m 

 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 102.
 
 e*n "f 
 iiiCJ <U> 
 
 A SEQUEL 
 
 TO 
 
 THE BARON'S CHILDREN, 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. MYERS. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 LINDSAY & BLAKISTON.
 
 SEQUEL 
 
 THE BARON'S CHILDREN 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " If that way be your walk, you have not far; 
 So much the nearer danger; go, and speed! 
 Havoc, and spoil, and ruin, are my gain." 
 
 THE duty of family prayer was one which was 
 never neglected at Steinrode ; but on this, the 
 morning of the Baron's intended journey, it was 
 performed with even more than usual solemnity. 
 Although Faith teaches man to believe himself 
 ever an object of care to a superintending Power 
 as safely watched over abroad as at home there 
 are few who set out for an absence of some days or 
 weeks, without a thought of what may happen in 
 that space of time, and so more earnestly commend 
 themselves and their concerns to the keeping of a 
 heavenly Protector. It was therefore with deeper 
 feeling, and more devotional importunity than 
 usual, that the prayer of this morning was offered, 
 petitioning for safety and a happy reunion ; or if 
 
 that, in the hidden depth of purpose belonging to 
 
 (13) 
 
 622688
 
 14 THE NEIGHBOKS' CHILDREN. 
 
 Divine Wisdom, were denied, that all might meet 
 around the great throne in Heaven ; that to such 
 of them as should be spared to pursue the stern 
 journey of life, preserving grace should be given ; 
 chastened, if needs be, but not given over to hard- 
 ness, or unbelief; afflicted, scourged, but not for- 
 saken, or delivered up to despair. The father 
 spoke in exhortation to his children, charging them 
 to be kind and obedient to their mother, and care- 
 ful to keep out of the way of temptation to err 
 from the influence of bad example. He adverted 
 to the family who were at present under their roof, 
 and bade them be cautious in their behaviour 
 towards them. "They do not see things in the 
 same light as ourselves," said he, "or they would 
 be with us at this moment ; but we trust that God 
 will yet enable them to see the true way. And for 
 ourselves, we know that although ' here is no con- 
 tinuing city,' let us bless Him that we can yet look 
 forward to one, the foundations whereof are laid in 
 Heaven whose Builder and whose Maker is God.' 
 What is that mysterious influence which operates 
 upon the spirit, and causes it dimly to foresee what 
 is irresistibly "borne in upon the mind," as some 
 one has termed presentiments ? What secret inti- 
 mation is given of events to come, though " clouds 
 and shadows rest" upon the future? Man's boasted 
 wisdom reaches not so far as to solve the mystery ; 
 and it is a subject on the elucidation of which he
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 15 
 
 must remain ignorant until, divested of its veil of 
 flesh, the spirit shall revel in the full blaze of light 
 which we believe was its original inheritance, and 
 which we trace in the bright gleamings that occa- 
 sionally flash through the darkness that envelopes 
 this present state. That " coming events cast their 
 shadows before," we know ; but cannot tell in what 
 manner the premonition is made whether from 
 internal consciousness or external agency, or the 
 immediate influence of some celestial guardian, 
 commissioned by the universal Parent to watch 
 over man, and warn him of the threatened danger. 
 As though it were so in this case, and the dark 
 cloud about to overshade was dimly foreseen, all 
 were deeply impressed with the simple service of 
 this morning ; for many times had the sun to rise 
 and set in floods of golden light many alterna- 
 tions of night and morning were to take place 
 many times was the earth to change her seasons 
 of fruit and flowers before all who knelt around 
 that family altar, should again assemble there. 
 
 Lady Von Grosse, as yet not humbled by her 
 adversity, never appeared to bend the knee in 
 company with that Christian family ; but the time 
 was not far distant when that proud spirit was to 
 be bowed, and exchange the stiff neck of rebellion 
 for the meek and child-like deportment taught by 
 the sanctified use of afflictions. 
 
 The breakfast-table had been withdrawn, when 
 23*
 
 16 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 Baron Lindenburg, now nearly ready to set out, 
 remembered some business which he had to transact 
 in the village of Steinrode, of which it was neces- 
 sary a message should be sent back to the castle ; 
 he therefore proposed that the servant who was to 
 accompany him on his travel, should proceed thither 
 with the horses, and Felix walk over with himself. 
 Much was the boy delighted with the prospect, 
 inasmuch as he promised himself a short visit to 
 Ehrenfried ; but in this latter particular he was 
 disappointed. The day was rather raw and chilly, 
 and Felix had complained, the evening before, of 
 a slight sore throat. Yet, hardy as the young 
 pines upon their own native hills, they never 
 thought of keeping within doors for a trifling in- 
 disposition ; but the careful mother, calling him to 
 her that she might fasten his collar, and secure his 
 throat from the damp atmosphere by tying a warm 
 comforter around it, discovered that his jacket had 
 lost a button. It was but five minutes' work to 
 sew it on ; and while her busy fingers accomplished 
 the task, she bade him return as quickly as possi- 
 ble, for there was some errand she wished him to 
 do for herself. 
 
 "Now Felix, my dear," said she, "I am sorry 
 to disappoint you of your visit to Ehrenfried, but 
 it cannot be helped at present ; you and Herman 
 shall both have holiday on Saturday, but now you 
 must come back as quickly as possible."
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 17 
 
 "I will, mother dear," replied he; "don't I 
 always do what you tell me ?" and he lovingly 
 threw his arms around her neck, and looked up 
 with his laughing blue eyes into her face. 
 
 "Not always lately" she answered, with a 
 smile, as she passed her fingers through his wavy 
 hair, and removed the curls from his fair forehead, 
 where she imprinted more than one maternal kiss ; 
 and if her mother's heart swelled with some pride 
 as her eyes rested on her beautiful boy, she might 
 well be excused for the weakness if weakness it 
 were for there are few who do not acknowledge 
 the power of beauty. It is a gift a glorious gift 
 from God himself, investing its possessor with more 
 than earthly seeming ; and if rightly appreciated 
 by its owner, is a powerful talisman, making man 
 almost a god, and woman an angel. 
 
 We have said she kissed him again and again 
 did she feel that she held him in her arms for the 
 last time? Did she behold some dark brooding 
 angel unfold his baleful wing over the head of her 
 darling, and deem that in those mother's kisses 
 there lay a charm that could ward off the trea- 
 cherous influence ? We know not how this was, 
 but we believe that the pious prayer breathed in 
 the secret chamber of that mother's heart, ascended 
 up to God, who, for good and wise purposes (in a 
 dark and mysterious providence) saw fit to shroud 
 the early days of this beautiful boy in deep dark-
 
 18 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 ness, and covered him with the wing of his protec- 
 tion, even while he permitted his impulsive spirit to 
 be disciplined in one of the severest schools that 
 Adversity can teach. 
 
 The Baron's leave-taking was quiet ; and he felt 
 better at leaving his family since they were not 
 alone. Lady Von Grosse and her children were 
 still not thinking of removal ; the Count was ex- 
 pected to be there shortly ; but better than all, 
 aunt Angela was again with them. All seemed 
 well, and yet gloom hung upon them, they knew 
 not why, for the Baron's absence from home was 
 no uncommon thing, being often obliged to be from 
 home. Although the day was dull and gloomy, it 
 threw none of its chilling shadow over the bright 
 spirit of Felix, who trudged along gaily by his 
 father's side, on their way to the village. A few 
 words with Ehrenfried had to serve in place of the 
 hoped-for visit ; but the prospect of the whole of 
 Saturday was enough to compensate for the dis- 
 appointment. The Baron soon concluded his 
 business with the farmer whom he wished to see, 
 and having given the message he wished sent back, 
 he laid his hand upon the boy's head and gave him 
 his blessing, bidding him, when they parted, go 
 home as quickly as possible. 
 
 Since Felix did disobey, it is almost to be re- 
 gretted that he did not slight the admonition of 
 his mother, and remain longer with Ehrenfried ;
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 19 
 
 but this he did not do. How necessary it is for 
 all ever to keep in the path of duty : had Felix 
 done so, what years of misery had been spared ! 
 After parting with his father, he set forth vigor- 
 ously to retrace his homeward road, and had 
 already reached the forest path, when he saw 
 Amade and Eugene upon it. They had left the 
 castle without observation, and the former was 
 already exulting in the success of his scheme, when 
 the cheerful voice of Felix hailing them from a 
 distance once more recalled him to himself, and to 
 the probable consequences of his perilous under- 
 taking. Muttering curses between his teeth as he 
 awoke to the danger of his present position, when 
 it should be discovered in the search certain to be 
 made for Eugene as soon as he was missed at the 
 castle, that he had been seen with himself in the 
 forest, and so betrayal Avas the sure consequence, 
 like all other villains, he was obliged to seal his 
 first sin with a second. Cursing, therefore, the 
 accident that had thrown Felix in the way of his 
 purpose, he was at the same time resolutely 
 determined to prevent his return to the castle, 
 caring not for the anxiety he might cause, and 
 dreading only to be found out. Dressing his face 
 in smiles, whilst his heart was trembling at the 
 thoughts of its own dark purpose, he repeated the 
 tale with which he had already cheated Eugene to 
 Felix when he came up to them, well knowing that
 
 20 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 the prospect of capturing a fox in a trap would 
 not be lost upon the lively boy. He was right. 
 The hasty impulsive Felix, in his great delight and 
 wish to see master Reynard outwitted, forgot the 
 request of his mother, the admonition of his father, 
 to return as speedily as possible, and turning from 
 the path which led to home and safety, he followed 
 the insidious guide into the bosom of the forest, 
 where he had said, and truly, that the snare was 
 set. It was, perhaps, the first time in his life 
 that Felix had so positively disobeyed the com- 
 mand of his parents; but we have before said that 
 his unavoidable companionship with Eugene had 
 not been without effect. His plastic nature, too 
 easily impressed, had, in more than one instance, 
 yielded to the force of his bad example, although 
 he did not love him ; and now in this, the last and 
 greatest departure from duty of which he had 
 been guilty, punishment, severe and tedious punish- 
 ment, followed immediately on the commission of 
 the offence. It was no doubt so ordered, or at 
 least permitted, in mercy and in love. Severe but 
 salutary as the chastenings of our Heavenly 
 Father always are, who or what suffered or gainsay 
 their wisdom, how many have been rescued by 
 them from the headlong road to ruin ; how many 
 of the straying restored to the right path. 
 "Before I was afflicted," said the inspired minstrel, 
 " I went astray, but now I keep thy love." And
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 21 
 
 now God, whose broad eye sees the end from the 
 beginning, loved the spirit he saw it necessary to 
 chasten, and sent the discipline in early life, to 
 save that which had brought forth no " fruit unto 
 holiness" in nature, although many faithful hearts 
 had to bleed for a time, and sorrow as those "with- 
 out hope," until the issue of the great plot should 
 be unfolded. 
 
 With many tales of fox-chasing and fox-cunning, 
 irresistibly charming to boys of their age, Amade' 
 cheated the rugged way which led them to a differ- 
 ent and more distant part of the forest than Felix 
 had ever yet seen. Here the oaks stood thicker 
 upon the ground, the interlacing branches and 
 spiry undergrowth, giving it the appearance of 
 some primeval grove, whose sylvan solitude man 
 had not dared to disturb ; and the same stream 
 that ran so quietly through the castle garden, 
 meeting with many obstacles from rocks and 
 inequalities of ground, roared with a voice like 
 that of an angry spirit (as it rushed on its head- 
 long course), increasing the wildness and savage 
 grandeur of the scene. Feelings of awe had 
 already begun to creep over the boys, as is ever 
 the case when Man, standing in the temple of 
 mighty Nature, is aware of the Divinity that rules 
 the spot ; but astonishment was added with almost 
 paralysing effect, when Amade, applying his linger 
 to his lips, gave a shrill whistle, which was answered
 
 22 THE NEIGHBORS CHILDREN. 
 
 close by, and Dietrich, the wild, frightful, and 
 revengeful Dietrich, rushed forth from the thicket, 
 and, with a cry of maniac joy, threw himself 
 upon Eugene. For him resistance would have 
 been useless, had it been offered; but naturally 
 timid, fright had now rendered him powerless, and 
 with fainting limbs and nerveless brain, he strug- 
 gled not in the hands of his captor, who bound him 
 hand and foot with every demonstration of savage 
 delight. No word escaped the poor boy's lips; 
 he had fully recognized Dietrich, and he gave him- 
 self up to his enemy as submissively as the dove 
 yields to the swoop of the falcon. Not so Felix ; 
 his first impulse was to fly; but Amade, now fearing 
 nothing but his escape, soon overtook him ; and 
 although the boy made stout resistance, he was at 
 length overpowered by superior strength, and a 
 handkerchief was forced into his mouth to stifle 
 the cries which he had already sent forth into the 
 still forest, hoping, but vainly, thereby to bring 
 some help. He fought until overpowered, for 
 Dietrich, having easily disposed of Eugene, now 
 came to the assistance of Amade, and bound him 
 hand and foot with cords, with which, as it seemed, 
 he was plentifully provided. Feeling how useless 
 the further resistance of one weak boy against two 
 powerful men would be, he yielded quietly to the 
 fate, whatever it might be, that awaited him, and, 
 more collected than his frightened companion,
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 23 
 
 endeavouring to gather some light from the con- 
 versation of the men who were so unexpectedly 
 arisen as enemies. 
 
 " What does this mean, knave?" asked Dietrich 
 of Amade, with a scowl. 
 
 "I bring you two instead of one," said Amade, 
 laughing. " I did not want this fighting fellow 
 any more than yourself; but I could not help 
 bringing him. He must not be suffered to escape, 
 for he would go back to the castle and betray us 
 both ; no, keep him as close as you can, at least 
 until after I have made tracks from this abomi- 
 nable Deutschland. He would be sure to tell 
 what he saw, and nobody must know that I had 
 anything to do with Eugene. But indeed I pity 
 the poor boy, for I have always had a liking for 
 him, and it must have been his evil genius that led 
 him into my way this morning." 
 
 "A bad business, a bad business," muttered 
 Dietrich ; " what shall I do with the boy ? he does 
 not belong to any part of my plan." 
 
 " You must take what you can get, or give up 
 your silly purpose altogether," said Amade, 
 fiercely ; " I have no notion of putting my neck 
 into the hangman's noose ; 'tis a manner of going 
 out of the world I never fancied. You must either 
 take both or none ; and if you choose to wander 
 about here as you have been doing, you will be 
 sure to be discovered ; in that case you will be 
 24
 
 24 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 condemned to the death of an incendiary, before 
 you will have had time to accomplish your plan of 
 vengeance." 
 
 The look of threatening bestowed on him by 
 Dietrich awed him into silence ; but he folded his 
 arms, and assuming an attitude of scornful deter- 
 mination, he waited until his comrade should decide 
 and speak. 
 
 It was some time ere he did so ; and then again 
 much altercation ensued. Dietrich insisted that he 
 had no wish to punish Felix along with Eugene ; 
 he said he knew what the boy's parents would 
 suffer from his removal ; ah ! he only knew how 
 well the grief occasioned by the loss of a child 
 his little Annie his only darling ; no, he had 
 vowed revenge upon her grave, and revenge now 
 stood in her stead to him he could not, would not 
 give up Eugene, now that he had him in his power. 
 Amade', when he again spoke, represented the ex- 
 treme imprudence of letting Felix go back ; in any 
 event he must be kept some time from home, whilst 
 Dietrich prosecuted his plan of carrying off Eugene 
 to Poland, or at least until his own term of service 
 had expired, which would be shortly, and he was 
 beyond all reach of pursuit in France, where his 
 mother lived. For although he too was kindly 
 disposed towards Felix, he was not weak enough 
 to expect to bind the boy to a promise of secresy 
 which he would be sure to break, since he would
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 25 
 
 certainly tell how he had met himself with Eugene 
 in the forest, and then it could not be but that he 
 would suffer punishment as being an accomplice 
 in the abduction of the latter. "No, no," said 
 he, as he concluded his argument, " there is nothing 
 else that can be done ; Felix must share the lot of 
 Eugene, at least for the present, or else the whole 
 affair is at an end." 
 
 Dietrich at length was made to comprehend what 
 Amade meant, and going towards the boys, bade 
 them make no noise, neither offer any resistance, 
 for both would be unavailing. Much of their 
 future treatment would depend on their quiet sub- 
 missiveness ; at present nothing more was required 
 of them than to do as they were told ; and as their 
 first act of obedience to their new master they were 
 bidden to follow him in silence to a spot, towards 
 which he led the way. He strode over the crack- 
 ling undergrowth, as though quite familiar with 
 the way, although path there was none, bearing 
 still, as the heart of Felix told him, in a direction 
 opposite to Steinrode. The trees at length began 
 to grow thinner, the thickets less tangled, ;md 
 patches of blue sky appearing through the foliage, 
 showed that they were approaching the opposite 
 edge of the forest. The neighing of a horse 
 caused them to look up, and there by the side of 
 a by-road made by the colliers of that region for
 
 26 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 transporting wood to their coal-pits, stood a small 
 miserable wagon, covered with coarse linen, to 
 which was harnessed a stout country horse, seem- 
 ingly able to carry them on a long journey, for 
 although rough as a tinker's pony, he was in ex- 
 cellent condition. 
 
 A quantity of clothing, made of the roughest 
 material, such as is worn by gipsey tinkers and 
 collier boys, was taken from some hidden coffer 
 within the vehicle, and our two acquaintances were 
 directed to put on such as their conductors 
 designated, divesting themselves of every article 
 of their own by which they could possibly be re- 
 cognised. The next act of procedure was to cut 
 off their hair ; this was speedily done by Amade, 
 and in the most disfiguring manner, so that in the 
 patched and squalid dresses they were obliged to 
 assume, no one could have recognised them as the 
 children of nobility ; for we must acknowledge 
 those advantages of person which birth is supposed 
 to confer are greatly aided by the auxiliary of 
 dress. Whilst all this transforming process was 
 going on, Amade and Dietrich only exchanged a 
 few words with each other the whole business 
 being accomplished in a few minutes, and the boys 
 having been desired to mount up into the wagon, 
 a request which they seemed rather reluctant to 
 obey, they were somewhat rudely assisted to do so, 
 after which the confederates separated. Dietrich
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 27 
 
 took his place beside them, and after threatening 
 to punish all attempts to escape, or any refractory 
 behaviour maintained a resolute and gloomy 
 silence, closing his ears to the prayer they would 
 utter, and deaf to the sobs which issued from their 
 breaking hearts, he drove his stout charger rapidly 
 over stock and stone, at a pace which occasioned 
 such a jolting of the wagon as threatened every 
 bone in their bodies with dislocation. That he was 
 fearful of pursuit was evident ; for he not only 
 urged the animal to a speed absolutely cruel, but 
 held on his way through a wild mountainous region, 
 by solitary roads, where no human being appeared, 
 and where no smoke, curling above the tree-tops, 
 gave sign of human habitation. 
 
 We must leave them for awhile to pursue their 
 disastrous journey, to look after those anxious 
 hearts left behind: but let us just enquire what 
 Amade did, or how he concluded the first act of his 
 treacherous drama, so successfully begun, and the 
 termination of which his coward heart trembled to 
 contemplate. He remained standing on the same 
 spot where Dietrich left him until the sound of 
 the wheels was entirely lost in the distance ; a 
 bright red spot glowed on his dark cheeks, and his 
 eyes burned with unusual light. At length he 
 roused himself. 
 
 "Would that I had never seen those unlucky 
 jewels," said he to himself; "they have done me 
 24*
 
 28 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 no good, but caused me to live in daily terror of 
 detection ; and now I have plunged still further 
 into crime, and must deepen the dye by adding to 
 it duplicity. Ah ! so it is ever ; one cannot stop 
 with one sin after the first step is taken, others 
 must follow. But now there is nothing left for me 
 but to play the play out. Would that this accursed 
 term of service were at an end, for I shall never 
 know a moment's peace until I am safe in my 
 native country. It will be horrible for me to face 
 my mistress, but I must do it like a man ; but I 
 would far rather have given that haughty Melanie 
 
 to Dietrich than Felix ah ! that hurts me more 
 
 than all the rest. But I must act, and quickly ; 
 self-reproach will now do no good." 
 
 He proceeded, even as he spoke, to gather up 
 the clothing of which he and Dietrich had divested 
 the boys, and carried them to the bank of the 
 stream, at a place both deep and rapid, which lay 
 about a quarter of a league from the castle, and 
 in a direction entirely opposite to that from whence 
 he parted with Dietrich and his captives. He laid 
 their caps and upper garments on the shore to show 
 that at this spot they had gone into bathe ; and 
 some yards further down, he hung a portion of 
 their linen on some bushes that protruded from the 
 water ; and as at that place the current was par- 
 ticularly strong, it might be very readily supposed 
 they had both been swept away by its rapidity, and
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 29 
 
 drowned. Having accomplished all this, he re- 
 turned to the castle by a circuitous route ; and 
 entering by the porter's lodge in front, he spoke to 
 the old woman at the gate, and went on directly to 
 the servants' room, where he was glad to find his 
 absence had not been noticed. Not a word was 
 said of the children ; and thus many hours passed 
 before any one missed Felix and Eugene from 
 among the rest. And indeed, it was not until the 
 family were called to assemble for dinner, that any 
 one, except the mother of Felix, thought of en- 
 quiring for them ; but then each one recollected 
 that neither of them had been seen from the time 
 of the early breakfast hour. Then the consterna- 
 tion rose to a fearful height, and each heart boded 
 misfortune.
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 "And wilt them pluck my fair son from mine age, 
 And rob me of a happy mother's name ?" 
 
 LADY Lindenburg, occupied with her other chil- 
 dren, did not remark the protracted absence of 
 Felix with any uneasiness, until the morning was 
 far advanced. Wondering at a disobedience so 
 unusual in any member of her family, she was 
 prepared to chide him for his unwonted delay ; but 
 when the dinner-bell rang, and the others appeared 
 ready to take their places at the table, her dis- 
 pleasure changed to alarm when she found he was 
 not among the number. 
 
 She enquired of Herman if he had seen his 
 brother of the servants, if any of them had met 
 him on his return from the village ; a negative from 
 each one was the only answer to her question. 
 The dinner was left untouched. Filled with 
 anxiety, the mother despatched messengers every 
 where for tidings of her missing boy ; some to the 
 park others to Petersmuhl although she felt 
 assured he would not go there after her expressed 
 wish that he should not. The forest was searched 
 she examined the gardens herself but all was 
 in vain. No one had seen him but Ehrenfried, and
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 31 
 
 the farmer to whom he had gone with his father ; 
 both had seen him leave the village on his home- 
 ward road, but this was at so early an hour, that it 
 gave no clue to what might have happened. Hour 
 succeeded hour each one increasing the weight of 
 anxiety that pressed upon her heart, but she 
 yielded not to the tears that would have unnerved 
 her, until late in the evening; then the messengers 
 sent to a distance returned, and all brought the 
 same answer no traces had been found. 
 
