use it. As it is no toy, Willi and Lili must never think of playing with it. Otherwise they might hurt somebody with it. It is dangerous, remember."

A gorgeous Noah's ark containing many kinds of animals in pairs and a Noah's family was presented to the twins. The men all held big staffs and the women carried large umbrellas, much needed while going on board the ark. For little Hun, who came last, a wonderful nutcracker came to light, whose face seemed doomed to uninterrupted sorrow for all the tragedies of this world. His mouth stood wide open when not in action, but when screwed together, he cracked nuts in the neatest fashion with his large, white teeth. The presents had to be shown properly and commented upon, and the admiration and joy knew no bounds.

Finally the mother resolutely got up to tell the children to go to bed. Their usual bedtime was long since past. As the father got up, he asked with a loud voice, "Yes, but who had guessed the riddle?"

No one had done so, as all except Rolf had completely forgotten it.

"But I guessed it," said the father, no other answer being heard. "I suppose it is homecoming. Isn't it, Rolf? Let me touch your glass now and also let me thank you for the riddle."

While Rolf joyfully stepped up to his father, several frightened voices cried out, "Fire, fire!"

The next moment, everyone leaped from their seats, Battist and Trine came running out with bottles and buckets from the kitchen, and Hans came from the stable with another bucket. All rushed about shrieking wildly, "The bush is on fire, the hedge is on fire." The confusion and noise was truly amazing.

"Dora, Dora!" a wailing voice called down to the little garden of the neighboring cottage, and the next moment Dora hastened into the house from her place of observation. She had been so lost in everything she had partly seen and heard that she had not realized that she had been squatting on the ground for two full hours.

Upstairs, the aunt in grief and fright had pulled her belongings from the wardrobes and drawers and had piled them high as for immediate flight.

"Aunt Ninette," said Dora timidly, conscious of having remained away too long. "Don't be frightened any more. Look, it is dark again in the garden over there and all the lights are out."

Upon gazing over, the aunt saw that everything was dark and the last lights had been put out. Now a very dim lantern approached the apple tree. Probably somebody was setting things in order there.

"Oh, it is too terrible! Who could have guessed it!" moaned the aunt. "Go to bed now, Dora. We'll see tomorrow whether we shall move or leave the place entirely."

Dora quickly retired to her room but she could not go to sleep for a long, long while.

She saw before her the garden and the gleaming apple tree, heard the merry children's voices and also, their father's pleasant, happy words. She could not help thinking of her own dear father who had always been willing to listen to her, and she realized how fortunate her little neighbors were. She had felt so drawn to the children and their kind parents, that the thought of moving away from the house quite upset her. She could not go to sleep for a long, long while, for her mind was filled with the recent impressions. Finally her own beloved father seemed to be gazing down at her and saying the comforting words as he used to do:

"'Yet God keeps watch above us
And doeth all things well.'"

These words were still in her mind as she went to sleep, while the lights, the gleaming tree and merry children across the way followed her into her dreams.

After the fire was put out, Willi and Lili were found to be the culprits. Thinking that Rolf's riddle would look more beautiful if made transparent from behind like the inscription used every Christmas behind their tree, "Glory to God on High," they had fetched two lights. Then standing on a high step which had been used for fastening the inscription, they held the lights very near the riddle. When no joyful surprise was shown on any of the faces, they put the lights still nearer, till at last the paper was set on fire, catching the nearby branches. They owned up to their unfortunate undertaking at once and, in honor of the festive occasion, were sent to bed with only mild reproof. Of course they were forbidden to make further experiments with fire.

Soon after, deep quiet reigned in the house, and peacefully the moon shone down over the sleeping garden and the splendid tall trees.