Chapter III: Frida's Father

"And though we sorrow for the dead,
Let not our grief be loud,
That we may hear Thy loving voice
Within the light-lined cloud."

Early in the morning, ere wife or children were awake, and long before the October sun had arisen, Wilhelm Hoerstel arose, and putting a hunch of black bread and goat-milk cheese into his pocket, he shouldered his axe and saw and went out into the Forest.

The dawn was beginning to break, and there was light enough for the practised eye of the wood-cutter to distinguish the path which he wished to take through the Forest.

Great stillness reigned around; even the twittering of the birds had hardly begun--they were for the most part awaiting the rising of the sun, though here and there an early bird might be heard chirping as it flew off, no doubt in search of food. Even the frogs in the Forest ponds had not yet resumed their croaking, and only the bubbling of a brooklet or the falling of a tiny cascade from the rocks (which abound in some parts of the Forest) was heard. The very silence which pervaded, calmed, and to a Christian mind would have raised the thoughts Godward. But it had no such influence on the heart, the kindly heart, of the young wood-cutter as he walked on, bent only on reaching the small hamlet or "Dorf" where stood the hut of the man with whom he sought to hold counsel as to how a search could be instituted in the Forest for the father of little Frida.

As he reached the door, and just as the sun was rising above the hill-tops, and throwing here and there its golden beams through the autumn-tinted trees, he saw not one but several wood-cutters and charcoal-burners going into the house of his friend Johann Schmidt. Somewhat wondering he hastened his steps, and entered along with them, putting as he did so the question, "_Was gibt's?_" (What is the matter?) His friend, who came forward to greet him, answered the question by saying, "Come and help us, Wilhelm; a strange thing has happened here during the night.

"Soon after Gretchen and I had fallen asleep, we were awakened by the noise of some heavy weight falling at the door; and on going to see what it was, there, to our amazement, lay a man, evidently in a faint. We got him into our hut, and after a while he became conscious, looked around him, and said 'Frida!' Gretchen tried to find out who it was he wished, but could only make out it was a child whom he had left in the Forest; but whether he was still delirious none could tell. He pressed his hand on his heart and said he was very ill, and again muttering the word, 'Frida, Armseliger Frida,' he again fainted away.

"We did what we could for him, and he rallied a little; and then an hour ago, Gretchen stooping over him heard him say, 'Herr Jesu. Ob ich schon wandelte im finstern Thal fuerchete ich kein Unglueck: denn Du bist bei mir' ('Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me'); and giving one deep breath his spirit fled."

As their mate said these words, exclamations of sorrow were heard around. "_Ach_, poor man!" said one. "Thinkest thou the child he spoke of can be in the Forest?" "And the words he said about fearing no evil, what did they mean?" said another. "Well," said one who looked like a chief man amongst them, "I believe he was _ein Ketzer_, and if that be so we had better send to Dringenstadt, where there is a _ketzer Pfarrer_ [heretic pastor], and get his advice. I heard the other day that a new one had come whom they called Herr Langen."

Then as a momentary pause came, Wilhelm Hoerstel stepped forward and told the tale of the child he had found in the Forest the night before, who called herself Frida. The men listened with amazement, but with one breath they all declared she must be the child of whom the dead man had spoken.

"Ay," said Wilhelm, "and I am sure she is the child of a _Ketzer_ [heretic]; for what think ye a child like that did ere she went to bed? She prayed, and my wife says never a word said she to the Virgin, but spoke just straight to God."

"_Ach_, poor _Maedchen_!" said another of the men; "does she think the Lord would listen to the prayer of a child like her? The blessed Virgin have pity on her;" and as he spoke he crossed himself.

"If these things be so," said the chief man, by name Jacob Heine, "then it is plain one of us must go off to Dringenstadt, see the _Pfarrer_, and settle about the funeral."

His proposal was at once agreed to, and as he was overseer of the wood-cutters, and could not leave his work, Johann Schmidt, in whose hut the man had died, was chosen as the best man to go; whilst Wilhelm should return to his home, and then take the child to see her dead father.

"Yes, bring the _Maedchen_" (little maid), said all, "and let us see her also; seems as if she belongs to us all, found in the Forest as she was."

There was no time to be lost, for the sun was already well up, and the men should have been at work long ago.

So they dispersed, some going to their work deeper in the Forest, Wilhelm retracing his way home, and Johann taking the path which led through the wood to the little town of Dringenstadt.

As Wilhelm approached his door, the little Frida darted to him, saying, "Have you found my fader? Oh, take me to him! Frida must go to her fader." Tears rose to the wood-cutter's eyes, as lifting the child in his arms he entered the hut, and leaving Frida there with Hans, he beckoned his wife to speak to him outside; and there he told her the story of the man who had died in Johann's cottage.

"Ah, then," said Elsie, "the little Frida is indeed an orphan, poor lambie. How shall we tell her, Wilhelm? Her little heart will break. Ever since she woke she has prattled on about him; ay" (and the woman's voice lowered as she spoke), "and of a Father who she says lives in heaven and cares both for her earthly father and herself. And, Wilhelm, she's been reading aloud to Hans and me about the Virgin's Son of whom my mother used to speak."

"Well, never mind about all that, wife, but let us tell the child; for I and my mates think she should be taken to see the body, and so make sure that the man was really her father."

* * * * *

"Fader dead!" said the child, as she sat on Wilhelm's knee and heard the sad story. "Dead! Shall Frida never see him again, nor walk with him, nor talk with him? Oh! dear, dear fader, why did you die and leave Frida all alone? I want you, I want you!" and the child burst into a flood of tears.

They let her cry on, those kind-hearted people--nay, they wept with her; but after some minutes had passed, Wilhelm raised her head, and asked her if she would not like to see her father once more, though he could not speak to her now.

"Yes, oh yes! take me to see him!" she exclaimed. "Oh, take me!" Then looking eagerly up she said, "Perhaps Jesus can make him live again, like he did Lazarus, you know. Can't he?" But alas! of the story of Lazarus being raised from the dead these two people knew nothing; and when they asked her what she meant, and she said her father had read to her about it out of her little brown book, they only shook their heads, and Wilhelm said, "I feared there was something wrong about that little book. How could any one be raised from the dead?"

Frida's passionate exclamations of love and grief when she saw the dead body of the man who lay in Johann Schmidt's hut removed all doubt from the minds of those who heard her as to the relationship between them; and the manner in which the child turned from a crucifix which Gretchen brought forward to her, thinking it would comfort her, convinced them more firmly that the poor man had indeed been a heretic.

No! father never prayed to that, nor would he let _her_ do so, she said--just to Jesus, dear Jesus in heaven; and though several of those who heard her words crossed themselves as she spoke, and prayed the Virgin to forgive, all were much taken with and deeply sorry for the orphan child; and when Wilhelm raised her in his arms to take her back to his hut and to the care of Elsie, more than one of the inhabitants of the Dorf brought some little gift from their small store to be taken with him to help in the maintenance of the little one so strangely brought among them. Ere they left the Dorf, Johann Schmidt had returned from executing his message to Dringenstadt. He had seen the _Pfarrer_, and he had promised to come along presently and arrange about the funeral.