 Until this time, Lady Von Grosse, accustomed 
 to Eugene's long absences (for he went wherever 
 he pleased without asking permission), was by no 
 means alarmed ; and expressed herself to Melanie, 
 that she thought "Lady Lindenburg was making a 
 great rout about nothing ; she did not know why 
 boys should always be tied to their mother's apron 
 'twas a sure way to keep down their spirit. For 
 her part, she would let Eugene do as he pleased 
 there was nothing she loved so well as independence 
 of character." But when the bell was rung for 
 supper, and Eugene did not answer to the summons, 
 then her consternation was wild and fearful. She 
 ran shrieking through the garden ; and, unheeding 
 the darkness, into the park. 
 
 "Eugene, my child Eugene, come to me!" 
 and those screams tore the hearts of all who heard 
 them they sounded like the cries of a maniac. 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the scene of
 
 32 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 confusion and dismay that now took place in the 
 orderly household at Steinrode. The servants, sad 
 and affrighted, gathered in groups about the hall, 
 or on the staircase ; crying, whispering, or running 
 about apparently half distracted, as they saw the 
 agitation of their superiors. The children, with 
 the exception of Herman and Melanie, were sob- 
 bing aloud. Old mother Spiller had penetrated to 
 the family room, and with little Pauline on her lap, 
 sat weeping beside Lady Lindenburg, whose fears 
 of disaster had now amounted to certainty; yet 
 calm, although with a face as pale as death, she 
 once more ordered the forest to be searched 
 directing the men to carry flambeaux, leaving no 
 spot unvisited. Herman had until this moment 
 stood beside her, mastering his own emotion to 
 comfort and assure her; although the heavy drops 
 of perspiration that stood upon his broad white 
 forehead, showed how deeply his brother's heart was 
 wrung. But now he left her, determined to make 
 one of the exploring party, going with the portion 
 who went on foot ; whilst Mr. Bulow and two of 
 the grooms mounted on horseback, and determined 
 to follow the windings of the stream ; particularly 
 as one of the stable-boys remembered that Eugene 
 had asked him about getting him some worms, at 
 the same time saying he was "going fishing one of 
 these days!" 
 
 This afforded a slight glimmer of hope to all but
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 33 
 
 Lady Lindenburg. They might, in pursuing their 
 sport, have gone farther than they intended, and 
 so lost their way, being bewildered in the intri- 
 cacies of the forest ; or else, leaving the track 
 entirely, had wandered to some herdsman's cottage, 
 from which it was too late to return. 
 
 But no such hope cheated the heart of Felix's 
 mother ; she knew him too well to believe he would 
 disobey her to such an extent as this implied ; and 
 she sat with folded hands and in silent sorrow, 
 endeavouring to subdue the tumult raging in her 
 mother's heart, and bring it to that submission 
 which she had many times already experienced 
 was demanded of those who would be children of 
 God. 
 
 After the departure of the last party, all had 
 become comparatively silent. Aunt Angela was a 
 real comfort at this time to her afflicted sister, and 
 endeavoured to be so too to Lady Von Grosse, if 
 she would have permitted her ; but that lady 
 would not listen to a word from any one ; she 
 turned away from aunt Angela, pushed Melanie 
 to one side when she would have approached her, 
 and continued her fruitless roaming in the park, 
 although the dark day had ended in a thick mist, 
 or rather drizzling rain, which, added to the chill 
 mountain blasts that moaned through the trees, and 
 detached the withering leaves from their branches, 
 would at any other time have filled her with alarm,
 
 34 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 and now was fraught with danger to her health. 
 But a mother's anxiety now predominated over 
 every thing else ; she heeded not the gusts that 
 tossed the swaying branches, waving like giant 
 arms above her head she knew not that rain 
 was falling, or if she did, cared not that it might 
 be injurious to herself her son, her idol, for she 
 had ever loved him better than his sister, was 
 abroad, exposed to the same inclemency, and she 
 could not give up her search while hope remained. 
 Aunt Angela had deemed it best to leave her ; 
 so giving a servant orders to see that she did not 
 wander in an unsafe direction, she once more 
 entered the room where she had left her sister 
 surrounded by her children, whose loud grief had 
 been somewhat subdued by the spark of hope 
 kindled up for a moment by the evidence of the 
 stable-boy. No word was spoken a half-sup- 
 pressed sob from one of the sisters alone broke the 
 silence that reigned within that room so lately 
 cheerful ; the old clock in the hall chimed the hour 
 of ten, and the glare of torches gleaming through 
 the windows from without, told of the servants' 
 return. A wild shriek was heard from the garden ; 
 it was from the mother still calling on her son's 
 name, and the cry was most agonizing. Another 
 moment and a horse was heard galloping over the 
 gravelled walk. A bustle without showed that the 
 servants had pressed forward for news ; but no
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 35 
 
 acclamations followed as they would have done 
 on the reception of joyful tidings ; no footsteps 
 pressed forward to carry the lost boy to his des- 
 pairing mother; a boding stillness succeeded to the 
 previous rush ; and Lady Lindenburg, crossing 
 her hands meekly over her bosom, said, " Go, 
 Angela, and hear the worst: I am able to bear it !" 
 
 The horseman was the groom who had accom- 
 panied Mr. Bulow, and when Angela reached the 
 hall he was standing in the midst of a group of 
 servants, dripping with rain, and holding the cap 
 and clothing of Felix in his hand, from which the 
 water was likewise streaming. No further confir- 
 mation of their fears seemed necessary ; a few 
 words explanatory of how and where he had found 
 them was sufficient. The servants retired to the 
 kitchen to conjecture how and where the body 
 would be found, and to tell marvellous tales of the 
 spirits of the Hartz, who were known to attract 
 boys away from their parents, and u keep them 
 ever so many years." 
 
 "Indeed," said Dolly, the chambermaid, "I 
 should not wonder if the Berggeist * made them fol- 
 low him into the water, like the fairy did Seppi, 
 the goatherd." 
 
 " I thought of that when I saw the linen hang- 
 ing on the bushes in the middle of the stream," 
 
 * Mountain goblin. 
 25
 
 36 
 
 THE NEIGHBORS CHILDREN. 
 
 said Eric, the groom who had found the clothes, 
 " and I was almost afraid to venture ; yes, it must 
 be so, that is if the bodies are not found, for I 
 suppose my poor lady will have us all out dragging 
 the river, to-morrow." 
 
 "I thought something was to happen," said 
 Dolly, as she hitched her chair a little closer to 
 that of Eric, " for, this morning, the black cat 
 looked up into my face, and mewed three times." 
 
 "And I declare," said Grettly, the dairy-maid, 
 " old Blackhorns would not give me a drop of 
 her milk, and kicked the pail over three times in 
 spite of me ; and that is always a sign of some- 
 thing." 
 
 " You are a set of silly fools," said the cook ; 
 " do you suppose the cats know what is going to 
 happen, when sensitive creatures do not ; or that 
 the black cow held up her milk because master 
 Felix, poor dear, was going to be drownded. The 
 cat cried because she was hungry and wanted to be 
 implenished ; and the only sign about old Black- 
 horns was, that she deposed you to be a fool. 
 Get you off to your beds ; your sitting up won't 
 do no good, and there won't be no carousing you 
 in the morning." 
 
 Some of those she addressed followed her bidding 
 and example ; but others sat still, and building up 
 a large bright wood fire in the ample hearth, their 
 party soon became augmented by some of the"
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN? 37 
 
 neighboring tenants, among whom the sad news 
 was already spread, and dropped in one after 
 another, they whiled the dreary night away with 
 many a wild legend and tale of superstitious bear- 
 ing, the truth of which they did not for a moment 
 question, until in their excited imaginations suppo- 
 sition almost became belief that Felix and Eugene 
 were spirited away by some demon of the Hartz ; 
 "but this," they added, " will be proved if the bodies 
 are not found." The grey and misty morning 
 found them still discussing the matter ; and glad 
 were they when the dawn called them once more 
 to their usual occupations. 
 
 Aunt Angela had broken the tidings brought by 
 Mr. Bulow as tenderly as possible to her sister ; 
 no violent outburst of grief resounded through that 
 chamber of mourning the family were silent in 
 their woe they knew it was by the hand of God 
 they had been smitten. Lady Lindenburg bade her 
 sister go to her suffering guest, who had met the 
 party on horseback in the park on their return from 
 the river ; it was on seeing Eugene's clothes that she 
 had screamed so wildly ; and Mr. Bulow dismount- 
 ing from his horse, gave the bridle to one of the 
 grooms, and at length succeeded in persuading her 
 to accompany him to the castle. 
 
 Some soothing cordial was given her by the 
 benevolent hand of aunt Angela, who moved about 
 like a minister of mercy among these afflicted ones,
 
 88 
 
 THE NEIGHBORS CHILDREN. 
 
 her hysterical emotions after a time were quieted, 
 and she at length sunk into a quietude resembling 
 sleep that quietude which, although we do not 
 lose all consciousness, is yet sufficient to blunt the 
 sharp edge of the mourner's sorrow, and steals over 
 the stricken heart like twilight veiling with her 
 dewy robe the day exhausted by the summer's 
 heat. Then giving Melanie many charges to 
 watch beside her mother's bedside, and stationing 
 one of the maidens in an ante-room, she turned to 
 her sister's chamber, and there, locked in each 
 other's arms, they watched and wept the weary 
 night away. 
 
 Mr. Bulow proposed that a messenger should at 
 once be sent after Baron Lindenburg, who was 
 stopping at a friend's house for that night. It 
 was at no great distance, but it was necessary that 
 the place of his sojourn should be reached before 
 he should have left it ; as early in the morning he 
 expected to proceed on his journey. The night was 
 becoming each moment more wild and stormy ; but 
 Eric, the groom, declared his willingness to set out 
 at once, which he did, notwithstanding his super- 
 stitious belief in spectres and goblins, for Dolly had 
 given him a bit of St. John's wort to tie round his 
 neck, which she averred was efficacious enough to 
 drive away all the Demons of the Hartz into the 
 Red Sea. 
 
 The morning broke without any improvement in
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 39 
 
 the weather. The face of nature was clothed in 
 gloom, which but too well corresponded with that 
 which clouded the hearts of this afflicted family. 
 The rain poured down steadily throughout the day 
 the wind swept in fierce gusts through the park, 
 stripping the half-denuded trees of the foliage that 
 remained the cattle clustered together in groups 
 by the hedges and it was, altogether, a season 
 when the shelter of home was to be desired ; yet 
 the grey dawn had scarcely struggled into exist- 
 ence, ere the servants and retainers were out to 
 renew their search. 
 
 Great was the sorrow that now ruled in that so 
 lately happy household. Lady Lindenburg, with 
 her husband far distant, and bowed down to the 
 very earth by the weight of her affliction, was yet 
 obliged to order the arrangements necessary for the 
 recovery of the corpses of her son and Eugene ; 
 but with the self-command she ever maintained, 
 her own feelings were kept under restraint, and 
 her habitual piety led her to seek comfort from a 
 source whence it is never denied in prayer. The 
 evening brought the Baron back to the home he 
 had so lately left ; and night's deep shadows had 
 already shrouded the forest, when the men engaged 
 in dragging the river returned from their ineffectual 
 search. There was nothing more that could be 
 done, and the sorely-stricken parents endeavored 
 to be silent under the Unerring Hand that had so 
 25*
 
 40 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 mysteriously wounded them. As children of a 
 wise and benevolent Parent, who until this moment 
 had never veiled his face in darkness, but showered 
 blessings and sunlight on their heretofore happy 
 path, they felt that in this present dark dispensa- 
 tion it was not theirs to question, but submit; they 
 therefore gave up their Felix as one they were no 
 more to meet until the earth should be called to 
 judgment, and the sea to give up its dead. It 
 would have been a comfort to have looked upon the 
 corpse of their fair-haired boy, and visited the grave 
 where the dear dust reposed ; but since this could 
 not be, his memory was sepulchred deep in those 
 parental hearts, and cherished with an affection 
 which needed no marble to remind them of the one 
 who faded, even in his budding, from their sight. 
 
 "I told you so, Eric ; I told you so," said Dolly, 
 as the servants once more gathered around the 
 kitchen-fire, to give utterance to the many conjec- 
 tures that had arisen on their failure to find the 
 bodies, "I know'd you'd never get them. Ah! 
 poor Master Felix ! he will never be among us 
 again, with his laughing blue eyes, and his merry 
 ways. I hope, since he is not drowned, for if he 
 was the body would have turned up somehow, that 
 it was the Riibezahl that took him away, for they 
 say he always uses the children well that he carries 
 off; but the Zernbock "
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 41 
 
 "It is a pity," interrupted the fat cook, "that 
 one of them had n't carried you off, and kept you 
 awhile, to stop your talking ; but they were too 
 sensitive to do that, for they knew that one tongue 
 like yours would set them all in profusion." 
 
 Dolly now began to flare up ; and, forgetful of 
 the sad occurrence which had called up the mention 
 of the mountain demons, she began fiercely to 
 retaliate on the cook with the very member that 
 that worthy personage had deemed too noisy for 
 goblin land ! 
 
 "I should not wonder, Madam Greasyface," she 
 began, "if the Zernbock made you a visit ; he only 
 comes after ugly people." 
 
 "None of your arguevatins," interrupted the 
 fat cook, "there comes Mother Spiller she'll 
 soon settle you;" and indeed, at the same moment, 
 the old lady entered the kitchen with an injunction 
 that all would retire to rest as speedily as possible, 
 as it was desirable that the house should be kept 
 perfectly quiet. There was no gainsaying this ; 
 the strangers departed to their homes the ser- 
 vants one by one went off to their several places 
 of rest the lights were all extinguished and, 
 save the melancholy chirp of the cricket on the 
 kitchen-hearth, deep and mournful stillness reigned 
 over the sorrowing household of Steinrode.
 
 42 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 "This is a lonesome place for one like you." 
 
 FOR many days Lady Von Grosse gave way to 
 the most boisterous demonstrations of grief, calling 
 constantly on the name of Eugene, until those 
 kind friends under whose roof she was dwelling, 
 began to fear for her reason. In her day of pros- 
 perity, she had never looked beyond the enjoyment 
 of the present life ; and when the day of calamity 
 came, she had no strong-hold to which she could 
 flee. All that the good aunt Angela could urge 
 was without avail ; she turned a deaf ear to the 
 admonitions, soothing as they were, of one whom 
 she insisted could not feel as a mother who had lost 
 her only son. She declared the sun of her exist- 
 ence was forever darkened, and that God had dealt 
 hardly and unjustly with her; and that rebellious 
 spirit, which alarmed, by the violence of its mur- 
 murs, the kind old maid, was in nowise subdued 
 until Lady Lindenburg, conquering the sorrow of 
 her own heart, went herself to her suffering guest, 
 and showed her that great as was the calamity that 
 had fallen on both, there was no affliction sent by 
 the hand of God that he would not give them 
 strength to bear.
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 48 
 
 The calm, pale brow of the mother, plainly 
 attested the depth of her own feelings while she 
 thus benevolently attempted to give comfort to 
 another, who, although not more severely stricken 
 than herself, had yet to learn that sweet and sooth- 
 ing assurance which comes like a whisper from the 
 spirit-land the still small voice that is heard amid 
 the tumult and the storm of grief, which bids the 
 trusting mourner remember, " He doeth all things 
 well ;" and she felt herself strengthened to better 
 bear her own burden by the effort she made to 
 assist another, to whom the same ability had not 
 been given. Lady Von Grosse was touched by her 
 words, for she could neither doubt their sincerity, 
 nor question the mother's right to feel ; both were 
 exhibited by the unmistakeable manner of the 
 bereft, who, bowing meekly before the mandate 
 "Be still, and know that I am God," was yet 
 ready to pour drops of consolation on the wounds 
 of another, while her own heart was bleeding at 
 every pore. Awed, therefore, by the majesty of a 
 grief that, whilst it mourned, yet did not murmur, 
 that of Lady Von Grosse became much lessened in 
 its violence, when, for the first time in her life, she 
 began to think. Until the day she had left Haus- 
 dorff, her time had passed in one giddy round of 
 pleasure. She could not believe but that her path 
 was to be strewn with flowers, even to the end of 
 her earthly course ; but of that end itself she
 
 44 THE NEIGH BURS' CHILDREN. 
 
 suffered no thought to intrude its unwelcome 
 shadow would have dimmed her sunshine. Her 
 time, since the destruction of Hausdorff, and their 
 consequent ruin, had been spent in lamenting their 
 hard fate, or regrets for the pleasures she could no 
 longer procure or enjoy. The first stroke sent by 
 the Unerring had failed to produce the salutary 
 effect always intended by afflictive dispensations, 
 and now a second and more severe one was sent to 
 repeat the teaching of the lesson ; and, in great 
 mercy, at this time it did not fail. 
 
 She now began to see how faulty she had been 
 in committing the care of her children to strangers 
 in turning over to hirelings the performance of 
 those sacred duties which is peculiarly the charge 
 of mothers, and ought to be their pride (for woman 
 is nowhere so truly great as in the nursery, since 
 it is there that the first good seed is to be sown, 
 the first gems of an evil nature to be crushed) ; 
 and to the self-will and steady disobedience in 
 which they had ever been permitted to indulge, 
 the present calamity might mainly be attributed. 
 Deeply now did she regret the time she had spent 
 in the whirl of pleasure such pleasure as if at 
 this period offered to her, could not give one 
 moment's soothing to her pained spirit ; and 
 Melanie, who, notwithstanding the loss of her 
 brother, by constantly practising the same perverse 
 and disobedient behaviour she had ever done, keep-
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 45 
 
 ing constantly by its exhibition before her the evil 
 effects of her own negligence in regard to her 
 children, was anything but a comfort, since it only 
 deepened her self-reproach, and served to point her 
 conscience with a sharper sting. 
 
 From the date of this sore affliction a very per- 
 ceptible change was observed to have taken place 
 in the family at Steinrode. The flood of their first 
 high tide of grief had passed away ; but not with- 
 out having left deep and lasting traces. Their 
 cheerfulness gradually returned ; but the same 
 boisterous merriment never. Their natural mirth, 
 " the child of good-nature and conscious innocence 
 of heart," was for a space subdued; but Time, as 
 he bore them along his stream, blunted (as he 
 always does,) the sharp edge of their sorrow, and 
 it again beamed forth, but never so brightly as 
 before. Herman greatly missed his companion in 
 study and in play ; the girls their fair-haired 
 laughing brother, who was the merriest of them all, 
 and whose joyous spirit burned ever with a light that 
 communicated its own radiance to the rest. The 
 Baron was grave. Lady Lindenburg ah ! there was 
 little change in her, save her cheek was paler, and 
 her eyes more dove-like ; there was that within that 
 passeth show a mother's heart has depths it is not 
 easy to fathom. Aunt Angela spent now the 
 greater part of her time with them ; and pitying 
 the neglected and self-willed Melanie, she benevo-
 
 46 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 lently set herself to work to eradicate the faults 
 engendered by her erroneous education, and to 
 prepare her mind for the reception of better 
 things ; a task in which, although at first it did 
 not promise much success to the good old maid, 
 yet with that spirit of true charity which " hopeth 
 and endureth all things," she yet determined to 
 persevere in her efforts, trusting that He in whose 
 name she sowed the "good seed" would give the 
 increase. 
 
 Thus the family gradually resumed the occupa- 
 tions and studies which the sad event we have 
 related had for a time interrupted. The Baron, 
 who had not given up his kind intentions in favour 
 of the peasant boy, and since the loss of Felix, was 
 more kindly disposed, now not only permitted 
 that Ehrenfried should come to the castle to re- 
 ceive instruction from Mr. Bulow with his own 
 children, but was determined, if the boy proved to 
 be what he hoped, to build a cottage in the village 
 for his mother. Thus in doing and planning good, 
 they found balm for their own wounded spirits ; 
 and although the winter set in to them in unusual 
 gloom though the long corridors and high-roofed 
 hall looked vacant and dreary though they could 
 not discern the same sparkling beauty in the snow- 
 wreaths, and uttered no jests as they used to do 
 when they looked at " old Zobtenberg"for signs of
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 47 
 
 the weather, the winter passed; and not without 
 blessings and comfort. 
 
 Christmas came and New Year ; but not with 
 the bright anticipation and childish enjoyment of 
 the preceding no; remembrance was too busy 
 for that; yet not so busy as to forget there were 
 others to be made happy, although they were sad. 
 No brightly illuminated Christmas-tree was placed 
 in the hall or parlour ; but the poor of the village, 
 and tenants on the estate, received their annual 
 presents, and more largely than usual. A long 
 table was spread in the servants' hall, where the 
 poor were feasted with a good dinner, and " indeed 
 where they did eat," as Doily confided to Eric, 
 " as if they had never eaten before, and never 
 thinking of poor Master Felix, whom she was now 
 morally certain the Rubezahl had spirited away." 
 
 Public notice had been given of the disappear- 
 ance of the two boys, and rewards offered for the 
 recovery of the bodies ; for few or none questioned 
 that they were drowned. But the winter passed, 
 and no more light was thrown on the mysterious 
 affair than on the day of its happening ; and the 
 uncertainty of those who at first were inclined to 
 doubt gradually yielded to belief. 
 
 Spring once more spread her green mantle over 
 
 the earth ; the hedges bloomed in flowery beauty, 
 
 the garden stood forth in all its pride of budding 
 
 loveliness, and the lark, mounting high in the 
 
 26
 
 48 THK NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 heavens, sung his songs of praise. Nature caino 
 forth from her long wintry sleep in renovated 
 beauty ; but spring to the mourner's heart brings 
 little joy. The contrast is too painful ; the 
 trees bud out and blossom, the flowers burst forth 
 in gladness from the earth ; the forest wears again 
 her vernal garb, and stands forth enrobed in bright 
 and freshened foliage there is no missing in 
 Nature for what winter destroyed, since spring re- 
 turns all ; but the grave never gives back what it 
 shrouds within its dark bosom. Does not every 
 mourner feel his sad bereavement renewed yet 
 more painfully as spring returns to Earth the 
 treasures for which in winter she seemed to 
 sorrow ; but to those who weep over the graves of 
 the loved ones who made their world, she brings 
 but sadness, if they look no further than the 
 present imperfect state. But there are those who 
 know of better things those who, tracing in the 
 "unvarying serenity of purpose" with which the 
 mighty mother performs her steady changes, bring- 
 ing seed-time, and harvest in their appointed 
 courses, the Wondrous Power by which she is alike 
 govefned and upheld believe that for man, the 
 favoured creature of God, there, too, is an awaken- 
 ing the glorious resurrection of the body is 
 shadowed forth in all. But Nature's budding 
 beauty charmed not as heretofore ; there was no 
 sympathy between these scenes of their happy
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 49 
 
 childhood and their present changed feelings 
 they were admired but not enjoyed ; for Felix, the 
 laughing, merry Felix, was no longer among them, 
 and all seemed drear and desolate. Oh ! how 
 changed every thing seemed ; yet the change was 
 only within themselves ; for the same attention 
 had been paid to every thing as formerly, but they 
 could not romp and play as they had been used to 
 do. Melanie had been throughout far less troubled 
 than the rest; she had never loved her brother; 
 he had often ridiculed her for her fashionable airs, 
 betrayed her to her governess, and, besides, was 
 constantly quarrelling with her. And on the 
 whole, she felt rather better than usual ; for since 
 his absence she had not felt her self-love wounded 
 by her mother's partiality for her son, a pre- 
 ference which she never cared to conceal ; and by 
 constantly mortifying Melanie, had the bad effect 
 of hardening her heart against all affection for 
 Eugene. 
 
 Time brought a salutary change to Lady Von 
 Grosse ; sorrow and misfortune forcing her to give 
 up the hollow enjoyments to which she had hereto- 
 fore sacrificed her whole existence, gave her space 
 to consider how false was the light by which she 
 had been dazzled ; how foolishly nay, wickedly, 
 she had acted in her negligent raising of her 
 children. She never suspected to what an extent 
 Melanie's evil disposition had been fostered, until
 
 50 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 at this time, when she was obliged to have her con 
 tinually at her side ; and how bitter was the pang 
 that shot through her heart at the constant 
 evidence the selfish girl gave of not being able to 
 bestow one solitary ray of comfort on her suffering 
 parents at a period when it would be joy to be able 
 to cling to a promise afforded by her, of which, 
 alas ! there was not the least sign. Melanie loved 
 no one but herself; she knew not, neither could be 
 made to comprehend the glorious feeling of sacri- 
 ficing her own happiness for the sake of procuring 
 it for another. No thought, therefore, that by 
 duty and kindness she might mitigate, if she could 
 not remove, her mother's deep sorrow, ever entered 
 her mind; therefore she did not attempt it, and 
 moved about as usual among the subdued group, 
 the only one whose brow wore no shadow of the 
 sad event which had plunged them all into gloom. 
 
 With great pain, therefore, Lady Von Grosse 
 saw the number of faults that had taken deep root 
 in her daughter's heart ; and now she did not only 
 watch with all a mother's care to check their rapid 
 growth, but was resolved to make every sacrifice 
 of herself, in order to retrieve, as far as possible, 
 the time she had lost. 
 
 The great bereavement she had met with in the 
 loss of Eugene, had produced a tempest in her 
 soul which had not passed away without effect 
 the mists which had enveloped her mental being
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 51 
 
 were all dispersed misfortune had raised the veil 
 which heretofore bounded her vision only to this 
 world, and prevented her looking beyond it ; and 
 Adversity, like storms that are said to purify the 
 ocean, leaving, when their fury is spent, precious 
 pearls upon the shore, had brought forth fruits 
 more costly than they ; and now that she learned 
 to look beyond the grave, and to know that man 
 was not made to revel through life's short day, but 
 for active usefulness, she was anxious that they 
 should find a place where she might at once begin 
 the education of her daughter. 
 
 The situation of forest-warden, which had been 
 so contemptuously refused when offered by a friend 
 in the first stage of their misfortune, was still open 
 for their acceptance ; and now so changed had 
 Lady Von Grosse become, that it seemed to be the 
 very spot she desired, and she besieged her husband 
 with petitions that they might be at once permitted 
 to remove thither, believing it to be, according to 
 her new views, the surest atmosphere for the build- 
 ing up of her daughter's- mental health. 
 
 The Count, less changed than herself, was tardy 
 in responding to her wishes ; he still hoped that 
 something more suited to his tastes might be found 
 in the capital, but as nothing turned up there for 
 his benefit, and his wife not relaxing her importu- 
 nities, he at last yielded to them. 
 
 It was on a glorious day towards the end of 
 26*
 
 62 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 summer, when the golden grain waved ripening for 
 the harvest in the brilliant sunshine, that the Lady 
 Von Grosse's family left the hospitable dwelling at 
 Steinrode, where they had for so long a time been 
 sheltered, to begin the journey towards their new 
 and far-distant home, which lay in the very bosom 
 of the wild and wonder-teeming Hartz. 
 
 With great emotion the two families parted from 
 each other. Companions in suffering, they had 
 been brought nearer to each other, and so obtained 
 more intimate knowledge of their individual cha- 
 racters than could have been accomplished by any 
 other means, and that acquaintance had not been 
 without profit to both. Lady Lindenburg was 
 glad to find her neighbor was not the heartless 
 being she at one time appeared to be ; approving 
 highly of the course she proposed taking with 
 Melanie, inasmuch as she not only showed a great 
 deal of good sense, more than any one had given 
 her credit for, but displayed evidence of lofty and 
 proper feelings, such as proved her worthy of the 
 friendship of the good ; while on the other hand, 
 Lady Von Grosse, struck with the Christian con- 
 sistency displayed by the Steinrode parents, as 
 well in their first happiness in their well dis- 
 ciplined family as in this their sore trial, and the 
 calm submissive manner in which they bowed to 
 meet the stroke, the courteous and unvarying kind- 
 ness taught by gospel spirits of hospitality, and
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 53 
 
 extended for so long a time to herself and family 
 all had taught her that there was truth in the 
 religion that they possessed ; and by this pure 
 example her heart was opened to receive its teach- 
 ings. They parted then with regret from each 
 other, there being but little likelihood of their ever 
 meeting again ; for long and dangerous paths lay 
 between their several homes, and circumstances 
 seemed at present to forbid even a distant prospect 
 of re-union. 
 
 Leaving the family at Steinrode to pursue their 
 accustomed routine of life, we will go to the Hartz 
 with Lady Von Grosse, and see her transformed 
 into a forester's wife, dwelling amongst and like 
 the poor whom she had formerly so much despised. 
 
 Her husband was an amiable but weak man, 
 without half the force of character that belonged 
 to herself, and as such was little able to sustain 
 her with counsel or co-operation in the task which, 
 to prosecute successfully, filled her whole soul, and 
 awoke energies within her to follow a task in which 
 she vainly endeavoured to arouse him to a participa- 
 tion. 
 
 " He could not see," he said, "that Melanie was 
 worse than others ; he thought she should not give 
 herself so much unnecessary trouble ; the girl would 
 do well enough. For his part he would leave nothing 
 undone to get them out of this dreadful place he
 
 54 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 was sure he should yet get an office in the capital, 
 and then they could live as well as ever." 
 
 These remarks would silence, though they did 
 not change the purpose of Madame Von Grosse, 
 as she now preferred being called. Her heart had 
 been too fully awakened, and by a power that 
 teaches too thoroughly to be misled by such 
 sophistry ; so she let him talk on, resolved to be 
 firm in the prosecution of what she now knew to 
 be her duty. 
 
 They travelled many days ere they reached the 
 solitary spot where they were to find a home so 
 different from that to which they had been accus- 
 tomed. Melanie was particularly sullen during 
 the journey. Nature stood forth in unspeakable 
 magnificence ; mountain peaks that rose far above 
 their heads, bathing their summits in the clouds ; 
 chains of dark and sterile rocks that skirted the 
 base of these mountains, or some river shore, 
 crowned on the highest point with heavy masses 
 of time-worn towers, contrasted vividly with the 
 green of the valleys and blue mirror of the streams 
 that wound their crystal currents through them to 
 the sea. The ruins on the rock served to remind 
 the traveller of the genius of departed power, the 
 genius that delighted in war and bloodshed, looking 
 gloomily down on the triumphs achieved by peace, 
 in the vine-clad hill, or fruitful valley ; but for 
 such contemplations Melanie had no taste. They
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 55 
 
 approached nearer and nearer to the mountains; the 
 forest grew thicker, and the scenes more gloomy ; 
 and twilight reigned within its shadow long ere the 
 sun had withdrawn his rays from the earth. To a 
 small house in the very bosom of the deep wood, 
 surrounded by a neatly paled garden, they bent 
 their steps, for they had to leave the carriage in 
 which they travelled at the outer edge of the 
 forest, and as there was nothing but a footpath, 
 they were obliged to walk the intervening distance. 
 A pair of large and branching antlers nailed on 
 the high peaked gables of the house by way of 
 ornament, showed that this was the forest lodge ; 
 and by those who had not known such luxury as 
 our Von Grosse acquaintances had been accustomed 
 to, might have been hailed as a very comfortable 
 home. But it is contrast that causes the pang 
 in reverses that constitute a great deal of the 
 suffering that many experience on a change of cir- 
 cumstances. Here there was really enough to be 
 found for man's daily wants shelter, plenty of 
 food, and means to procure comforts and clothing ; 
 but those whose lives have been spent in gilded 
 halls, cannot at once realize that " man wants but 
 little;" and, therefore, our friends gazed in aston- 
 ishment at the small rooms, naked floors, and 
 common furniture made only of white pine, clean 
 indeed, but no better than that used by the vil- 
 lagers of Hausdorff. A good substantial supper of
 
 5G THE NEIOHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 broiled game partly soothed the disgust of Melanie 
 and her father ; but Lady Von Grosse was satisfied 
 she wanted solitude, and here she was glad 
 to be secluded, where no one knew her, or the 
 history of her misfortunes, for the occurrence of 
 which she felt herself so greatly to blame. 
 
 The Count soon began to love his forest craft, 
 and became somewhat interested ; but Melanie 
 suffered the most severely from the unpleasant 
 novelty of their altered condition. Never having 
 been accustomed to pursue the slightest employ- 
 ment that promised usefulness, she found the 
 tedium of her solitary life absolutely frightful. 
 Lying at a distance from the high-road, they saw 
 no passers-by, and neighbours were too far off; and 
 besides, being all of the poorer classes colliers, 
 laborer's, wood-cutters, and so forth the compa- 
 nionship would have availed little to the Von 
 Grosse family, even had they become acquainted 
 with those who in rank, tastes, and education, were 
 so different from themselves. One peasant maiden, 
 to carry water and milk their cow, was their only 
 servant. 
 
 Madame Von Grosse undertook the guidance of 
 her own little household ; she spared not herself in 
 the prosecution of her new duties in this, to her, 
 unwonted course of life, and she encouraged 
 Melanie to, and insisted upon, her faithful per- 
 formance of her allotted share of the labor. With
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 57 
 
 vrhat reluctance did the latter encounter the heat 
 and smoke of the kitchen, when her mother de- 
 manded her assistance, for Marie was mostly busied 
 with out-door work ; and how unwillingly did she 
 dip her hands in water, fearful that their whiteness 
 and delicacy should be spoiled. But it is astonish- 
 ing how soon these notions pass off when^tbeir 
 possessor is thrown among those who think little 
 of such things. There was no one to admire her 
 fashionable tournure her graceful carriage; her 
 French phrases, taught by Mademoiselle Adele, 
 were laid aside as useless ; for Marie, understand- 
 ing nothing but the rude German spoken in her 
 native hills, stared in astonishment whenever she 
 heard them uttered ; and Treva, the forest-boy 
 who aided her father, was a Hungarian, and obliged 
 for the most part to be silent, for his knowledge 
 of German Avas as yet very imperfect. 
 
 The late Countess, laying aside all that she had 
 at one time imagined she could not exist without, 
 accommodated herself wonderfully well to her 
 strange situation. The new light that had broken 
 in upon her hitherto darkened heart, had wrought 
 a change in her mental world; a transformation 
 which none but those who " have passed from dark- 
 ness unto light," can comprehend. She went about 
 her household occupations with quite as much 
 cheerfulness as could be expected, and perhaps 
 'nore ; for the image of her lost boy still existed
 
 58 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 in all the vividness of its first coloring in her mo- 
 ther's heart ; but the same spirit that had once 
 "brooded over the face of the waters," and 
 brought the rude elements into harmony and order, 
 had shed its peaceful influence there. Tumult, and 
 passion, and strife, had forever subsided ; old 
 things had passed away, and, seen in another and 
 a better light, all had become new. " Be still, and 
 know that I am God," was the whisper that brought 
 her back to duty when a spirit of murmuring 
 threatened to arise; and the thought that time and 
 opportunity for saving her spoiled and neglected 
 daughter had been given, swallowed up every dis- 
 position to repine, in thankfulness for a boon as 
 little deserved, as it had at one time been little 
 desired. 
 
 Melanie scarcely recognised her mother, so great 
 was the change. Would that we could say her own 
 was as rapid ! But the force of example, whether 
 good or bad, bears insensibly on all; and now, 
 accompanied by a mother's prayers, it was impos- 
 sible it should altogether fail. With great wonder, 
 therefore, she saw her perform occupations cheer- 
 fully, or as a matter of course, from which, not 
 long since, she would have shrunk as degrading ; 
 and Melanie, who did not want for sense, began 
 voluntarily to take her part ; and she found it of 
 use to herself, inasmuch as she was happier, and
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 59 
 
 had less time left her to spend in regrets for the 
 gay pleasures they had lost with Hausdorff. 
 
 What great kindness is ever mingled with the 
 discipline of our Heavenly Father ! what drops of 
 mercy are ever poured in the bitter cup of human 
 suffering ! none ever drank it yet without this mix- 
 tare, and to none is accorded unmitigated woe. 
 The same Arbiter that pronounced the curse on 
 sin that doomed man to earn his "bread by the 
 sweat of his brow till he again return to the earth 
 from whence he was taken," has lightened his own 
 seemingly heavy sentence by rendering labor plea- 
 sant, and so those once spoiled children of fortune, 
 now condemned to forest-life, found out. Melanie 
 experienced the possibility of being able to exist 
 without the tableaux, children's parties, and the- 
 atres, which she had considered as the very cream 
 of enjoyment during their residence in the capital ; 
 or even the fine clothing, parrots, doves, gold-fish, 
 and toys, with which, at a later period, she had 
 wished to awaken the envy of the neighbors' chil- 
 dren, when they visited Hausdorff. 
 
 The calamity of one night had caused all these 
 to vanish like the winter's snow, that falls upon the 
 running stream ; and yet here, without any of 
 those resources even by the aid of which time used 
 to pass heavily, existence could not only be en- 
 dured, but was found to have charms. 
 
 There was a time when she would have disdained 
 27
 
 60 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 to notice a being so humble as their poor Marie. 
 But now, cut off from all other companionship, 
 when the weather was bad, and they were confined 
 within doors, she listened with interest to the tales 
 she would tell of her native and far-distant valley, 
 where she had left parents, and sisters, and bro- 
 thers ; and as her cheek would glow, and her eyes 
 glisten, as she spoke of her dear ones far away, 
 Melanie learned that human sympathies exist in as 
 full force, if not greater, in the hearts of the lowly, 
 than in those of whom the world and its follies 
 have divided the affections. 
 
 Instead of lolling in a luxurious carriage, in- 
 dulging in thoughts of how she was to excite the 
 envy or admiration of those she was going to visit, 
 her only recreation was a walk through the forest, 
 and to a lover of nature none other is so delight- 
 ful ; but the poor girl's taste had never been trained 
 in this direction, and the mysterious and wondrousv 
 treasures to be found in the stores of that benevo- 
 lent and provident benefactress, were as yet as a 
 sealed book to her. 
 
 She had not learned to trace the mighty Hand 
 so visibly displayed around her the rude and 
 knotted oaks chronicled no history for her perusal 
 the sterile rock and barren plain were but the 
 sterile rock and barren plain on which the sun 
 shone, or the rain fell. They speak with a loud 
 voice to those who look through "nature, up to
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 61 
 
 nature's God;" but to her they were mute. She 
 saw the eagle as he soared over the cliffs the 
 clouds that floated through the blue expanse of 
 Heaven but she had never thought by what 
 Power they were sustained. Surrounded, then, by 
 a source of pleasure of the loftiest and purest kind, 
 she was for a long time insensible to the enjoy- 
 ments within her reach. The sweet odor of the 
 pines was unheeded, as in her forest-walk she 
 brushed their hanging branches aside ; the breeze 
 that swayed the oaks the zephyrs that whispered 
 in the foliage the many-colored dyes with which 
 late autumn was now clothing the moss, shrubs, 
 and plants, were viewed with indifference. The 
 deep and solemn stillness alarmed her she trem- 
 bled and started at the flitting of every bird. 
 
 But it is impossible to dwell thus alone, as she 
 was, amid the potent charms of nature, and not be 
 operated upon by their influence. She will com- 
 mune with us whether we are willing or not ; and 
 as partaking a portion of herself, we must listen 
 the universal mother claims her right, and we yield 
 to her benign and gentle teaching. And so our 
 poor Melanie, though she at first understood not 
 the voice that spoke to her from this consecrated 
 loneliness, telling her that God is not only every 
 where, but every where good, at length began to 
 awake to better feelings ; although it was long ere 
 she comprehended why or how they came. She
 
 62 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 thought of her brother, and wept. Ah ! what 
 would she not have given that he were once more 
 with her to share her cottage-life that she might 
 be with him in his sports in the wood that they 
 might converse together as they used to do ? She 
 would no more be jealous of, nor quarrel with him ; 
 no ! in that lonely forest-dwelling, she would be to 
 him a tender and affectionate sister. The thought 
 that all her repentance was in vain that he was 
 gone forever began to soften the heart hitherto 
 so hard, and awoke in her a determination to try 
 and make herself the happiness of those parents 
 who had suffered so greatly ; and she found her 
 own in the effort. Nevertheless, the remembrance 
 of Eugene still kept its place as vividly as ever, 
 and served not only to strengthen her in her new 
 resolution, but was the constant subject of her 
 meditation during the cheerless walks she took 
 through the forest by herself. 
 
 Little by little, however, she became sensible of 
 the charms by which she was surrounded. She 
 was quite happy if she found some late straw- 
 berries that she could carry to her mother, or 
 discovered some flower of which she did not know 
 the name, or watched some lively squirrel as he 
 leaped from branch to branch, or bounded from 
 tree to tree. How she wished he would let her 
 catch him ! she wanted a companion so much, she 
 would love him so well, and treat him so kindly ;
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 63 
 
 but the nimble little fellow was perfectly satisfied 
 where he was his hollow tree was his palace, and 
 that wild wood his park. He was not ambitious 
 of human society ; he preferred cracking his nuts 
 himself, and where he felt at liberty to eat as many 
 as he wanted. Although she often ran after him, 
 he was not frightened, he could trust to his own 
 speed ; and there every day as she walked, she 
 would see him in her path, gazing with his bright 
 eyes upon her, nor turning to run until she came 
 so close that she was sure he could not escape. 
 
 One day she pursued him for nearly an hour, so 
 closely, that sometimes she believed she had only 
 to put out her hand and take him, when, quick as 
 lightning, he would vanish, and, after a time, re- 
 appear. A little out of humor at her want of 
 success, and heated and weary with her fruitless 
 chase, she sat down on a moss-covered rock to rest; 
 but as she rose to return, with horror and affright 
 remarked that she was in an unknown part of the 
 forest, and far from any road. Dreading that she 
 had lost her way, she endeavored to retrace her 
 steps ; but this was easier resolved on than accom- 
 plished. A cold autumnal wind swept through the 
 wood, and stripped the dry leaves from the 
 branches, strewing them so thickly on the ground 
 that the path, if there was any, could not be dis- 
 covered ; her limbs trembled with weariness, her 
 lips were parched with thirst, and she was tortured 
 27*
 
 64 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 with fear. A few stunted bushes, on whose 
 branches some small dark-blue berries, spared by 
 the early frost, still hung, would have served 
 to moisten her dry palate ; but she feared they 
 were poisonous, and so did not venture to taste 
 them. Involuntarily, at this moment she thought 
 of her young friends the Lindenburgs those 
 "dancing bears," as poor Eugene and herself had 
 nick-named them how they two had ridiculed 
 them for their studies in Botany and Natural 
 History; a very slender knowledge of which would 
 at this moment have shown her that humble bil- 
 berries could be eaten without danger, proving a 
 cordial of nature's providing for the denizens of 
 the forest. The deepening shadows of the wood, 
 on which the sun's rays were now obliquely falling, 
 increased her painful feelings by reminding her of 
 the approach of night. What would become of a 
 timid maiden, alone and half-fainting, in that lonely 
 spot, exposed to the chill frost of autumn, and 
 danger from wild and roaming beasts? 
 
 Among all the sins that had arrayed themselves 
 to appear before her in these moments of horror, 
 the thought of what she had once caused the 
 amiable little Ehrenfried to suffer, gave her the 
 most pain. She imagined how he had felt when 
 alone in the Steinrode woods, where she had sent 
 him on an errand she knew he could not accom- 
 plish, enduring the pain from a lately-broken limb:
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 65 
 
 and repentance visited her now for all her mis- 
 deeds, with a many-pointed scourge, from which 
 she could not turn away. She wept bitterly, and 
 acknowledged her punishment was just. 
 
 "0, have I not been wicked and foolish?" said 
 she aloud, in poignant self-reproach ; " surely God 
 has sent this trouble upon me for my cruelty and 
 falsehood. I must wander all night in this wild 
 place, and perhaps be devoured by wolves. Oh ! 
 if I can only find my way out, I will never 
 never do such wrong to any one again." 
 
 Setting forward with new determination, she 
 pressed as resolutely onward as her failing strength 
 permitted ; stumbling, at times, over some fallen 
 branch that was half-buried by the leaves that lay 
 thickly strewn around. With eyes dimmed by the 
 tears she had been shedding, she had failed to 
 perceive that her way was becoming easier, the 
 thicket less tangled, and the trees did not stand so 
 close together ; until a cloud of smoke made itself 
 visible above their tops, and the barking of a dog 
 was heard. There was yet daylight enough to 
 discern this, and most joyfully did Melanie hail 
 both sight and sound. Fresh courage was given to 
 her spirit, and new strength to her limbs ; a few 
 moments more, and her heart beat in grateful sur- 
 prise when she came in view of a small cottage, 
 which, from its rude appearance, was probably the 
 home of some wood-cutter. Towards it she hastily
 
 DO THE NEIGHBORS CHILDREN. 
 
 bent her steps, for there she hoped to find some 
 human beings who would direct or show her the 
 way to her home. But all at once, struck by a 
 sudden thought, she stood still. 
 
 "How do I know," she inquired of herself, 
 " what kind of people live there ? They might be 
 wicked and bad, like those that Marie tells me are 
 found dwelling in the Hartz, and will take my 
 clothing from me, and kill me. At any rate, they 
 will not show me the way out of this dreadful 
 forest without I pay them for it, and how am I to 
 do so when I have no money I, that used to have 
 so much ;" and she began to woep anew. 
 
 Poor little maiden ! how natural it was she 
 should have no confidence in others, since her own 
 previous life had been one tissue of falsehood and 
 deceit. She knew of nothing but selfishness 
 supposed that to be poor people must necessarily 
 be wicked and never heard that God oftenest 
 chose his treasured ones from among the lowliest 
 children of the earth. 
 
 As she thus stood lingering and irresolute before 
 the hut, desiring yet fearing to ask assistance from 
 the occupants, the door suddenly opened, and a 
 little boy with light curly hair, and cheeks as red 
 as any rose, bounded towards the spot where she 
 remained as if rooted to the ground. He did not 
 notice her in the now fading light, but called 
 loudly, " Micky ! Micky ! where are you hiding 9
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 67 
 
 Ah! you sly villain! there you are," he continued, 
 and his bright eyes sparkled -with joy as a young 
 goat came springing from behind some bushes 
 towards him, still holding some of the fresh leaves 
 it had been nibbling at, between its small lips ; it 
 skipped and played as though perfectly at home 
 with its merry companion, answering his bantering 
 gestures with many a threatening bound, and pre- 
 senting his bowed head to his youthful antagonist, 
 as if in comic expectation of a sham battle. But 
 just as the mimic warfare was about to commence, 
 the boy espied our poor Melanie ; and bestowing 
 no further attention on his goat, who yet reminded 
 him of his vicinity by some tolerably rude thrusts, 
 he approached her ; and one glance at the sweet 
 and child-like countenance that met her gaze, was 
 sufficient to disarm her of all suspicion. 
 
 No one could look into those clear blue eyes and 
 doubt ; his clothes were of the coarsest and poor- 
 est kind, but clean and whole ; and, completely re- 
 assured by his frank bearing and uncommon 
 beauty, she enquired : 
 
 " Do you know any one who could direct or 
 place me on the road leading to the forest lodge ? 
 I have lost my way." 
 
 " I do not know myself, but I will go and ask 
 my mother," was the unembarrassed answer; "but 
 won't you come in and rest yourself a bit ? You 
 must be tired and may be hungry, if you have
 
 68 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 been lost in the woods. It is funny you should be 
 lost ; I could not get lost, for I know all the trees, 
 and go ever so far into the forest every day. 
 Come now don't be afraid of Micky ; he is only 
 in fun when he pokes me so. I learned him to do 
 so indeed he won't hurt you," and as if to assure 
 the timid maiden of his protection, he took her by 
 the hand and led her towards the cottage. One 
 year ago, and the haughty Melanie would have 
 shrunk from a peasant's touch as though contami- 
 nation, like the plague-spot, should be communi- 
 cated ; but the dawning light that had now begun, 
 dimly, indeed, as yet, to disperse the dark night 
 that enveloped her soul, had given her a wider 
 and better range of vision ; but much had yet to 
 be done and learned, until it should shine forth 
 unto the full and perfect day. Grace only can 
 effect such change ; for it is only by grace any are 
 made to know themselves, God through his good- 
 ness leading them to repentance.
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 69 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " They ask no more than simple nature gives, 
 They love their mountains, and enjoy their storms." 
 
 THE family that dwelt within the lowly hut that 
 awakened both joy and suspicion in the mind of 
 Melanie when she first espied it, was that of a col- 
 lier, who, in his laborious task of attending his 
 coal-pits, which were at a distance, was seldom able 
 to be at home. The forests of the Hartz, seem- 
 ingly inexhaustible, furnish great facilities for 
 those who can earn a livelihood in this manner ; 
 and little is it to be wondered at, if some marvel- 
 loving traveller, having no more than sufficient 
 brains, encountering these smoke-begrimed men 
 pursuing their lonely occupation in these vast soli- 
 tudes, should have imagined them the same beings 
 with which superstition peopled those regions long 
 ago, and tradition has not failed to perpetuate. 
 Melanie had never yet set foot in a place where 
 poverty so great as this had made her dwelling ; 
 yet it was not squalid poverty, for all was clean. 
 Four children belonged to the humble pair, three 
 of which were seated at a rude deal table, on which 
 the mother was placing a large earthen dish of 
 boiled milk : a heaped-up pile of coarse black bread
 
 TO THE NEIGHBORS CHILDREN. 
 
 served on a plate of the same primitive kind of 
 ware, showed that good appetites were expected to 
 give zest to a meal from which an epicure would 
 have turned with disgust, but which to these simple 
 children of the forest was really luxurious. The 
 father as usual was absent ; the mother was about 
 to take her place at the table, when she missed 
 Fritz, the little fellow who had gone out to look 
 after his goat. 
 
 "Fritz, where are you?" she cried aloud; "we 
 are going to supper ; come quickly ! we are wait- 
 ing to ask a blessing never mind your goat. 
 Ah!" she continued, as the boy appeared in answer 
 to the call, leading Melanie by the hand ; " here 
 we have an unexpected guest; move closer together, 
 children; one of you Henry give the maiden 
 your chair ; poor thing ! she looks faint and tired." 
 
 " I am, indeed," said the poor girl, timidly ; " I 
 have lost my way, and would gladly be directed 
 how to find it back to the forest lodge, where my 
 father lives as warden." 
 
 " Yes, you surely shall be shown the way," 
 answered the mother, whose every feature beamed 
 with good-humour and contentment; "Joseph my 
 eldest boy shall go with you ; but now sit up to 
 the table and eat some bread and milk ; you must 
 be hungry after wandering so long ; and you will 
 need something to strengthen you, for the road you 
 have to go is a long one."
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 71 
 
 Melanie, exhausted by her long walk, sunk 
 altogether on the wooden bench, where the children 
 very cheerfully made room for her. The collier's 
 wife sought very carefully in the table-drawer for 
 something she did not seem readily to find ; but 
 little Fritz, divining her intention, cried out, 
 "Mother, you need not hunt for father's spoon, for 
 he took it with him ; " then turning to Melanie 
 he asked her, while his blue eyes beamed with 
 sincerity, "will you eat with my spoon I can 
 wait until you are done ; see, my spoon is the 
 prettiest of all, for it is new and shining." 
 
 The delicately nurtured damsel hesitated ; but 
 hunger and thirst, both severe masters, forced her 
 to comply. How delightful did that fresh milk 
 taste, though it was eaten with a pewter spoon, 
 and from an earthen dish how sweet was that 
 coarse bread, though cut in thick slices, and par- 
 taken of with a common labourer's half-clothed 
 children, such as, in the days of her prosperity 
 and supercilious arrogance, she would not have 
 suffered to come near her ! 
 
 But they had no idea of the distinction which 
 rank imposes ; but free as their native oaks, or the 
 air that blows over their native hills, they felt on 
 a perfect equality with their new guest, and could 
 not have been made to comprehend that there was 
 any difference between them, or by what law those 
 differences which the world acknowledges were 
 28
 
 72 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 made. She was wandering and a stranger ; and 
 by the law of the gospel, which they well knew, if 
 they were ignorant of conventional forms, they 
 had "taken her in," and through the one of 
 natural hospitality had supplied her want, although 
 their own stores were so scanty, without question 
 or demur did she think of those then to whose 
 prayer she had often turned a deaf ear of the 
 hungry who, by her order, had been sent away ? 
 They knew nothing of her rank, neither would 
 they have cared for it if they had ; and happy to 
 make the acquaintance of one so young, they 
 began to question her with a familiarity which 
 could not offend, since, although open, it was far 
 from being impertinent. 
 
 " And so you live in this pretty forest the same 
 as we do," asked one; "I am sure you must love 
 it I would not live any place else. In the 
 summer the nicest, largest strawberries ever you 
 saw grow here ; and we often gather baskets full 
 of the best mushrooms; we will show you where 
 to get them. And in the morning early it is so 
 sweet to hear the birds sing before the sun is up 
 ah ! I am sure there is no other place in the whole 
 world so beautiful as our forest." 
 
 " I have not been here very long," said Melanie 
 in a low voice ; " but, indeed, I am often right 
 lonesome, and the time seems very long to me in 
 this forest where one can see nothing but trees."
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 73 
 
 "But don't you work any?" said one of the little 
 girls who had never been lonesome, although she 
 had lived in a wood all her life. "Don't you spin, 
 and carry wood in winter, and gather strawberries 
 and mushrooms in summer, and play under the tall 
 trees as we do?" and she fastened a pair of curious 
 little eyes upon the stranger, as if she wanted to 
 scrutinize more closely a person who was lonesome 
 and did no work. 
 
 "Do you not see, Magda," said the eldest boy 
 Joseph, " that the stranger is not so poor as we 
 are it is likely she knows more than we do, and 
 does more profitable and useful work than picking 
 strawberries, or gathering mushrooms." 
 
 "Maybe not," sighed Melanie to herself; but 
 she said nothing, and cast her eyes in shame to the 
 floor. After a few moments' silence, and feeling 
 considerably refreshed and rested, she begged 
 with more courtesy than she had ever exhibited in 
 the whole course of her life, " Will you now be so 
 kind as to show me on my way through the wood? 
 I am afraid my mother will be very uneasy about 
 me." 
 
 Joseph was ready in a minute ; he took his cap 
 from the nail where it hung, and stood beside the 
 door, waiting Melanie's movement. But she hesi- 
 tated ; and her voice trembled as she thanked the 
 good woman for her supper of milk, "for," said
 
 74 TIL-: NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 she to herself, "she will, perhaps, be angry with 
 me, and will not let her boy show me the way when 
 she finds I have no money to give her." But she 
 found she was mistaken ; poor people can do favors 
 without hope of reward. 
 
 "We do not want money," said the collier's 
 wife, in answer to her humble npology ; and reach- 
 ing forth her hand, shook that of the little maiden 
 heartily, bidding her " God speed, and fail not to 
 come again." Fritz, on the claim of being 
 Melanie's first acquaintance, accompanied her a 
 little way as she followed her bare-footed guide ; 
 but his mother had told him not to go too far. 
 With great regret he took leave of his new friend, 
 saying, "Good night! good night! don't forget 
 to come to see us soon again ; I have so many 
 pretty things to show you a bird's nest with six 
 young ones but we will not rob it ; you will 
 surely not forget to come ?" 
 
 "No indeed I will not," answered Melanie, as 
 she stooped down to pat his curly hair ; when, 
 somewhat to her surprise, and, what is strange, 
 knowing her as well as we do, not at all to her dis- 
 pleasure, the little fellow threw his arms around 
 her neck and kissed her heartily. The next mo- 
 ment he was out of sight, but his merry voice call- 
 ing out, " Micky, Micky, come now and run after 
 me," was heard, and his joyous laugh, as he amused 
 himself with his playful goat, resounded through
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 75 
 
 the forest, until distance precluded the further 
 hearing. 
 
 By this time the moon had risen high in the 
 heavens, and peering down through the nearly 
 naked branches, danced in flickering shadows upon 
 the ground, and illumed the forest with her silver 
 light. Even Melanie was not altogether insensible 
 to the holy influence of the sylvan beauty that, 
 softened by the garish light of day, speaks not 
 only to the imagination, but to the heart ; and her 
 heart, prepared as it gradually was becoming for 
 the reception of good, was open to the silent 
 eloquence of the appeal. The tall trees that 
 looked like white-stoled priests in some lofty 
 temple, the night breeze that whispered through 
 them, and spoke its own mysterious language, the 
 stars that moved in their potential courses, looking 
 brighter, as seen through the frosty atmosphere, 
 than usual all were appealing to her better feel- 
 ings, and contributing to strengthen the dawning 
 interest she was beginning to have in better things. 
 The scene of Christian contentment she had 
 witnessed at the collier's cottage, the blessings 
 asked in the true spirit of humble piety over a 
 meal more frugal than any she had ever seen set 
 before any family in her life, the cheerful and 
 thankful enjoyment they exhibited in the reception 
 of blessings she deemed so moderate added 
 greatly to the view she was beginning to have of 
 28*
 
 76 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 realities more important than those vain shadows, 
 as she now recognized them which she had been 
 pursuing. 
 
 Wondering at the confidence exhibited by her 
 little companion, as he threaded the forest when 
 no path was visible, she could not forbear asking 
 him by what knowledge he did so. 
 
 "Joseph, "she said at last, "are you sure you 
 are going right ? how do you know you are on the 
 right road to the lodge ? If I could stray so in 
 the middle of daylight, is there not danger that 
 we may both get lost here in the night ?" 
 
 " It would not be easy for me to lose myself in 
 any part of this wood," said Joseph, laughing ; 
 " and, besides, it is not dark, for the moon shines 
 so bright up there ; but I often go when it is pitch 
 dark to relieve father at the coal-pits, and I have 
 never lost my way." 
 
 " Well, but how do you know that you are in 
 the right direction?" enquired Melanie ; "how do 
 you know now that we are going towards the 
 hunter's lodge ?" 
 
 " Father has learned me how to know that," 
 answered the boy ; " you see that bright star up 
 there," pointing to the polar star, " that there ono 
 never moves like the others ; and I have only tc 
 keep it before, or on one side, or behind me, as I 
 wish to go, and know where I am ; and then, too,
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 77 
 
 there is the moss on the trees, and the bark 0, I 
 can tell very -well where I am." 
 
 Melanie's thoughts involuntarily reverted to her 
 young friends of Steinrode ; she had been mortified 
 by, although she pretended to despise, their superior 
 knowledge in plainer and more useful studies than 
 those she had spent her whole time in pursuing, 
 and now she was yet more ashamed when she was 
 made to feel how much less she knew than this 
 rude forest boy. She had never heard Mademoi- 
 selle Adele explain the places or motions of the 
 heavenly bodies any more than she had been 
 directed to contemplate the workings of the 
 Mighty Power which upholds them in their 
 courses ; she did not even know to what sciences 
 such studies belonged. But desirous not to appear 
 altogether ignorant, she ventured, though hesita- 
 tingly, to remark, " I suppose your father must 
 teach you Natural " here she stopped ; she did 
 not know what term to conclude with ; of Astron- 
 omy she neither knew the name or derivation ; but 
 she had heard the terms of Natural Philosophy, 
 Natural History, or Natural Science, used ; but 
 she really did not know which one would best 
 apply, so she broke off suddenly. 
 
 " Natural what ? " asked her surprised compan- 
 ion ; " I do not know what you mean ; but I sup- 
 pose it is something you find in books. Father 
 tells me people have a great many; but in our
 
 78 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 house we have only two besides our primer and 
 spelling-books a prayer book and bible ; but see, 
 there is your home ; " and Melanie, turning her 
 eyes as he directed, saw the white walls and paling 
 of the garden belonging to the forest lodge dis- 
 tinctly through the trees. A light glimmered 
 through the window, and Melanie at this moment 
 felt more of a home-feeling than she had ever done 
 in her whole life before. Full of gratitude, she 
 begged her youthful guide to enter, that he might 
 receive the reward he so well merited ; but he was 
 steady in refusing. 
 
 "I cannot, indeed," he said; "I must now go 
 in an opposite direction ; it is time to relieve father 
 at the coal-pits; he will be expecting me before 
 this so good night, and take care not to lose 
 yourself again." 
 
 " Good night," was Melanie's response. 
 
 " Good night," he again repeated ; and turning 
 away, burst forth in a merry song, the cheerful 
 carol of which was heard long after he had 
 vanished amid the lofty trees. 
 
 Melanie, now that her mind had not much to 
 occupy it, dwelt much upon this little adventure ; 
 the love of human companionship is so natural, 
 that it gave her no small pleasure to have found 
 out that there were neighbors so near, although 
 they belonged to a class that, a short time before, 
 she would have spurned at all intercourse with as
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 79 
 
 t 
 degrading. And now she had not only eaten, and 
 
 held companionship with them, but absolutely loved 
 to think upon those happy-looking children, that 
 bloomed in that solitude, fresh and rosy as the 
 wild hedge-roses, that enlivened the green same- 
 ness of the forest with their presence and their 
 hue ; and scarcely conscious of her own intention, 
 and almost with surprise to herself, she one day, 
 not very long after, found herself on the way to 
 the collier's hut, Joseph had given her some 
 directions as to the course she was to take until 
 she reached a certain path, which would lead her 
 forward safely ; being one trodden by themselves 
 daily in passage to and from the coal-pits. 
 
 Who would noAV have recognised our haughty 
 Melanie, as she amused herself for hours in that 
 lowly room, Avith a collier's children, cutting out 
 pictures in paper for them, and teaching them 
 plays ; and at last, with great trouble to herself, 
 made a rag-doll with her own hands, and was fully 
 repaid for the effort it cost her, by the shouts of 
 joy which testified its approval. For the first time 
 in her life, she felt that she was loved and wel- 
 comed on her own account; rank was of no value 
 in a place like this, and she no longer shrunk from 
 the familiarity of those peasant children, as she 
 had done from the humble courtesies of the amiable 
 Ehrenfried, for here all were equal. She touched 
 the hand, although hardened by toil, held out to
 
 80 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 greet her by the bright-eyed mother, without any 
 repugnance. She permitted the gleeful children 
 to kiss her own, that held the little basket into 
 which they curiously peeped, for they knew it 
 contained treasures for themselves. In thus con- 
 tributing to the happiness of others, she made her 
 own ; and finding how valuable an antidote em- 
 ployment was against ennui in a place where there 
 was no dancing nor dressing for occupation, nor 
 monkeys and parrots for amusement, and recalling 
 the worsted spinning and knitting of the Linden- 
 burgs, which she had so much laughed at, she now 
 filled up her own spare time in similar useful works, 
 in the shape of many caps, comforters, and even 
 stockings, which under her mother's assistance, she 
 knitted for her new friends. Gradually, thus she 
 began to love work, and hate idleness ; and al- 
 though, at first, all did not go very smoothly the 
 spinning wearied her, and the knitting-needles hurt 
 her hands the pride she felt when her task was 
 accomplished, the pleasure she had in bestowing 
 the fruits of her perseverance, more than compen- 
 sated her for the efforts she made in these attempts 
 to conquer self. Nor was this the only good effect 
 of the great change adversity was slowly but surely 
 effecting in the character of Melanie ; for in pro- 
 portion as she tried to be kind and useful to those 
 who were not of her own immediate household, so 
 she became gentle and affectionate at home, and
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 81 
 
 particularly soothing and obedient to her mother 
 diffusing sunlight where she formerly chilled. 
 
 Her time, therefore, passed pleasantly; but by 
 degrees, as the season advanced, she had to remain 
 more within doors. Stern blasts sweeping down 
 from the mountains, and cold rains, heralded the 
 approach of winter. Soon ice and snow blocked 
 up the way, and permitted little egress to the 
 dwellers in that lonely forest-house. They seemed 
 shut out by the freezing barrier from the rest of 
 the world ; no human being broke in upon, and 
 pleasantly interrupted the quiet monotony of their 
 lives the faint sound of the distant village-bell, 
 borne by the winds as it rung on the sabbath, alone 
 reminded them that life was around them. For 
 weeks together they were unable to obey its sum- 
 mons, for they could not penetrate through the 
 piled-up snow-drifts that lay between them and the 
 house of prayer. With what longing did Melanie 
 now dwell on thoughts of the collier's family ! 
 She was really sad over the long separation ; and 
 often, often did she walk out on the snow-covered 
 waste, to see if there was any prospect of a walk 
 succeeding. But the voice that had been awakened 
 within did not slumber, although nature lay buried 
 beneath that white shroud. She who had formerly 
 murmured at every little disappointment, was now 
 become patient ; and when she found it impossible 
 to seek pleasure abroad, she acknowledged to her-
 
 82 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 self how delightful it was to be able to find it at 
 home. In the long winter evenings, she sat beside 
 the bright wood-fire that blazed in the kitchen- 
 hearth, learning of Marie how to spin flax, listen- 
 ing to her simple legends, or learning some 
 mountain ballad, which afterwards she would sing 
 to her mother. 
 
 At length the long and dreary winter passed 
 away, and with great joy Melanie saw the snow 
 melt from the foot-path, and the forest shrubs raise 
 their heads, as if glad to be released from the 
 folds of his cold mantle ; and long before the 
 walking was dry, she was on her way to the cottage 
 of the Wilhelms, for that was the name of her 
 collier friends. She often slipped on the soft snow, 
 the mud soiled her clothing, and the unwonted toil 
 wearied her; but she had forgotten to care for 
 such hindrances, and she only smiled to herself as 
 she contrasted her present plodding through the 
 dirt on foot, with the luxurious carriage in which 
 she used to ride ; and admitted that happiness is 
 more equally distributed between the rich and 
 poor, by the divine Disposer, than most are willing 
 to believe. 
 
 The children, who were clustered before the 
 little window, saw her coming, and ran with shouts 
 of welcome to meet her ; the very dog was glad, 
 and barked and gambolled around her in a manner 
 that almost made her afraid. The collier held out
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 83 
 
 his blackened hand to greet her, and Melanie did 
 not refuse to clasp it in her own. A few minutes 
 more, and she was seated in the midst of her young 
 friends. The treasures of the basket were dis- 
 played in the shape of dried fruits, which they 
 devoured with great zest, as she told them tales of 
 Mother Redcap, and fairy Poena, which she learned 
 whilst at Steinrode ; or the more marvellous 
 legends of the Hartz, related by Marie, of little 
 Children having been spirited away, and put into 
 dark caverns, because they were naughty. 
 
 " 0, how many new things you have learned 
 since you were here!" said little Fritz. "But 
 have you learned any new prayers ? I have learned 
 such a pretty one ! let me say it to you :" and the 
 child, folding his hands, and closing his eyes, 
 looked like the angel of supplication, as his sweet 
 infantine voice addressed the Father whom, young 
 as he was. he had been taught to love and know. 
 
 Our Father ! let ine pray to Thee 
 
 A pious child to make of me. 
 
 Make me like Him who, good and wise, 
 
 Did never little ones despise. 
 
 But if in manhood I should stray 
 
 From this safe path. 0, then I pray, 
 
 That even in childhood Death may bear 
 
 Me to the world where angels are. 
 
 I would be like them, and like Thee, 
 
 Saviour ! who died to ransom me. 
 
 "Now I will teach you that prayer if you want 
 to learn it. Do n't you always pray before you go 
 29
 
 84 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 to sleep ? we all do, for mother says the good 
 angels M'atch over children, if they ask the kind 
 Heavenly Father to let them." 
 
 Poor Melanie cast down her eyes to the floor 
 she blushed to be taught a second time by those 
 lowly children ; and as the blue eyes of her inno- 
 cent little favourite sought to read an answer in 
 hers, she was glad to turn her own away, for 
 the question shot painfully through her heart. 
 At Hausdorff she had never heard of such a 
 thing as beginning and ending the day with 
 prayer. When she was very small, her French 
 bonne had always put her to sleep by the relation 
 of some pretty tale ; and as she grew older, her 
 head was filled with love of dress and other 
 vanities ; they were her first thought in the morn- 
 ing, her last at night ; in such a frivolous mind 
 there was no place for prayer ; and at Steinrode, 
 as we have mentioned at an early period in our 
 narrative, she nor her mother never would be 
 present at the hour when the prayer was made, 
 for both laughed at what, at that time, they called 
 puritanical folly. Her mother, though greatly 
 changed, had not yet become so far learned in 
 spiritual things as to believe a child could discern 
 the beauty of holiness ; her own life was yet in its 
 dawning ; but God had prepared the means for its 
 increase unto bright and perfect day. 
 
 Lady Von Grosse had begun to view thing-
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 85 
 
 differently since the supposed death of Eugene ; 
 she had often begged her to humble her heart 
 before the Great Being who orders the destinies 
 of men ; but she did not herself comprehend the 
 mystery of the second birth. She knew not the 
 spiritual meaning conveyed in the words, " Except 
 ye become as a little child, ye cannot enter the 
 kingdom of heaven," for the Spirit alone gives 
 power to comprehend its own teachings. Melanie 
 was much improved, but the foundation for true 
 piety had not been properly laid; and it is more 
 than probable that had she this time been re- 
 instated in her former brilliant career, the bene- 
 ficial effects of Adversity's discipline would have 
 been lost. 
 
 The question of the child, however, had pene- 
 trated her heart ; her eyes filled with tears and 
 dropped upon the floor, and the little boy was 
 troubled to see her crying. 
 
 "Now don't be so sorry," said he, trying to 
 comfort her, " because you do not know it. I will 
 say it over and over, and you must tell it after 
 me, and you'll soon get it:" and he repeated his 
 simple prayer many and many times, and finding 
 he was about to cry too, Melanie, to comfort him, 
 was fain to be his scholar. 
 
 Many thoughts agitated her bosom Eugene 
 had never prayed ; God had removed him from the 
 earth ; but was he, she asked herself, with the
 
 86 THE NEIGHBORS CHILDREN. 
 
 angels? and her tears flowed until her visit was 
 ended. She now knew the whole wood in their 
 neighbourhood so well, that she feared not to 
 traverse the forest path if it was a little later than 
 usual ; and although the whole place looked bleak 
 and winter-stricken, she heeded it not, nor the 
 darkness that was clustering round. Ere she 
 reached her home, her heart was full ; the spirit 
 of prayer had begun its work ; arid there, in that 
 holy consecrated spot, where Nature daily hymns 
 her praises, was her prayer offered. She prayed 
 with humility and sincerity, and her heart was 
 lighter; the cold bright moon seemed to look down 
 and smile upon her, the only witness to the vow 
 she uttered there, to begin with assisting grace a 
 better life. Her sleep that night was sweet and 
 sound ; her first thoughts on awakening were 
 directed to the Great Source of light and being, 
 from whom proceedeth every good and perfect 
 gift. From this day she went not backward her 
 progress was slow, for she was very ignorant ; but 
 in the course she had chosen to pursue she went on 
 steadily, although from her faulty education she 
 had many hindrances to contend with. It was 
 now that her humble friends in the collier's cottage 
 were of real value to her. They were deeply 
 pious, although ignorant of all those forms that 
 pass current in the world ; their only lore was 
 derived from an old book which the good woman
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 87 
 
 of the house read every day aloud. Melanie 
 listened at first to what she heard, then opened it 
 herself and read here and there out of curiosity ; 
 but soon after finding the contents to interest her 
 more deeply than she at first supposed them likely 
 to do, she carried the hook home with her, that she 
 might read it aloud to her mother. Eva, for that 
 was the name of its owner, readily permitted her to 
 do so, as they had more than one ; and Melanie 
 greatly rejoiced at the comfort Lady Von Grosse 
 experienced from the perusal. She had never 
 ceased to grieve for Eugene ; and at times her 
 sorrow was great as ever ; hut now it gradually 
 grew milder ; and although her tears still flowed, 
 they were not so bitter as before. She listened 
 closely to the words her daughter read ; and they 
 sunk deep into her heart not one escaped. 
 
 " The goodness of God is, that we are not 
 entirely destroyed. His compassions are new 
 every morning they have no end ; and great is 
 his faithfulness. Hear, Lord, when I cry with 
 my voice ; have mercy also upon me, and answer 
 me. For when thou, saidst, Seek ye my face, my 
 heart said unto thee, Thy face, Lord, will I seek." 
 She saw, as though a veil had been withdrawn from 
 before her mental vision, how sinful her whole life 
 had been, the bad use she had made of the time 
 and gifts bestowed by her Maker in her days of 
 prosperity, of her wild and rebellious grief in the 
 29*
 
 88 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 first period of her overwhelming calamity, which 
 had no effect as to softening or humbling her 
 heart, until it was followed by the loss of Eugene. 
 
 She contrasted her own conduct through the 
 whole of that sore trial with that of Lady Linden- 
 burg, who, strong in the faith of Heavenly Wisdom 
 and Heavenly Protection, yielded so meekly to the 
 blow that had fallen, although her mother's heart 
 was as deeply stricken as her own ; and now 
 believed that nothing but the mighty change which 
 true religion can effect, could enable any one to 
 bear, as she had done, a change at the mention of 
 which she had always laughed at as chimerical, 
 having no existence but in the brain of fanatics. 
 But now her eyes were open to behold the true 
 light she read in the Holy Book that the Cross 
 is accessible to all ; and thither she repaired, that 
 beneath its shadow she might find comfort and 
 salvation, that is only to be found there. And 
 when at seasons almost discouraged by the remem- 
 brance of what she had been, she read how God 
 had brought one who was as great a sinner as her- 
 self "up out of an horrible pit, out of the miry 
 clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established 
 my goings." 
 
 It is astonishing what a closely sealed book the 
 bible is until the convicting Spirit shows what 
 high interest belongs to its perusal. A " stumbling 
 block and foolishness" to those who look no further
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 89 
 
 than this unsatisfying world ; no sooner does the 
 Mighty Spirit brood over the darkened heart, than 
 all obscurity is removed it is then their study and 
 admiration, unfolding the " mystery of godliness, 
 and the truth as it is in Christ." Happy for our 
 sufferers that they found it so ; for although no 
 chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, 
 "yet bringeth forth the peaceable fruits of 
 righteousness" to such as endure the chastisement, 
 all shall at length be merged in an "eternal weight 
 of glory." 
 
 Clouded as their minds had been, their progress 
 in the pursuit of knowledge belonging to the 
 divine life was at first tardy ; but the humility 
 they had now learned to exercise, led them to seek 
 assistance from others ; and Melanie becoming 
 acquainted with the grey-haired pastor of the 
 village church to which, when the weather per- 
 mitted, she sometimes went with Eva and her 
 children ; the good man began to consider her as 
 one of his flock, and included the forest lodge 
 within the range of his pastoral visits ; a circum- 
 stance which was productive of great pleasure to 
 the inhabitants of that lonely abode, and of great 
 interest to himself, inasmuch as he was one whose 
 heart was in the advancement of his Master's 
 kingdom. 
 
 To many minds, the change that had come over 
 the self-willed, haughty, and falsehood -loving
 
 90 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 Melanie, would seem incredible. But there are 
 many who know that there is no sinner, however 
 vile, who cannot be made a partaker of the " sal- 
 vation as it is revealed by the cross of Christ ;" 
 since the Scriptures tell us of those who were justly 
 numbered among the vilest, to whom its saving 
 influence reached. It is indeed to such that the 
 Bible tells us that the call is most loudly made ; 
 since " those that are whole need not a physician, 
 "but those that are sick." That they are the sub- 
 jects over whom mercy weeps in secret places 
 whom by every means and inducement it would 
 seek to find out, and encourage to follow him who 
 came, not to bring the "righteous, but sinners to 
 repentance." Melanie thought no hardship now 
 of trudging on foot to the village-church, although 
 the way was long, and the road rough, and her 
 companions among the most lowly children of the 
 earth ; even braving inclement weather to do so. 
 She had begun the battle against herself in ear- 
 nest ; and, aided from the true Source to which 
 she applied, her conquest became successful. The 
 only joy and comfort now of her deeply-bowed and 
 mourning mother, who still wept over the loss of 
 Eugene, though much less bitterly than at first, 
 she studied constantly how she could soothe and 
 cheer her ; for Madame Von Grosse, as she saw 
 what Melanie now was, compared with what she 
 had been, was but daily made more sensible of her
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 91 
 
 great fault in the negligent raising of her children; 
 and as she thought of Eugene, and the comfort 
 and support he might have been to her, had he 
 been properly instructed, the self-reproach that 
 mingled itself in all her contemplations, occasioned 
 a more bitter grief than even his loss. 
 
 Her husband, careless as ever, and thinking only 
 of his own gratification, made every excuse for 
 frequent visits to the capital, where he remained 
 for weeks at a time, on the plea of seeking for a 
 situation ; caring not that he left those lonely ones 
 without protection save from the young Hungarian, 
 Triva, who assisted him in his office as forest- 
 ranger. Fortunately, he was faithful. Marie, 
 uncorrupted by the ways of the world that lay too 
 far off to be imitated by the dwellers in that remote 
 region, was excellent in her capacity of a servant; 
 and Melanie and her mother, as time rolled on, 
 found out that they had much more to be thankful 
 for than, on their first arrival in that lonely place, 
 they could, have possibly anticipated ; so true is it 
 that the means of happiness are ever within our- 
 selves.
 
 92 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath, 
 For all in vain comes counsel to his ear." 
 
 WE must now leave the family at the forest- 
 lodge to pursue the new course of life on which 
 they had entered, to look after the boys ; whom, 
 when we left them, Dietrich was bearing through 
 wilds almost impervious, and roads scarcely pas- 
 sable, far far from their homes. For many miles, 
 no words were spoken save those when their captor 
 threatened them, if they made the least outcry; 
 their stout horse carried them briskly forward 
 through lonely and unfrequented ways, and gra- 
 dually the face of the country began to change. 
 The Silesian Mountains had grown dim in the 
 distance ; old Zobtenberg was no longer seen, and 
 the flat and level plains over which they now rolled 
 rapidly, presented features of a country very 
 different from those which they had loved to look 
 upon in their own. The Carpathian Mountains 
 loomed high and blue in the distance ; Large streams, 
 rendered passable by fragile bridges, of which the 
 wrecks of such as had spanned them before being 
 carried away by the rapid torrents of autumn, lay
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 93 
 
 strewn around ; wastes of scanty and discolored 
 grass, extending in wearisome uniformity, and 
 broken only by alternating bogs and sand-pits, as 
 far as the eye could reach, gave the whole a deso- 
 late and monotonous aspect, which increased the 
 melancholy of our young and hapless travellers. 
 
 For the first day, no sign of human habitation 
 enlivened the dreary scene. There was nothing in 
 the gloomy landscape to whisper hope, or create a 
 softer mood in the minds of our three acquaint- 
 ances ; nothing in the external objects which every 
 where met the eye, to divert them from their 
 inward broodings. With extraordinary rapidity 
 they hurried along. For hours, neither of the boys 
 ventured to break the enforced silence ; since the 
 countenance of Dietrich bore evidence of his sin- 
 cerity in the threatened punishment which was to 
 follow disobedience. The day, as we have said, 
 Avas drizzly and rainy ; and as it advanced towards 
 its close, became wild and stormy; heightening the 
 horror of their condition, if indeed by any out- 
 ward circumstance it could be increased. Dietrich, 
 as they travelled, had offered them some coarse but 
 wholesome food, which Eugene had scornfully 
 refused, and at this time was really very sick from 
 inanition ; but Felix, who saw no use in provoking 
 one from whose power they could not escape, 
 thought it best to yield to him in all that he 
 desired, although he could not imagine what were
 
 94 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 his intentions, or by what means he had become 
 his enemy. 
 
 While Eugene thus, by his refractory behaviour, 
 yet the more punished himself, and lay groaning 
 and weeping in the bottom of the waggon, Felix, 
 though he made no noisy demonstrations of grief, 
 was no less sad. He thought over the separation 
 from his home, and his loved ones there of the 
 trouble and sorrow his sudden disappearance would 
 cause , and self-reproach for the disobedience of 
 which he had been guilty, added greater poignancy 
 to his feelings. 
 
 " My dear, dear mother," he said to himself, as 
 he recalled her image, and her last kiss, and the 
 quick tears coursed one after the other down his 
 cheeks ; " I have deserved to suffer, since I dis- 
 obeyed you ; had I only returned as you bade 
 me, and not broken the promise I made had I 
 repressed the idle curiosity that led me to trans- 
 gress, I should at this moment have been happy 
 with you, instead of travelling I know not whither, 
 or for why." 
 
 It was late in the evening when Dietrich drew 
 up at a spot on the waste, where a few stunted 
 trees, and a smoke-blackened rock, showed that 
 gypsies or travelling tinkers had occupied the spot 
 before themselves, and promised to afford a kind 
 of shelter from the pelting rain. He then took a 
 bag of corn and some hay from the waggon, and
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 95 
 
 began to make some arrangements for passing the 
 night. He unharnessed the horse ; and, carefully 
 rubbing him down, made the animal as comfortable 
 as circumstances admitted. Felix asked permission 
 to assist him, which the old man granted ; and the 
 boy observed that his countenance was considerably 
 softened in its expression. Venturing on this 
 account to speak, although almost dreading to do 
 so, he asked their rude guide if he would not at 
 least tell them where they were going ; and he was 
 answered with much more mildness than he ex- 
 pected. 
 
 "Be easy you have nothing to fear, for you 
 shall see your home and parents again ; but now 
 there is nothing that you can do better than to be 
 quiet, and yield to my will." 
 
 He then brought forth some more food, which 
 he offered to both, and Eugene did not at this time 
 refuse ; and spreading some coarse cloths over 
 them, after he had bidden them lie down on some 
 straw in the bottom of the waggon, and go to sleep, 
 he seated himself under the shelter of the pro- 
 jecting rock, and fell into his usual mood of 
 gloomy musings, which were not at all interrupted 
 by the wind and rain, that swept in driving gusts 
 around him. 
 
 He awoke the boys at an early hour ; the storm 
 had passed away, and all looked brighter ; their 
 horses, refreshed by rest and food, trotted merrily 
 30
 
 96 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 onwards ; and Dietrich, although moody, was by 
 no means unkind to himself, although to Eugene, 
 who would not obey his summons to arise, he gave 
 a sound drubbing. This he resented to the utmost 
 of his power ; but he had to yield to his enemy's 
 superior force; but he revenged himself as far as 
 he was able by uttering all sorts of invectives and 
 threats of future punishment to be inflicted by 
 his father for such treatment of a nobleman's son, 
 which was listened to with as much indifference as 
 they were silly and impotent. 
 
 Felix, on the other hand, soothed by the assu- 
 rance that he should again see his parents and his 
 home, resolved to submit implicitly to the singular 
 old man, to indulge in no useless complaints, but 
 to obey, however unreasonable his demands might 
 be, hoping by this means to be able to shorten his 
 term of captivity and servitude. In view not only 
 of this, but because he could not but observe the 
 marks of the deep sorrow which Dietrich ever ex- 
 hibited, and which greatly excited his boyish com- 
 passion, although he had not the slightest idea of 
 its cause ; it was on the second day of their 
 journey that he strove to engage him in cheerful 
 conversation, and assist him in such occupations as 
 he was obliged to perform for their mutual benefit 
 in the course of their travel. This day was not 
 so dreary as the preceding ; for although Dietrich 
 avoided the frequented roads, that on which they
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDRE?^ 97 
 
 now passed was at intervals enlivened by the pres- 
 ence of human beings. Now and then some 
 traveller was met mounted on a mettled steed, 
 hardly to be restrained, the graceful cap of 
 crimson and silver, the neatly trimmed moustache 
 and handsome form, bespeaking the Polish noble ; 
 but in the swift passage of the rider, no word for 
 assistance could be addressed ; the peasants in 
 their sheepskin clothing, or sometimes one whose 
 full robe and pointed cap proclaimed him a Jew, 
 came by, and served to convince Felix, for Eugene 
 in his sullenness did not care to know, that they 
 were in the land of serfdom and oppression. 
 Although human habitations and villages were 
 again to be seen, Dietrich still carefully avoided 
 them ; and as forests had once more become 
 frequent, it was in their deep shadow that they 
 mostly passed the night. Felix soon learned from 
 the old man how to kindle a fire, for the weather 
 having grown chilly, it being late autumn, it was 
 very necessary ; and whilst he would be absent at 
 some peasant's cottage or village, where he was 
 obliged to go to purchase food, the boy did his 
 utmost to have things in readiness against his 
 return. 
 
 Eugene called him a fool for his pains, and 
 advised that they should both get on the horse and 
 ride off as fast as they could ; until his companion 
 represented that such a course would only make
 
 98 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 matters worse, for what could they do in a country 
 the language of Avhich they did not understand, 
 and of whose localities they were entirely ignorant. 
 So Eugene was obliged to be convinced of the 
 impracticability of such a scheme, although he still 
 remained firm in his purpose of thwarting Dietrich, 
 in spite of all that Felix could urge against the 
 imprudence of such conduct. The cheerful com- 
 pliance of the latter in all his requirements 
 softened the heart of Dietrich greatly towards 
 him ; and one evening when he had finished his 
 task of gathering such grass as the late autumn 
 yet permitted, during the absence of their con- 
 ductor after provisions, he began to speak in a 
 more confidential manner to him than he had yet 
 done. 
 
 "My poor boy," said he, as they were both 
 busy in attending to their four-footed companion, 
 whilst Eugene lay stretched out sullenly before the 
 fire his companion had kindled, "I wish I could 
 send you home to your parents. This thing was 
 not intended for you, and your friends are, no 
 doubt, grieving for the loss of such a good lad ; 
 and, besides, your are the brother of that dear 
 little girl that looks so like my own Annie, and 
 gave me an alms without my having asked any ; 
 but I dare not do so, my own safety forbids it. 
 And then I must not break my word to Amade" ;
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 99 
 
 until he is beyond the reach of danger, you must 
 stay with me ; I will take care that you get back." 
 
 " And Eugene, too ? " enquired the boy ; " will 
 you not let him go too ? His parents, no doubt, 
 grieve as much as mine; and the indulgence he 
 has been accustomed to makes it harder for him to 
 bear his present trial patiently than me. Won't 
 you, good Dietrich won't you let him go home 
 too ? " 
 
 Dietrich laughed scornfully. " No, my good 
 youth, no," he replied in a tone of determination, 
 as he set his teeth firmly together ; " the young 
 villain remains with me until poverty and hardship 
 shall have taught him how to feel for others, and 
 forced his haughty mind to bow, and humbled his 
 hard heart. He shall be made to serve those 
 whom he, in his day of pride, deemed little better 
 than the brutes that perish, and whom, because 
 they were poor, he would have trodden under foot. 
 Do you think that, after having ventured so much 
 on this game, and now having it altogether in my 
 hands, I am going to give up the revenge for 
 which I so long have panted?" 
 
 "Vengeance belongs only to God," said Felix; 
 "leave it to him to humble the heart of Eugene; 
 you only bring sorrow on your own soul when you 
 thus seek to revenge yourself. Are you not a 
 Christian have you not heard that it is the duty 
 of such to keep his commandments and do his 
 30*
 
 100 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 ? Do you not know the prayer in which 
 Christ bids us ask forgivness for ' our trespasses, 
 even as we forgive those who trespass against us.' 
 I know a little hymn we all learned at home ; let 
 me say it to you, Dietrich ?" 
 
 " Say it if you like," answered he, a little 
 moved by the boy's earnestness ; " I believe you 
 are a good lad, and mean well ; but I tell you first, 
 I am not much for such things." 
 
 "You would be happier if you were," answered 
 the boy ; " Dietrich, if you knew how happy 
 we all were at home " his voice faltered; but 
 regaining his firmness, after a moment's thought 
 repeated his hymn : 
 
 To the Saviour on earth his disciples did say, 
 
 " Lord give us thy spirit, and teach us to pray." 
 
 In wisdom and mildness he answered them, " Love 
 
 Thy God and each other, as do angels above ; 
 
 Showing mercy to all who ask it of thee, 
 
 And thy sins, though like scarlet, remitted shall be." 
 
 Does any one wrong thee? though sorely beset, 
 
 'Tis the spirit of Heaven the blow to forget, 
 
 Like the breath of the wind let its thoughts pass away, 
 
 Vengeance only is God's, and he will repay. 
 
 Can'st thou hope for thy sin to find pardon in Heaven, 
 
 If thy brother offending thou bast not forgiven. 
 
 By mercy alone shall mercy be met, 
 When death 
 
 Felix was here suddenly interrupted by Dietrich, 
 who, until this moment, had listened in thoughtful
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN, 101 
 
 silence ; but now he broke forth more passionately 
 than our young friend had yet seen him. 
 
 " Silence, boy ! silence!" he exclaimed; "wouldst 
 thou dare to attempt to alter, with the words of 
 thy mouth, that which I have once resolved? the 
 purpose, to accomplish which alone I live?" 
 
 His countenance had once more resumed its wild 
 and painful expression, which, indicative of the 
 stormy state of his soul, had in the beginning of 
 their journey so deeply moved the compassion of 
 Felix. He would have poured the oil of consola- 
 tion on its troubled sea he would have directed 
 him to the One who alone can say, "Peace !" and 
 all is still; but fearing to awake his maniac passion 
 by any further words, he sat down, disappointed, 
 frightened, and dejected, near the unhappy being 
 who was now the disposer of his fate, and gazed 
 upon him with an interest in nowise lessened by 
 the temporary violence he had exhibited. 
 
 But that desperate and brooding air ere long 
 was changed for one of more human seeming. He 
 leaned his head upon his hands, and sighed deeply; 
 and although he spoke no word, the looks that from 
 time to time he cast upon Felix, showed that, al- 
 though the boy had ventured to touch a deeply 
 thrilling chord, he bore him no displeasure ; and 
 the latter, recovering from his momentary alarm, 
 once more began to hope for better things. The 
 group that sat in that lonely spot would have pre-
 
 102 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 sented a subject worthy of some famed pen or 
 pencil. The night, so still and serene, with her 
 planets all abroad, speaking without a voice to the 
 ear, but yet with an influence louder than words ; 
 the fire kindled against the gray rock, flashing up 
 bright and brilliant, illumed the lonely wild, and 
 fell upon the faces of those who were to pass the 
 night in that solitary place ; revealing, as it 
 glanced and flickered upon their countenances, the 
 emotions that swayed the heart of each. That 
 stern, dark man, with his despairing look, and knit 
 brow, would have reminded us of one to whom the 
 door of mercy and hope was about to be closed for 
 ever ; but Felix, of the angel of Pity, who never 
 forsakes man, dropping tears over the calamities 
 she cannot avert, and pleading, even until he has 
 gone down to the dust of which he is a part : while 
 Eugene, in nowise softened by the sufferings and 
 discipline to which he had been subjected, nor ope- 
 rated upon by any of the influences around him, 
 was the very impersonation of a revolted slave. 
 The overwhelming sense of the injustice that had 
 been perpetrated upon him, and his indomitable 
 pride, that yet blinded him to the recognition that 
 Dietrich in the first instance had been wronged, 
 had closed up every avenue to better feelings in 
 his heart, producing more acerbity than even was 
 natural ; and woe and resentment steeped his soul
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 103 
 
 in bitterness that greatly increased the asperities 
 of his condition. 
 
 A different course of conduct would have done 
 much in soothing the savage vindictiveness of the 
 misguided peasant who had him in his power ; but 
 his faulty education stood in the way of this. He 
 first despised Felix for the "cringing meanness" 
 which led him to bow before the storm he could 
 not resist, and afterwards hated him in the same 
 measure as the latter succeeded in gaining the 
 confidence arid affection of Dietrich.
 
 104 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "Where trackless wilds seem lengthening as they go." 
 
 THE travellers had now left Austrian Poland far 
 behind, and entered the Russian division, where 
 the national character is more vividly marked than 
 in the former. For six days after this, they jour- 
 neyed over roads to which it would be difficult to 
 find a parallel, perhaps, in the world. Deep ruts 
 and deep holes alternated with fallen trees and 
 broken branches lying across the way through 
 forests where the land-marks were difficult to be 
 ascertained, and over bridges of the rudest con- 
 struction and doubtful stability. Their horse, 
 which had held up wonderfully for the first few 
 days, now began to exhibit symptoms of fatigue. 
 Both boys became anxious to know where their 
 journey was to end, looking inquiringly as they 
 passed the villages which their conductor no longer 
 avoided, in hopes that each one would prove the 
 home, and provide the rest of which they now were 
 greatly in need. To the few questions which Felix 
 thought proper to address to Dietrich on this head, 
 he would only answer, "you will get there soon 
 enough ;" but it was not until the evening of the 
 sixth day after entering Russian Poland had long
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 105 
 
 closed in, and their wearied horse had more than 
 once fallen, that they reached a sort of hamlet 
 which Dietrich told them was to be the limit of 
 their travel. 
 
 It consisted of a few miserable hovels, seemingly 
 inhabited by the lowest class of peasants, from 
 whose stolid indifference and unsocial selfishness, 
 as painted in their looks, no sympathy was to be 
 expected ; the hard, coarse life to which they were 
 subjected, successfully crushing every natural or 
 gentler emotion. Desirable as a place of rest was, 
 neither fatigue, nor the lateness of the hour, could 
 scarcely make this inviting. Nearly surrounded 
 by a forest, it appeared better fitted to furnish 
 lairs to the denizens of the wood, rather than 
 homes for creatures bearing the semblance of hu- 
 manity, of which those who came forth on hearing 
 the sound of wheels, could scarcely be said to do. 
 Clothed in dresses of untanned sheep-skins, with 
 high caps of the same material, their faces nearly 
 hidden by beard and moustache, and squalid to the 
 last degree, their figures struck not less painfully 
 on the eye, than they excited repugnance and 
 terror in the mind. Eugene shrank back in horror 
 which he cared not to disguise, and Felix would 
 scarcely have been able to exercise the portion of 
 self-command he had so lately acquired, had not 
 Dietrich spoken a few words of kindness to him, 
 assuring him that both were safe from anything
 
 106 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 like lawless violence, while in a rough tone he bade 
 his companion to dismount, for that "he had now 
 come to the place where spoiled boys were taught 
 manners, and how to feel." 
 
 They entered one of the largest dwellings, which 
 was the pot-house of the rude community. Several 
 men sat drinking at a table, nearly hidden in a 
 cloud of tobacco-smoke, conversing together in a 
 lang-uage which the boys had never heard, and 
 whose barbarous sounds served to increase the im- 
 pression already made. Here, then, in this filthy 
 tap-room, was the first meal consisting of warm 
 viands, served to our young friends since they had 
 left Steinrode ; and although they witnessed its 
 preparation, and noticed the condition of the 
 utensils used in its cooking all being of such a 
 kind as rather to destroy than create an appetite 
 it was devoured greedily. 
 
 They approached the table where the peasants 
 sat, in hopes of being able to understand something 
 that would give them some idea of where they 
 were, or their condition, but not one word was 
 intelligible ; and their consternation may be better 
 imagined than told, when to all their questions the 
 only answer received was that significant shake of 
 the head which says, "I do not understand." And 
 it was so not one in this place spoke or under- 
 stood a word of German ; and to increase the 
 uncomfortable feeling caused by this discovery,
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 107 
 
 Dietrich laughed maliciously when Eugene ex 
 pressed his sense of hopelessness by a flood of 
 tears. 
 
 In this filthy abode, reeking ever with the fumes 
 of Russian brandy and bad tobacco, the boys had 
 to remain many days; while Dietrich, who was 
 seeking employment, and often obliged to be 
 absent, gave them many charges as to what spots 
 to limit their wanderings whilst he was abroad ; 
 more on account of dangers which might arise to 
 themselves from going too far, than anv desire to 
 
 v 
 
 restrain. The liberty which they now enjoyed, 
 therefore, availed them little; any attempt to move 
 the stolid beings by whom they were surrounded, 
 was met by a cold shrug of the shoulders, or a 
 scornful laugh ; and at last threats, although not 
 expressed in words, yet too plainly in movements 
 to be mistaken, forced even the haughty Eugene 
 to perceive that silent forbearance was not only 
 the safest, but the only course. 
 
 Sons of an oppressed race, abhorring that sys- 
 tem of serfdom so adverse to man's nature, they 
 all so hated anything like nobility, that had they 
 really been aware of the true circumstances by 
 which these unhappy boys had appeared among 
 them, their hearts would still have been closed to 
 the calls of sympathy and justice. In their igno- 
 rance, they could have admitted no claim from the 
 one; in their brutal animosity to those whoso power 
 31
 
 108 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 they hated without daring to resist, they were only 
 too glad to have an opportunity of assisting tc 
 humble those who might, from their position, one 
 day be expected to give their voices in favor of 
 that despotism by which they were crushed. From 
 Dietrich's representations, they considered them 
 only as belonging to the brood of the serpent that 
 poisoned all their earthly enjoyment; and knowing 
 but little more than that the nobility, whom they 
 hated with an unspeakable hatred, commanded, and 
 themselves were born to obey, it was felt to be a 
 sort of triumph now, to have some power in their 
 own hands ; for nothing more clouded nothing 
 more barren can be imagined, than the minds of 
 the peasants born to perpetual slavery on the Rus- 
 sian frontiers. To be born noble, in their estima- 
 tion, was to be born wicked ; and the tale that 
 Dietrich, who was no stranger to them, had told 
 of his own wrongs, seemed to them legitimate cause 
 for his manner of action, and served to deepen 
 their abhorrence of those who exercised dominion 
 over them ; a slavery to which, although imposed 
 for centuries, they had never become inured. 
 
 The boys, therefore, turned away from those 
 whose ferocious appearance, and savage manners, 
 were in accordance with the place they inhabited ; 
 and they experienced sensations of relief when 
 Dietrich took them to a small and miserable hovel, 
 at some short distance from the hamlet : and so
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 109 
 
 separated them from all companionship with those 
 whose neighborhood was so unpleasant, if not 
 unsafe. Their housekeeping affairs were easily 
 arranged. Little was needed in a place like this, 
 and as soon as this was regulated, they were told 
 to prepare themselves for settled and steady work. 
 Hai'd indeed was the task assigned them ; as Die- 
 trich had got a job at wood-cutting, in the forest, 
 which kept him absent the greater part of the day, 
 that of the boys was to prepare a piece of ground 
 belonging to the cottage for tillage, and they found 
 it slavish to the last degree. Encumbered with 
 stones, and overgrown with brambles, all these had 
 to be cleared off before it could be dug ; which 
 their peasant master said it must be, ere the winter 
 set in, or else it would produce nothing in the 
 coming year. 
 
 Eugene, in spite of threats from his captor, and 
 entreaties from Felix, rendered no submission ; 
 thus adding to the rigor of his lot. Sometimes he 
 would weep throughout the whole day over his sad 
 condition at others, he would throw himself on 
 the ground in sullen despair ; but always refusing 
 to bear any part in the labor, maintaining that he 
 would rather die than work like a common peasant. 
 In vain Felix remonstrated with him, he was deaf 
 to all he could urge ; and the only alternative to 
 save him from the wrath of Dietrich, and corporeal 
 punishment, was to do a double portion of the work
 
 110 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 himself. A severe fit of sickness, the consequence 
 of his own imprudence, did not improve Eugene 
 either in temper or otherwise. Dietrich did not 
 neglect him while he was ill ministering to him, 
 it is true, in his own manner, but still making him 
 as comfortable as he could in such a place, and 
 with such means as he possessed ; but Eugene 
 remained self-willed and unbowed as ever. By the 
 time he had fully recovered his strength, the season 
 was far advanced ; and it became too cold for one 
 so lately an invalid, to be employed in out-door 
 labor. It was therefore decided that he was to 
 remain within to do household work to clean up 
 whatever had been used in the preparation of their 
 food, make the fire, carry water and wood, and 
 keep the house in order, for Dietrich was scrupu- 
 lous in regard to cleanliness ; and the performance 
 of these tasks were most rigidly enforced, although, 
 to our spoiled boy, they were more disagreeable 
 than those which had at first been allotted to him. 
 Their fare was of the plainest kind ; black bread, 
 cheese or when the latter was scarce, a few eggs 
 milk, and on Sundays bacon, were the principal 
 articles found upon their table ; but these were 
 eaten with a zest never known by the epicure, for 
 they were enjoyed with appetite, and seasoned by 
 the hunger produced by wholesome labor. 
 
 Felix, who was never treated unkindly by his 
 rude master, but permitted to converse with him
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. Ill 
 
 on all subjects as freely as the peculiar mood of his 
 mind would allow, assisted Eugene in his tasks as 
 far as lay in his power, and would have consoled 
 him if the latter had consented to listen. So the 
 holy sympathies which occupied his own heart, for 
 as he saw his master so very unhappy, the injustice 
 of which he had been guilty in bringing himself 
 away from his home, not being suffered to interfere 
 between selfishness and his knowledge of Christian 
 duty, reflected its sunlight back upon himself, and 
 illumined the gloomy atmosphere, that else would 
 have thrown back its shadow on his heart, and 
 withered it beyond all hope of saving. 
 
 The valuable precepts taught in his father's 
 house, and accompanied with prayer, had not been 
 without effect ; and although, like other boys of 
 his age, at the time he heard them uttered, he 
 received them only in a general sense, and without 
 pondering on the truths they contained, the holy 
 remembrance now came back upon him, consti- 
 tuting a link may we say a spiritual link? 
 between himself and his far distant home : he re- 
 solved to act upon them, regarding them as a 
 sacred legacy from the parents from whom he was 
 torn ; and so, while he went and came like a min- 
 istering angel between his two suffering compa- 
 nions, his efforts in doing good prevented his own 
 life from being one of unmitigated bitterness. 
 
 Dietrich, whose heart daily grew softer as he 
 31*
 
 112 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 enjoyed sympathy to which he had long been a 
 stranger, although the one who extended it was a 
 boy, and at present his slave, gave him all the 
 liberty he desired. His labor in the forest was not 
 very severe ; and sometimes, when he was so for- 
 tunate as to find a swarm of wild bees, emotions 
 buoyant as those that had swelled his heart at 
 Steinrode, for a moment would spring up, and 
 feelings of real joy, as he secured his honied trea- 
 sure, at the thoughts of the joyful surprise with 
 which Eugene would greet him on his return. So 
 true is it the elements of happiness are ever within 
 ourselves ! life had its gleams of sunshine even 
 here ! He seemed to know no weariness in pro- 
 moting the comfort of those with whom he was 
 now forced to dwell, although there was nothing 
 congenial in either. He conciliated his rude master 
 by a thousand kind but trifling offices ; and while 
 he tried to comfort, took half the labor off the 
 capricious Eugene. 
 
 " Dear Eugene," he often said, "let us be more 
 patient ; we know that this great trial could not 
 have befallen us unless permitted by our Heavenly 
 Father. How often have I heard my dear father 
 say, ' God never willingly afflicts, but it is always 
 to accomplish some wise purpose ;' let us, therefore, 
 submit to what we cannot help, and pray that he 
 will make a way by which we shall be restored to 
 our friends."
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 113 
 
 "I will never, never obey that peasant thief," 
 the unsubdued boy would answer; "he never shall 
 force me to subjection I will resist him to the 
 utmost ; for it never shall be said the son of a 
 Von Grosse bowed his neck to the rule of a boor." 
 
 " You do but lengthen the days of your and my 
 own captivity, with such conduct," rejoined Felix ; 
 " do, Eugene, yield at least to the will of God in 
 this matter, since our way is hedged upon every 
 side ; believe me, he will make a way for us to 
 escape, if we only try to do our duty. I do not 
 know why Dietrich brought us away from our 
 home, and my heart is as sad as your own ; but he 
 is never unkind to me, and if you only would try 
 a little to please him, I feel almost certain he would 
 give us our liberty." 
 
 " I never will be so mean as you are, Felix," 
 cried Eugene, giving way to the haughty spirit 
 that was so peculiarly his own ; " I never could 
 stoop to conciliate peasants and serfs as you do ; 
 and I have often wondered how you, a nobleman's 
 son, could associate with such low fellows as you 
 all did at Steinrode there was that Ehrenfried 
 for instance." 
 
 The angry blood mounted to the temples of 
 Felix, tinging his fair broad forehead even to the 
 roots of his wavy hair ; the impatient spirit was 
 beginning to rise, and an hasty answer was form- 
 ing on his lips ; but the still small voice in his own
 
 114 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 heart repeated the admonition of his beloved 
 mother on the day when he was torn from her, 
 and the sacred recollection turned his anger into 
 sorrow ; he turned away from the ungrateful 
 Eugene, and burst into tears. All around was in 
 accordance with his mournful feelings the glim- 
 mering brightness of that autumnal day, alterna- 
 ting with shades of wintry gloom the sunbeams 
 that played through the scanty roofed covering of 
 the forest, or danced on the faded and withered 
 herbage that strewed the earth, gave to nature an 
 unusual hue of gentle sadness she seemed to wear 
 a smile of languid beauty, ominous of her own 
 swift-coming decay. 
 
 There are few minds so obtuse as not to be sen- 
 sible of the effects of natural scenes in peculiar 
 moods ; and the sad and changeful appearance of 
 this day was well calculated to extend the half- 
 slumbering recollections which Eugene's reproach 
 had called forth ; and Felix most deeply felt the 
 sombre influence. The name of Ehrenfried re- 
 called the image of his happy brother Steinrode 
 was a talismanic word that called up all the bliss- 
 ful scenes of which he had been the partaker in 
 that spot which bore the charmed name of home ; 
 but the recollection of his mother brought with it 
 a yearning of heart which admitted of no control ; 
 and, for the first time, forgetful or careless of 
 the displeasure of Dietrich, he wandered away far
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 115 
 
 into the recesses of the forest, to find a spot where 
 he might pour out his feelings before the only One 
 from whom he hoped to obtain relief even Him 
 before whose throne he had been taught from early 
 childhood to bow. Here, where no human eye 
 beheld him, he wept without restraint he looked 
 up to the fitful sky, where sunshine and shade 
 were alternating, as if struggling for the mastery, 
 and implored the Great Father of heaven to pity 
 his desolation and, strengthen him to perform the 
 hard duties that he was able to perceive yet lay 
 before him. 
 
 " My mother !" he cried ; " why did I disobey 
 her ! if I had not forgotten her admonition, if I 
 had not turned a deaf ear to the last injunction 
 of my father, I should at this moment be happy 
 with them all at Steinrode ; but bless them all, 
 Heavenly Father, and bless me ; and let this sore 
 trial, which thou hast permitted, work the change 
 in my impatient spirit, which my dear mother's 
 precepts, earnest as they were, could not." 
 
 He rose from his posture of supplication, feeling 
 comforted ; for there is "no horizon so dark but 
 that humble, heartfelt prayer can lift the veil" 
 that shrouds it, and penetrate far, far beyond. 
 The earth may be dark and desolate, but hope in 
 God stands forth as the pillar of fire to guide the 
 pilgrim; and prayer avails to smooth the asperities 
 and disentangle the perplexities of our earthly
 
 116 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 path , and when thoughts become prayers, the 
 peace they bring passes "all understanding." 
 
 Believing that the eye of God rested upon him 
 here, even as it did upon the beloved ones at Stein- 
 rode, he resolved, though separated from them, to 
 live as much like them as possible ; and although 
 his heart sickened at the thought that he no more 
 might see that beloved home, he determined to 
 rule his spirit as diligently as if there ; the very 
 feeling that he was thus obeying the precepts of 
 his beloved and far-distant mother, formed a link 
 between him and the absent ; or rather it was a 
 spiritual bond between them, which, though many 
 have experienced, is of too subtle a nature to be 
 analysed. 
 
 He dried his tears, and returned to the hovel, 
 which he now called his home, and where he found 
 Dietrich and Eugene in high dispute ; the former 
 having overheard the conversation between himself 
 and the latter, although he had not noticed it at 
 the time, was ready to take every advantage of the 
 knowledge it afforded, to press the discipline 
 demanded by such a refractory spirit ; and as Felix 
 came forward, his whip was raised to strike, a mode 
 of correction which he ever found more effective 
 than his voice ; and though not naturally cruel, he 
 used without compunction. Ere the blow, however, 
 had this time fallen, Felix caught the upraised arm, 
 and even, at the risk of provoking displeasure,
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 117 
 
 which, although it had never yet been turned 
 towards himself, he yet dreaded, ventured to inter- 
 cede for the culprit. 
 
 The soft tones of his voice mollified the wrath 
 of the angry man. The whip was dropped, and 
 turning his stern eyes in which tears were now 
 glistening, he laid his hard horny hand upon the 
 head of the fair boy who pleaded so feelingly for 
 another, and said, "Boy, if he had been like you, 
 I should not have been what I now am ; he has 
 himself to thank. Yet he must be taught to feel 
 by some one, and he may find a harder master than 
 myself among those whom he could not injure as 
 he has done me. For your sake, and yours only, 
 I will spare him." 
 
 Such scenes were of not unfrequent occurrence ; 
 and although Eugene abated not in the slightest 
 his insolent behaviour to Dietrich, Felix by little 
 and little won his love. He was not ashamed to 
 beg him, whom he once loved to designate as a 
 dancing bear, to stand between him and his enemy ; 
 and when Dietrich spoke of releasing Felix, and 
 restoring him to his parents, of entreating him 
 with many tears not to forsake him. 
 
 "01 shall die I shall die of grief if you leave 
 me alone in this horrible place, and with this unfeel- 
 ing man. I have no one here, Felix, who cares for 
 me but yourself, and I shall die if you forsake me." 
 
 Felix promised that the favor he had won from
 
 118 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 Dietrich should be used to further his interest 
 equally with his own he would take advantage of 
 every mood in which he dare plead for the libera- 
 tion of both ; " but, dear Eugene, you ought to be 
 more patient, and try to be more obedient and 
 yielding to the old man's will. He would not be 
 'half so hard if you were not so rebellious." 
 
 But alas ! this was all without effect. Eugene, 
 trained up to value himself, on acount of his rank, 
 more highly than others, could not at once learn 
 to submit. He had never been taught to obey 
 even his parents no salutary restraint was ever 
 laid upon his actions ; and now, with all he was 
 suffering, he remained the same. There are some 
 natures that grow harder under the pressure of 
 affliction, and his was one of that kind. No reli- 
 gious teaching, in the years when the plastic mind 
 is easily impressed, had been used to show him that 
 man is not made for himself alone. No precept, 
 from the lips of a judicious mother, taught him to 
 look for an all-pervading spirit in the realms of 
 nature, or explain to him that One, great, glorious, 
 and good, had come from above, dispensing life 
 and hope to those who were "dead in trespasses 
 and in sin;" and, bestowing the benefits he died to 
 secure, impartially, bids man welcome man as his 
 brother, and the rich to acknowledge brotherhood 
 with the lowly. The training to such thoughts as 
 these, with which pious mothers always endeavor
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 119 
 
 to fill the first place in the minds of their children, 
 had been totally neglected in the education of this 
 poor boy ; and it was scarcely to be expected that 
 the impression made by years of luxurious ease, 
 and criminal self-indulgence, should be effaced by 
 the privations and severities of a few weeks. A 
 sterner ordeal than he had yet undergone was 
 needed. With young Lindenburg, the case was 
 different. The instruction received at the time 
 before the mind is distracted with the excitement 
 that belongs to maturer years, lay deeply hidden 
 in his heart ; and now, in his day of distress, the 
 sweet impression of the truths uttered by his mo- 
 ther, so strongly associated with the home he loved 
 to recall, appeared in their full value in those 
 moments when, but for them, no drop of comfort 
 would have been mingled in his earthly cup. 
 
 From the day we have tried to describe, when 
 the exercises of his own and Eugene's mind were 
 so different, he was a changed person. His excel- 
 lent education had taught him to entertain a high 
 sense of moral duty, which, from what he had 
 learned of Christian conduct, he thought he had 
 practised ; but now, although he could not have 
 described his own views, he went much further 
 than to be contented with this. He found, from 
 the struggle he had to endure in the conquest of 
 his own temper, that the Christian's life is one of 
 warfare ; and while his soul was pained to bo 
 32
 
 120 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 obliged to interfere in the scenes of violence which 
 so often occurred between Dietrich and Eugene, 
 and to witness the ungovernable rage by which the 
 latter at times was swayed, how thankful was he to 
 have been taught better things ! 
 
 He could go, when his spirit was sad, to a source 
 which is ever open to the broken-hearted to the 
 fount of mercy ; where pure and humble prayer is 
 never rejected, and lean for support upon the arm 
 that is never shortened so that it cannot save. It 
 was deep anguish of soul that led him to pray 
 anguish such as we can scarce conceive of a child 
 enduring, did we not know that such things are, 
 and had we not experienced that it is deep anguish 
 of soul which brings us to the closest communion 
 with God. Those are the seasons, whether the 
 subject be child or man, when the Spirit makes 
 intercession for us with groanings that cannot be 
 uttered ; for the Searcher of hearts knoweth what 
 is the mind of the Spirit, and will always answer, 
 if not to our wish, according to our need. 
 
 Weeks of monotonous sameness now passed over 
 them, varied only by seasons of deeper or greater 
 gloom, as hope alternated with despair. Eugene 
 was by no means improved ; and although Felix 
 pleaded his cause most earnestly with Dietrich, he 
 had not been able to effect anything in his favor. 
 
 "He is not in the least humbled," was the con- 
 stant answer: "and I am determined to make him
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 121 
 
 feel what oppression is ; when did his heart know 
 pity for any ? when did he do aught to make one 
 human being's suffering less?" 
 
 "But, Dietrich," Felix would urge, "Eugene is 
 to be pitied more than blamed ; remember he never 
 was taught as I have been, and he cannot now in a 
 moment distinguish right from wrong." 
 
 u He has a spirit of perverseness entirely his 
 own ; and he shall go through a school in which it 
 shall be tamed. Boy, urge me no further on that 
 head, for I am riot to be moved; but for yourself I 
 am sincerely sorry that you have been made to 
 suffer ; and although you are now my only earthly 
 comfort, still I will restore you to your home the 
 first moment I can do so with safety." 
 
 " But you are not happy ; you surely would not 
 wear that sad look if you were," replied Felix; 
 " the vengeance you are exercising on that poor 
 boy has failed to bring comfort to yourself; would 
 it not be better to do as our Saviour has com- 
 manded, ' not to avenge ourselves, but give place to 
 wrath,' to love our enemies, and pray for them that 
 injure us." 
 
 "You speak like one should," said the unhappy 
 man, in nowise offended by the liberty taken by his 
 young companion, " that has seen life without any 
 of its shadows ; till lately you did not know that it 
 had any. But what if, like me, you had lost your 
 all had known that those you loved were turned
 
 122 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 out upon the wastes of the cold world to suffer, 
 whilst you, enclosed within the walls of a prison, 
 were prevented from doing what was your duty 
 to know that the life of your only child, the star 
 of your existence, the flower the only flower that 
 bloomed for you amid the thorns and brambles of 
 a life of degradation and continued labor was 
 considered, by those who claimed my liberty as 
 their right, as of less value than that of a dog; to 
 be denied the expression of a grief so natural, and 
 without a word of sympathy, to send money by a 
 menial as if to pay me for the life of my only child 
 boy, it drives to madness yet to think of it ; you 
 could, if you had suffered all this, imagine how 
 sweet revenge must- be. The bondsman in his 
 cheerless life cannot forget the feelings of a father, 
 and that he is a man, any more than he can change 
 the vile laws that have made him so, and chains 
 him whom God has made free to the soil." 
 
 " But neither Eugene nor his father is to be 
 blamed for this," said Felix; "I have often heard 
 my father regret that things were as they are, and 
 likewise say that the laws of feudal tenure were 
 greatly milder in Germany than in other countries." 
 
 " I know all that," returned Dietrich; "but that 
 does not make any of them right ; no laws can be 
 right which make it just for one man to tyrannize 
 over another." 
 
 Felix was too young to venture to talk with one
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 123 
 
 whose spirit was so embittered on a subject of such 
 high political interest as this, " that cause betwixt 
 the high and the low the few that command, and 
 the many that obey;" but, boy as he was, he 
 thought that if Dietrich hated tyranny so thoroughly 
 he ought not to exercise it himself on one so young 
 as Eugene, who, although very faulty, was not to 
 be blamed for the laws that make one a noble and 
 the other a peasant. In the present mood of his 
 mind, however, he did not consider it safe to urge 
 this view of the subject ; but chose rather to lead 
 him to the contemplation of another, and induce him 
 to study the code of laws laid down for the good 
 of mankind in general, by one who has said, " my 
 kingdom is not of this world." 
 
 " I know, Dietrich, this is a painful subject, and 
 1 am too much of a boy to understand it thoroughly; 
 but it is the Scriptures that tell us that it is God 
 who appoints to every man his condition in life, 
 enjoining upon those doing service to do it * as to 
 the Lord, and not to men, knowing that whatso- 
 ever good thing any man doeth, the same shall he 
 receive of the Lord, whether he be bond or free.' 
 But if he who was the Lord of heaven came down 
 and took upon himself the form of a servant, and 
 humbled himself for the salvation of many, why 
 should we think so much of stations ? and if he 
 condescended to associate with the unlearned and 
 lowly, ought we not rather to know from it that he 
 32*
 
 124 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 is no respecter of persons, that the rich and poor 
 are equal in his sight, and so be contented with the 
 lot hs has assigned us." 
 
 Dietrich made no answer, hut leaned his head 
 upon his hand, and gazed moodily into the fire ; 
 but a softening change was visible in his whole 
 deportment ; and although Felix could make no 
 impression on him in regard to Eugene, who seemed 
 every day to grow more refractory, he ceased to 
 correct him so frequently as at first, and contented 
 himself with muttering something between his teeth 
 which the boys could not understand ; and as their 
 household, in consequence of this cessation from 
 violence, was more quiet than formerly, time sped 
 on rather more pleasantly ; and Felix, with the 
 ever hoping spirit of youth, looked forward to 
 better things.
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 125 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "He that commits a sin shall quickly find 
 The pressing guilt lay heavy on his mind; 
 None quits himself his own impartial thought 
 Will chide; and conscience will record the fault." 
 
 AUTUMN had long since exchanged her garb of 
 many tints for one of russet hue ; and this again 
 was thrown off, as if for readiness to battle with 
 the fierce winds that swept from the Carpathian 
 mountains over the plains, and left the forest bare ; 
 and the trees, spreading forth their naked and 
 gigantic branches, seemed to wait with impatient 
 quietude the storms for which they were prepared. 
 The moaning blasts took the place of the sweet 
 harmonies that had lately mingled there ; and cold 
 gray skies had long before warned the feathered 
 choristers that it was time to seek a warmer home. 
 Heaps of fallen leaves, or fir cones, swept together 
 by the tempests as in rushing haste they passed 
 by, strewed the spots where wild flowers had lately 
 bloomed ; and Nature looked sad as she prepared 
 for her long sleep in the lap of winter. Flakes 
 of snow began to fall; and the boys, to whom the 
 approach of the hoary season, as enjoyed in their
 
 126 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 own country, had hitherto always brought antici- 
 pations of delight, as they stood, wretched enough, 
 looking out on the dreary scene, wept now with 
 dismay at the thoughts of what new misery it 
 might bring to themselves, so far from home and 
 friends, and prisoners in a place so inclement and 
 inhospitable. 
 
 Their out-door occupations were, for the most 
 part, suspended ; but this brought no relief from 
 the tedium of the hours they were obliged to spend 
 in comparative idleness ; books they had none, 
 companions none all was desolate without, and 
 not less so was that within. No neighboring 
 peasants ever came to the cottage, nor could they 
 have held converse with any if they had ; the 
 language was yet entirely unknown to them ; and 
 the little they had seen of them had indisposed 
 them for further companionship. Dietrich's occu- 
 pation of wood-cutting, too, was often suspended, 
 and he would pass nearly the whole of the day at 
 the pot-house in the village, a circumstance at 
 which Felix greatly wondered, for he never drank 
 liquor of any kind, indulged in no games of chance, 
 and held little communication with any one. The 
 boys, consequently, were left much alone ; and 
 many were the plans they thought over to furnish 
 amusement or occupation for themselves in the 
 coming winter. Felix mourned over their want of 
 books ; writing materials they had none, neither
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 127 
 
 vrere they to be procured in the neighborhood; and 
 the knowledge that he was unable to advance in 
 such studies as ought to be learned at his age, 
 added to the uncertainty of his situation, weighed 
 heavily upon his heart, and filled it with a deeper 
 gloom than the shadow of the unhappy circuit- 
 stances in which he was placed could have done, 
 had the means of improvement been within his 
 reach. Eugene cared not much on this account ; 
 perhaps the tedium of the life he now was obliged 
 to live might have driven him to read, had books 
 been at his disposal ; as it was, he did nothing but 
 weep and complain, thus adding an additional 
 burthen to that young, but faithful, friend, who 
 concealed much of his own feelings in order to 
 lighten those of another, whose education and 
 moral training had less qualified him to bear the 
 roughnesses of life than himself. 
 
 But the mind of man is fertile in expedients ; 
 and one soon offered itself to that of this good boy, 
 which should be made subservient to the improve- 
 ment and amusement of both. Mr. Bulow had 
 often praised his talent for drawing, as exhibited 
 in his copies of animals from books, or specimens 
 of Natural History, which was a study, as in the 
 beginning of our narrative we remarked, to which 
 he much inclined. With coals from half-burnt 
 wood he made his crayons ; with flexible bark 
 which he stripped from the birch and larch that
 
 128 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 grew in abundance there, he first divesting it of 
 the outer rind, flattened and made his tablets ; and 
 finding it to answer very well, proposed to teach 
 Eugene to draw ; and, besides, from this new dis- 
 covery they need not forget their writing, since 
 they could make letters on this primitive substitute 
 for paper as well as figures. 
 
 Faithful to his own purpose to conciliate Dietrich, 
 he showed him his invention and his first work, an 
 act at which Eugene was greatly displeased, and 
 quarrelled with him for it, taxing him with hypoc- 
 risy and meanness, in cringing, as he termed it, 
 to " one so greatly beneath them, and one whom 
 in his heart he loved no better than himself did." 
 
 Unmoved by the reproach, to which he listened 
 with silence, he yet persisted in the course his 
 heart told him was right ; and the old man was by 
 no means displeased ; for although he never ex- 
 pressed his approbation in words, he one day pre- 
 sented Felix, greatly to his surprise, with a bundle 
 of neatly prepared bark, and a few sheets of coarse 
 paper, which he had taken great pains to obtain, 
 and not without some expense. 
 
 So the winter came, and was less dreary than 
 they had anticipated ; and if Eugene had pursued 
 a proper course of conduct, it is most likely spring 
 would have found them on their way to Germany, 
 and their home. Christmas, indeed, awoke sad 
 recollections in the hearts of both ; different as had
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 129 
 
 been the scenes of enjoyment they had separately 
 partaken of the year before, the renewal of that 
 festival time brought equal sadness to the trio. 
 Dietrich was more sorrowful than usual ; Felix 
 thought of all they were then doing at Steinrode, 
 and wondered if all were going on as formerly ; 
 and Eugene, poor boy, who had no home to think 
 of, was more unhappy than ever ; and being more 
 unhappy, made himself in the same degree more 
 disagreeable. Felix did the best of all ; the sweet 
 calm of peace that dwelt in his heart, the fruit of 
 his pious submission to the trial dealt him by the 
 Unerring Hand, had its own reward he had bent 
 to the storm, and was spared it passed over and 
 left him uninjured ; had he resisted like Eugene, 
 both would have been lost. 
 
 Dietrich, the workings of whose heart were only 
 known to himself, had done his utmost to make 
 them comfortable on that day. A fine fat fowl 
 that he had purchased somewhere, graced their 
 rude table ; and some striezel kitchen, which he 
 had himself instructed the neighboring peasant- 
 woman how to bake (for they were ignorant of the 
 preparation of this article of German cookery), 
 gave a luxurious appearance to their hitherto not 
 scanty, but rough menage, and served still further 
 to recall the hnppy scenes in which they had 
 revelled the year before. 
 
 The winter passed slowly. Dietrich's absences
 
 130 
 
 THE NEIGHBORS CHILDREN. 
 
 became long and frequent, and Eugene grew more 
 unruly, and further provoked his hatred ; and so 
 time, as it rolled onward, brought no pleasing 
 changes to the dwellers in that secluded cottage. 
 The seasons succeeded to each other in their regu- 
 lar rotation. Spring smiled in her green robe 
 the summer brought her birds and flowers autumn 
 his fruits and winter his snows ; but no friend 
 came, with cheering face, to comfort our boys, or 
 bring tidings from those their hearts yearned to 
 behold. We will not detail further the routine of 
 miserable life dragged on by all three ; one day 
 served as a specimen for all the rest. Suffice it to 
 say, that more than two years had passed in the 
 manner we have attempted to describe, when its 
 dull monotony was one day interrupted when Die- 
 trich, returning from the ale-house with a sterner 
 brow than usual, he commanded Eugene to get his 
 clothes together, and accompany him to a village 
 some miles distant. 
 
 "I have hired you there to a master," said he, 
 " who will teach you to obey. You shall there 
 learn what it is to work, and earn your bread by 
 the sweat of your brow." 
 
 No words can describe the consternation caused 
 by this announcement to both the boys, but most 
 particularly to Eugene, who regarded a separation 
 from Felix as his greatest possible misfortune. He 
 had quarrelled with him brow-beaten him on all
 
 TUE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 131 
 
 occasions disregarded all his admonitions; but 
 still, the steady patience with which all his fretful- 
 ness was borne, excited his admiration, and won 
 his love. Felix was his all, his only comfort ; and 
 now he was to be parted from him on whom he 
 had leaned for support in his day of trial he who 
 had so often turned away the wrath of his enemy, 
 and who had himself performed his allotted tasks 
 when he was too unable or too indolent to attempt 
 them. He who, until lately, had known nothing 
 but to command and be obeyed, must now go, and 
 go alone, to be servant to a rude former, and sub- 
 mit to treatment ah! he dared not think like 
 what. 0, how willingly would he have remained 
 in that lowly hut, that, with Felix there, was a 
 palace in comparison with the one anticipated, and 
 even with that dark old man, whom now he did not 
 so much fear ; and bitterly now did he regret his 
 own obstinacy in not having followed the counsels 
 of his friend. 
 
 He threw himself at the feet of Dietrich, and 
 prayed that he would not send him away. He 
 embraced his enemy's knees, and promised obe- 
 dience and amendment ; begged only to be tried 
 one week longer, that the sincerity of his intended 
 change might be proved. But a deaf ear was 
 turned to all entreaties both from himself and 
 Felix ; the unpitying answer was 
 
 " Your reformation comes too late ; I told you 
 33
 
 132 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 lung ago what I would do, and I always keep iny 
 word. Nor will I break it now ; I have promised 
 the farmer the bargain is concluded drawing 
 back is not to be thought of now ;" and, as if 
 afraid that his own stern purpose might be melted 
 by the witnessing of sorrow to which he was by no 
 means insensible, he put on a darker frown than 
 usual, and giving no time to the unhappy compa- 
 nions for leave-taking, he took Eugene rather 
 ungently by the arm, and in a harsher voice than 
 he had ever used to Felix, he commanded him not 
 to leave the hut until his return. He turned his 
 back upon its threshold, dragging rather than 
 leading the hapless boy along the path that led 
 across the forest. 
 
 The day was bright and lovely the birds sung 
 in the branches and zephyrs sighed through the 
 foliage ; but Felix, who remained behind according 
 to the orders he never disobeyed, had no eye or 
 car for anything. How prone are mortals to 
 believe that even in intense suffering there is no 
 mercy extended that in seasons of darkness no 
 ray of light can be discovered ! No cup was ever 
 yet given to man to drink, that drops of comfort 
 did not mitigate its bitterness nor was he ever 
 yet shrouded by gloom so great, but that it might 
 have been increased. So poor Felix experienced ; 
 a few days before, when his heart was pained by 
 an altercation carried on more angrily than usual,
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 133 
 
 between Dietrich and Eugene, he was tempted to 
 exclaim, "Can any thing be worse than this?" 
 Now the alternative had come, and although one 
 cause of painful disquiet and apprehension was re- 
 moved, the thoughts of the dreary solitude in which 
 he would be left, but yet more the uncertainty of 
 Eugene's lot ; the effect, if he should survive the 
 hardships certain to be imposed upon him, this 
 removal would have upon his character, awoke the 
 tenderest sympathies of his nature ; and the 
 bitterest tears he had shed since leaving Steinrode, 
 were poured out there, as he sat solitary and alone. 
 Vague fears, as hour after hour passed, and 
 Dietrich did not return, weighed upon the boy's 
 heart, and added new horrors to his contempla- 
 tions. Perhaps he never would come back per- 
 haps it was his own duty to take advantage of this 
 opportunity to seek his own freedom, and more 
 than once he started up to fly from the hated spot, 
 but the thought "whither?" arrested the hasty 
 step, and stayed the imprudent longing. How was 
 he to make his way through a country of whose 
 localities he was entirely ignorant, \vith whose 
 language he was altogether unacquainted, without 
 means of procuring subsistence on so long a jour- 
 ney as lay between him and his native land ? He 
 might fall into worse servitude than even the pre- 
 sent ; and besides, he felt it would be wrong, with 
 so slight a hope of success as his plan of escape
 
 134 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 presented, to leave Eugene in a strange land, and 
 in a place of which neither knew the name. That 
 they were in Poland he believed that the moun- 
 tains he saw were the Carpathian, he imagined 
 but of this there was no certainty; and the mighty 
 river, that roared and rushed at no great distance 
 from their dwelling, might prove the boundary of 
 a people more savage than those among whom 
 they had come. 
 
 Tears exhausted the violence of his feelings ; 
 prayer once more strengthened his courage, and 
 prudence came to his aid, and her reasoning voice 
 assisted in restoring his painfully excited soul to 
 its wonted calm. 
 
 " There is nothing left for me to do," said he to 
 himself, " but to try and please Dietrich. I will 
 try and bear the increased ills of my lot patiently, 
 in hopes that I shall be able to move the heart of 
 that stern old man. I trust I shall yet succeed in 
 obtaining Eugene's liberty and pardon from him. 
 0, my mother! my dear mother!" (he wept aloud 
 as he recalled her gentle image, and her last holy 
 kiss), " how often have you told me my impatient 
 spirit must be subdued, ere I could be either useful 
 or happy ! I am now in a school of discipline 
 harder than you would have desired, but perhaps 
 not more so than my Heavenly Father sees neces- 
 sary." 
 
 The day began to decline ; and as evening spread
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 135 
 
 her shadows over the forest, gusts of wind swept 
 through its dark recesses, and wailing among the 
 branches like the voices of the unquiet spirits sup- 
 posed to inhabit those rude regions where supersti- 
 tion rules, added to the desolation of the boy's 
 condition, as well as increased the fears arising 
 from his master's continued absence. It was, 
 therefore, with a feeling of relief he saw, ere dark- 
 ness quite obscured the view, his tall figure advanc- 
 ing on the forest path ; and he started up to light 
 their miserable rush candle, and make some neces- 
 sary preparations, glad to have his painful medita- 
 tions broken by the presence of any human being. 
 Dietrich walked more slowly than usual ; and 
 Felix had time to do all he wished ere the former 
 reached his dwelling. As he stepped over the 
 threshold it was evident he was pleased to find that 
 his prisoner had not taken advantage of his long 
 absence to effect his escape ; but he made no re- 
 mark whatever ; and to such questions as Felix 
 dared to ask, he answered only in monosyllables, 
 but in tones more indicative of sadness than dis- 
 pleasure. The boy, therefore, did not venture to 
 mention the name of Eugene, nor to prefer the 
 request he meditated for the liberty of both. Re- 
 solved to humor the old man in whatever mood he 
 might be, he went on silently performing the offices 
 which heretofore had been allotted to him who waa 
 no longer hero ; and having placed a dish of warm 
 33*
 
 136 
 
 THE NEIGHBORS CHILDREN. 
 
 milk porridge on the table, he called him to supper, 
 and then seated himself sad and desponding in a 
 corner by the fire. 
 
 Dietrich obeyed his bidding ; he finished his 
 meal, and having pushed the dish away, he leaned 
 his arm on the table, and shading his brow with his 
 broad hand, sat gazing on the fair boy for a long 
 time in silence, less gloomy than sorrowful. 
 
 " He is a pretty boy and a good," he at length 
 muttered to himself; "I am sorry this sin rests 
 upon my soul. Tell me, child," said he, raising his 
 voice, " what are you thinking of at this moment ; 
 do you not long to go back to your home and 
 parents ?" 
 
 "To my home and parents?" exclaimed Felix, 
 starting up and clasping his hands, while tears 
 streamed from his eyes, and sobs of emotion choked 
 his utterance ; " Heavenly Father grant it. I 
 think of them always ; long for them ever, and 
 would wander day and night on foot, and over ways 
 the most painful, only to see them all once more." 
 
 "Well then you shall go," said Dietrich abruptly, 
 and in a voice not altogether firm ; " I will give 
 you your freedom and the means to travel ; but 
 you must first promise me solemnly do you hear 
 me, boy ?" 
 
 But Felix understood only one sentence of what 
 he had said. " You shall go," sounded like a 
 reprieve from death to a criminal ; and he repeated
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 137 
 
 it again and again in joyful succession, without 
 thinking of any condition by which the permission 
 was fettered. 
 
 " 0, you will let me go, you will let me go," he 
 exclaimed, as he embraced the knees of his captor, 
 and turned his blue eyes, from whence the tears 
 were pouring, up to look into those whose fountains 
 had long been dry ; " may God reward you, dear 
 Dietrich ! I will pray for you, and so will we all, 
 that you may be as happy as ourselves, and no 
 longer so sorrowful over things that cannot now be 
 helped. But tell me, what do you desire of me, 
 what must I promise?" 
 
 Dietrich answered slowly and in a low voice : 
 " That you will never betray to any man what you 
 witnessed at the time you left your home, nor what 
 has occurred since you have lived here ; never re- 
 veal the name (if indeed you know it) of this place ; 
 above all, you must deny ever having had any 
 knowledge of Eugene. Of him you are to know 
 nothing : he is only enduring a fate which he has 
 but too well deserved. You can tell your parents 
 you were carried off by gipsies, and was obliged 
 to wander with them, until at last you found a 
 chance to run away. Will you promise most 
 sacredly to do this, and as sacredly to keep your 
 word ? " 
 
 "Never!" answered the beautiful boy, firmly 
 but ssidly, " never. I will never seek my home
 
 138 TUB NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 with a lie on my lips ; for ray parents have taught 
 me to abhor falsehood ; and when my father would 
 ask me where I had been,' think you I would try 
 to deceive him from whom .1 never yet had any 
 concealments? My Heavenly Father," he con- 
 tinued, folding his hands and looking upwards, 
 " now I know what it is to be tempted ; now I feel 
 what lures the enemy spreads to veil the deformity 
 of sin. But I will keep Thee ever before mine eyes 
 thou shalt be as a lamp to my path, that my feet 
 may never stray; no rather let me die than sin 
 so greatly." 
 
 Overcome by the force of his emotion, he sobbed 
 aloud ; but he soon grew calm the victory had 
 been obtained the might and strength of God 
 had interposed between him and a powerful temp- 
 tation to sin ; and now that the tempter was 
 distanced, he felt himself ready to bear whatever 
 might follow. 
 
 Think not, reader, that this picture of a child 
 being able to discover the " exceeding sinfulness 
 of sin," is overdrawn ; or that a boy of Felix's 
 age could so easily withstand being tempted to a 
 sin which many might think venial, and for which 
 sophistry might find a thousand excuses. The 
 Scriptures say to all, " Sin not ;" and the excellent 
 education he had received more excellent in its 
 teaching him of Christian duty according to the 
 precepts of the Son of God, who came to teach us
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 139 
 
 what to do and what to believe, than even in that 
 part which was to fit him for his worldly career 
 had given him an segis of which he did not know 
 the power, or suspect the possession, until on this 
 the day of his trial. In the day of his prosperity 
 it shielded him from the deceitful glare that dazzled 
 Eugene, and for which, since that was withdrawn, 
 he had no substitute ; and now, when the tempest 
 was abroad, and he alone and exposed to its fury, 
 it was his protection and his guide. Truth, the 
 great principal of Christian life and conduct, had 
 been placed in too lovely an aspect before him for 
 him to forget her now his duty was plain the 
 issue rested with God. 
 
 "With his stony eyes fastened on the boy, on 
 whose fair features the blush of excited hope had 
 so lately glowed, only to fade into marble paleness, 
 the astonished old man gazed long and in silence, 
 as if awed by the majesty of virtue, although ex- 
 hibited in the form of a child. At last the old 
 man spoke. 
 
 " So then you would rather remain in this deso- 
 late region, separated from your parents for many, 
 many long years, which you must do, since you 
 will not promise to conceal what you know?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Felix; "if I cannot go to 
 them without the knowledge of a deliberate sin on 
 my soul without giving you a promise that would 
 stain me with falsehood, and consequently with
 
 140 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 crime. How could I enjoy the purity of my home 
 by going as a liar among them could I look my 
 own or Eugene's parents in the face, when I knew 
 their only son, for whom they pined, was enduring 
 slavery in its worst form ; when one word from me 
 one word which I dared not utter would re- 
 move their misery ? No, Dietrich, I will not go ; 
 do with me as you please ; men may ' kill the 
 body,' but I fear it not, for my trust is in Him who 
 alone hath power to save the soul, and who will 
 put forth his arm to help me when he sees I have 
 profited enough by my present sufferings." 
 
 Dietrich urged his measure no further, but sat 
 in the same spot in brooding silence, and buried 
 his face in both his hands, as if ashamed to meet 
 the glance of a child whose principles, so firmly 
 based upon the Rock of Ages, so strong in the 
 faith of heavenly protection, led him patiently to 
 choose a lot of wrong and oppression, rather than 
 commit what he believed a heinous sin. And now 
 as this boy, shielded in his panoply of truth, stood 
 before him, he recognized its beauty and its power, 
 and, for the first time, his conscience began to 
 accuse him, since his vengeance had been directed 
 to the ruin of the family of Von Grosse. 
 
 Dietrich was not ignorant of the holy truths 
 contained in the Word of God. Meditative and 
 thoughtful by nature, while blessed with an excel- 
 lent wife and happy home, he had pondered much
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 141 
 
 upon them ; but the pride it might be, that lay un- 
 suspected by himself, and formed the root of his 
 hatred to the nobility, while it rendered him dis- 
 contented with his own lot, and led him to question 
 the existence, or at least the justice of God, who 
 appoints to every man his station, prevented his 
 deriving the comfort from such study as would 
 have been fruit to a more humble and salvation- 
 seeking spirit. None could tell him better than he 
 knew the precept which teaches, " avenge not 
 yourselves," nor of that glorious example of One 
 who loved a world that hated him, and when re- 
 viled, " even as a lamb dumb before her shearers, 
 so he opened not his mouth to revile again." And 
 now that conscience, so fully awoke, had begun her 
 admonitions, she placed his every action in the 
 most glaring and frightful review before him, since 
 the hour in which he had sworn revenge against 
 his thoughtless enemy laid his house in ashes, 
 robbed him of his only son, and condemned him, 
 while yet a child, to bondage and poverty, from 
 which there was little chance he would be rescued ; 
 and as though the enemy of souls had resolved to 
 heap more crimes upon his soul than his vengeance 
 contemplated, he had injured a family who pitied 
 and would have relieved his misfortunes, involving 
 a darling son in the reckless ruin prepared for an 
 enemy, without compunction. 
 
 We can say but little in this case of Dietrich, as
 
 142 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 to the extent or acceptance of his repentance ; he 
 had sinned deeply, although his wrongs were great ; 
 and he had repaid them with double interest ; and 
 we dare pass no sentence upon him ; we only know 
 that there is One "mighty to save" all that come 
 to God by him. No spiritual malady is so 
 desperate that He cannot cure it; no sin whose 
 stain is so great that it cannot be washed away in 
 the blood of atonement ; none so vile but that the 
 shadow of the Cross can give protection when some 
 dark spirit of the pit would tempt him to despair. 
 
 Many, many were the thoughts of deep and 
 searching import that awoke in the mind of the 
 unhappy man ; but one in particular which he 
 could not lose sight of if this boy, brought up in 
 Christian faith, so abhorred all practice of wrong 
 and injustice, that he would choose to live a life of 
 poverty, bondage, and privation, far from his home 
 and parents, rather than break one command of 
 the God whom he professed to serve if, as he said, 
 he could not face those virtuous parents with a 
 stain of falsehood on his soul, how should himself, 
 when called to the great account, stand before the 
 awful Judge in whose hands he had refused to 
 leave his cause, but chosen rather to sacrifice his 
 all, even to the hope of salvation, on the altar of 
 his revenge ? 
 
 He thought of his humble and quiet wife how 
 badly he had cared for her comfort, and of the
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 143 
 
 consequent hardships that had consigned her to the 
 grave of his sweet smiling innocent little Annie, 
 whose prattle ever cheered him, and whose merry 
 laugh could drive away his moodiness if they 
 were angels in heaven, as his simple belief had 
 taught him to suppose, could he hope to meet them 
 there what right had one like him in that pure 
 abode could their purified spirits assimilate with 
 his own, even if admitted to that world where no 
 tears are shed ? 
 
 His tortured soul now knew no peace by day or 
 night ; and contrary to his usual habit of sobriety, 
 he tried to drown his painful reflections by visits 
 to the village ale-house, and steep his senses in the 
 forgetfulness caused by intoxicating draughts. 
 
 But this course of conduct did not succeed. 
 Felix was as a. thorn in his eye, a steady reproof to 
 his conscience ; and he could only hope to find 
 peace by removing him from his path. But how 
 to accomplish this he could not contrive ; if the 
 boy returned to his parents and told his story, both 
 Amade and himself could be traced and brought to 
 justice; and the indecision he was obliged to main- 
 tain, as well as the disquietude of his own mind, 
 soured his temper to a greater degree than hereto- 
 fore ; and his capricious bearing now rendered the 
 lot of the poor boy nearly unbearable. 
 
 Yet steady to himself, and faithful to the rules 
 laid down for his own practice, he bore all the 
 34
 
 144 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 hard requisitions demanded by his master without 
 murmuring. 
 
 If he was sorrowful, which truly was often the 
 case, Dietrich was angry, and abused him ; for this 
 he considered a reproach against himself for sepa- 
 rating him from Eugene ; was he merry, a mood in 
 which he was now seldom found, then the old tnan 
 envied him the peace produced by a quiet con- 
 science ; and he reproached him with hypocrisy in 
 forcing spirits, that he might contrast his happiness 
 with his own gloom. This was another hard trial 
 for Felix ; but he bore it manfully he knew 
 patience was demanded of the martyr, and forbear- 
 ance of the Christian. 
 
 Months passed away, and he heard nothing of 
 Eugene. The spring once more mellowed into 
 summer, the summer into autumn ; the forest again 
 began to wear its varied livery, when one day 
 Dietrich came home at an earlier hour than usual 
 from his work in the wood. In felling a tree some 
 days before, he had wounded his foot with an axe ; 
 and although urged by Felix to keep quiet and 
 give the wound time to heal, strong ever in his own 
 self-will, he would not listen to him ; but, binding 
 it up roughly, he continued to go to work as usual. 
 Owing to this imprudence, and the heated state of 
 his blood, fever came on ; and as he entered the 
 hut on this afternoon, he complained of being very
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 145 
 
 sick ; and ere evening came on, he was obliged to 
 take to his bed. 
 
 It was now that Felix could fairly prove his 
 kindness to the suffering old man. He was his 
 only comfort ; he sat at his bedside and bathed his 
 throbbing temples; he arranged and smoothed his 
 rude pillow ; he dressed his woundad foot ; bore all 
 the querulous complaining, and all the capricious 
 demands exacted by his sick master without im- 
 patience, or a murmur for the trouble it gave him ; 
 so that at length the unhappy being to whom he 
 rendered such services declared his presence to be 
 a true blessing. 
 
 One day when he had suffered more pain than 
 usual from his Abounded foot, and Felix had pre- 
 pared a cooling poultice, as he approached the bed 
 in order to apply it, Dietrich caught him by the 
 hand, and looking up into his clear blue eyes, said, 
 " Poor boy ! I have wronged you greatly ; and you 
 may well be glad if it should go hard with me. I 
 cannot bear it much longer ; and then my death 
 will leave you free to go wherever you choose." 
 
 " Truly," answered the boy, and his open and 
 ingenuous countenance bore witness to the sincerity 
 of his heart, " I have not once thought of your 
 dying, much less wished it; and although lately 
 you have been more harsh to me then you were at 
 first, and I know not why it is so, yet I would 
 do any thing to relieve your pain ; if your recov-
 
 146 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 ery depended on my wishes, you would soon be 
 well." 
 
 "\Vhat, boy! can you wish me to be well," 
 inquired the sick man, who understood no feeling 
 so well as that of the desire for vengeance; "thou 
 dost not then hate the rough and passionate old 
 man who has m%de thee to shed so many, and such 
 bitter tears ?" 
 
 "I hate no one," replied Felix, innocently; 
 "no, indeed; but I pray that God may soften your 
 heart, and dispose it to pity and compassion. I 
 have read in the Scriptures, 'it is an awful thing 
 to stand before the living God ;' and how, then, 
 could I wish for the death of any man ? If I did, 
 I were no better than a murderer." 
 
 "Boy, boy," sighed Dietrich, "your words 
 pierce through my heart like a sword. You do not 
 hate your bitterest enemy, one that has done you 
 so much wrong ; you do not wish for his death, 
 although by that you should secure your liberty, 
 and regain your home ! There must be truth in 
 the religion you have learned, for it makes you 
 consistent ; but oh ! what a sinner I have been ! 
 Whither shall I go for peace? Where shall I 
 hope to find grace and mercy, in this my hour of 
 anguish and necessity ? I, that closed my ears to 
 the prayer of the unoffending." 
 
 Deeply moved by the emotion of the despairing
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 147 
 
 old man, Felix could scarcely command his own, 
 while, in faltering voice, he rejoined. 
 
 " I remember many passages from the Bible 
 which would comfort you, if you would receive 
 them, but one just now in particular; it is this 
 ' If any man sin, we have an advocate with the 
 Father, even Jesus Christ the righteous, who died 
 not only for our sins, but the sins of the whole 
 world ;' and I have often heard our pastor say, 
 ' that although our sins be as scarlet, they could 
 be made white as snow through Him who died to 
 procure salvation for all that believe in Him.' ' 
 
 He stopped, for his heart was too full to pro- 
 ceed ; Dietrich folded his hands as if in prayer, 
 and lay with his eyes closed, and perfectly still. 
 The leaves of the forest rustled in the autumn 
 breeze the lark sung gaily as she mounted to the 
 heavens the sun lightened the gloomy cottage 
 with his cheerful rays and the impression, alto- 
 gether, made upon the boy's heart, recalled images 
 of home-joys, and created an unconquerable long- 
 ing to be among his own, his loved ones again. He 
 thought of his beautiful home, his parents, his 
 happy brother, and joyous sisters ; of the first, as 
 looking on the sports of the latter, as they played 
 among the honeysuckles and roses that himself 
 once loved so well. Did they think of him, on 
 whom one simple act of disobedience had been so 
 severely visited ? Large and heavy drops filled 
 34*
 
 148 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 his eyes, nnd leaning his brow against the little 
 casement, he wept softly ; for he feared to disturb 
 the meditations of the sick man. A sob, however, 
 which he could not repress, aroused the latter from 
 his train of deep thought. 
 
 " Come here, Felix," said he, in a softer voice 
 than he had ever yet spoken, as he raised himself 
 up in bed; "come here; I will do you all the good 
 I can, while time is yet spared me. Dry up your 
 tears ; you shall see your home soon now. To- 
 morrow morning you shall go to the village where 
 Eugene is he too shall be free." 
 
 Felix was in doubt whether he rightly under- 
 stood ; but he remained silent, and Dietrich pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 "You must give the money with which I will 
 provide you, to the farmer to whom I have hired 
 Eugene ; he will then be set at liberty, and you 
 can both go home. My hours are nearly num- 
 bered, and I cannot go before the great Judge of 
 all with a crime, the enormity of which I could 
 not see until lately, so great upon my soul. God, 
 in thus opening my eyes to the truth, has been 
 more merciful to me than I deserve. I loved Him 
 once, but when my day of trial came, I turned 
 away and rebelled, when I ought to have sub- 
 mitted. Adversity hardened my heart, and so He 
 hid his face from me ; yet He did not utterly for- 
 sake me, sinner that I am. Wronged as I was, no
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 149 
 
 thought of taking Eugene's life ever entered into 
 my soul. I wished but to make those who had no 
 pity, know what it is to suffer ; yet my successful 
 vengeance has brought me no soothing no peace. 
 No blessing could rest on the means I used to make 
 him better ; but you, my good child, your forbear- 
 ance, and simple teaching of the Scripture truths 
 you learned at home, softened my hard heart, and 
 changed my stern purpose. I bless the hour in 
 which you came to me ; and the time will come 
 when, in spite of all I have made you suffer, you 
 will bless it too ; for, although an ignorant man, 
 I know the Scripture says, 'for blessed is he that 
 turneth even one sinner from the error of his 
 ways.' ' 
 
 He stopped for a moment, exhausted. Felix 
 was too much moved to answer ; and after a short 
 silence, the sick man proceeded, as he took a small 
 packet from his bosom. 
 
 "See here, boy, here is money; unjustly gained 
 it is true, but that sin is not mine, and I have 
 never spent one farthing of it on myself. When I 
 set fire to Hausdorff Castle, gain was not my 
 object ; I wanted nothing but revenge. This 
 money belongs to Eugene. I exchanged a portion 
 of the jewels which Amade stole, and gave to me, 
 for it ; and I only accepted of his offer to share 
 his ill-gotten treasure, as it promised to assist me 
 in the prosecution of my plan of revenge. Go,
 
 150 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 then, to farmer Woida in the morning, and give 
 him half of this money, and he will let Eugene 
 free from his bondage ; then come back to me, and 
 I will direct you how to proceed, so that in one 
 week from this time, you may both be at home. 
 When you are there, so happy, do not think of me, 
 my boy, with hatred ; long ere you reach your 
 parents, I shall be standing before the mighty 
 Judge." 
 
 Once more exhausted, the sick man fell back on 
 his pillow ; and ere Felix had time to recover from 
 his grateful astonishment, and thank him for this 
 unexpected bliss, he had fallen into slumber, or 
 rather that stupor produced by weariness. Long 
 ere this, night had stolen over the plain, and 
 shaded the forest ; but the moon, unshrouded even 
 by a gossamer cloud, shone forth in silvery bright- 
 ness, and came peering benevolently into the rude 
 cottage where death was waiting. All was peace 
 without all was quiet within save the heart of 
 our poor boy, which beat wildly at the thoughts of 
 the joys the coming week was to secure. He 
 looked upon the face of the sleeper it wore an 
 expression of more calmness than he had ever seen 
 rest upon it before ; and having never been in the 
 presence of death, he could not recognise its ap- 
 proach. 
 
 He retired to the pallet where, heretofore, he 
 had found rest after the fatigues of the day ; but
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 151 
 
 the stormy joy that filled his whole being effectually 
 distanced sleep. Home, and his family, seemed 
 within his reach ; and he could scarcely wait until 
 the morning broke, so anxious was he to share this 
 happiness with Eugene. Midnight had long passed 
 by, ere he enjoyed a temporary oblivion ; but, 
 exhausted by the previous excitement, his slumbers 
 were heavy, and the sun streaming into his humble 
 chamber, showing the day to be far arisen, was the 
 first to disturb them. Alarmed at his own sloth- 
 fulness, he rose quickly, but without noise, fearful 
 of disturbing the sick man, who seemed to sleep 
 calmly ; but as he approached the bed, the rigid 
 muscles, and marble brow, showed the impress of a 
 hand whose seal can never be mistaken. Yet he 
 could not believe it to be death who had come so 
 silently ; it might be weakness, or excess of pain. 
 He bathed the temples with vinegar, and rubbed 
 the pulseless wrist ; but the cold and stony touch 
 affrighted him he shrunk back in horror from the 
 dead. He wept, and his tears only ceased when 
 he thought of a new source of anxiety that min- 
 gled itself with his sorrow he dreaded that as 
 soon as Dietrich's death should be known, some of 
 the neighboring villagers, many of them being a 
 sort of dependent farmers, might come and claim 
 him as a vassal. The thought was fearful ; and 
 his nerves, so much excited by all he had lately 
 passed through, the power of reasoning was for a
 
 1-52 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 time suspended ; flight seemed the only means left 
 to secure safety. Giving one last look at the 
 corpse of one who had wrought so much wrong 
 upon him, he left the cottage, after carefully 
 closing the door, and ran through field and forest, 
 taking the same direction as Dietrich had done on 
 the day when he took Eugene to the farmer. 
 
 He had the money in his pocket, and distinctly 
 recollected the name of Woida as belonging to 
 Eugene's master ; but that of the farm or village 
 where he lived, Dietrich had not mentioned, and 
 this latter difficulty troubled him not a little. He 
 ran until nearly mid-day, but nothing like a 
 farmer's homestead presented itself to his longing 
 eyes ; swamp and forest were passed over in dreary 
 succession, and disappointment began to take the 
 place of hope. At length, emerging from the 
 wood, he came upon a level plain, where the signs 
 of civilization became more apparent. The col- 
 lier's cabin, and mud dwelling of the boor, gave 
 place to habitations of better construction ; and 
 far towards the horizon, as seen in the unobstructed 
 distance, smoking chimneys betokened a village. 
 In a moment, all weariness was forgotten ; joyful 
 anticipations gave more strength to his limbs, the 
 intervening space was speedily passed over, and a 
 little maiden whom he met at the entrance of the 
 hamlet, stood gazing at him in stupid astonishment 
 as he asked the question about which he was so
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 153 
 
 anxious, forgetting that she did not understand a 
 word he said. The name of farmer Woida at 
 length seemed to reach her stolid perception, for 
 she pointed to a homestead on the further side of 
 the village, the appearance of which was anything 
 but inviting. 
 
 At another time, our young hero would not have 
 been slow to mark the rude and forbidding features 
 of this abode ; but now the thought of liberty and 
 home threw its own radiance over all, and lightened 
 up the dreary spot; and so dazzling was that hope- 
 ful light, that its squalid and filthy aspect was 
 entirely lost sight of. He was sure to find Eugene 
 within ; and in the joyful anticipation of what 
 feelings the tidings he had to communicate would 
 bring to his friend, his countenance beaming with 
 an expression peculiar only to the freshness of 
 youth, he entered, without ceremony, into the 
 dwelling. 
 
 The whole family was seated at the supper-table 
 men and women, the farmer and his servants, 
 without distinction ; and only raised their eyes in 
 a kind of stupid wonder, to see who it was that 
 intruded. The next moment, they proceeded in 
 the demolition of gritz and bacon, which they made 
 to disappear with a celerity almost wonderful, 
 considering that the feat was effected by such 
 seemingly obtuse beings. Felix ran his eyes hastily 
 over the rude assembly, and the glow faded from
 
 154 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 bis cheek, and the light from his eyes, as he per- 
 ceived that Eugene was not among them. Not 
 altogether despairing, although uneasy, he named 
 the names of Dietrich and Eugene, and endeavored 
 to make himself understood by signs, pointing in 
 the direction of the forest and its neighboring 
 hamlet. 
 
 The farmer stopped for half a second, and 
 stretched his eyes to their utmost extent, as if the 
 boy's meaning were only addressed to his sense of 
 seeing ; but as he was in the act of carrying to 
 his mouth a spoonful of the mixture on which they 
 were all feasting, he deemed it a matter of too 
 much importance to be suspended ; he swallowed 
 it, and returned with redoubled vigor to the dish, 
 bestowing not the slightest attention on our poor 
 hero, who was fairly at a loss how to proceed. 
 
 "There is one sign," thought Felix, "that all 
 men understand, and I will speak to him in lan- 
 guage he cannot mistake;" and drawing the purse 
 given him by Dietrich from his pocket, he laid 
 half of its contents upon the table. 
 
 The countenance of the boor changed as if by 
 magic the gold had spoken to his heart. He cast 
 a longing look upon the money, and spreading 
 forth his broad hand, swept it hastily together, 
 and buried it in his capacious pocket ; at the same 
 time speaking a few words to one of his servants, 
 who, without the slightest visible emotion, rose in
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 155 
 
 an instant, and approached the boy. Never doubt- 
 ing but that the boor was about to conduct him to 
 where Eugene was to be found, his courage once 
 more began to revive ; but what was his astonish- 
 ment to find himself rudely caught up by a pair 
 of powerful arms, and in spite of all his struggles, 
 carried forth to the court-yard, and there thrown 
 out, with as little ceremony as though he had been 
 a bundle of straw, into the highway ; W 7 hile his 
 unmoved conqueror returned very coolly to the 
 house, carefully bolting the door to prevent his 
 re-entrance. 
 
 Bitter tears, less from pain (for he was hurt 
 somewhat by his fall) than mortification, flowed 
 down his cheeks, but there was no alternative but 
 submission ; since explanation would be impossible, 
 and remonstrance in vain. The only expedient 
 that presented itself, was to remain in the neigh- 
 borhood of this inhospitable dwelling ; where, him- 
 self unseen, he might be able to get a sight of 
 Eugene, whom he thought likely was employed in 
 out-door work. " He will surely return to the 
 house at night-fall," said he to himself; but the 
 day passed over, and darkness came on, without 
 bringing the object he so greatly desired to see ; 
 and now, with spirits much abated, he was obliged 
 to yield to the claims of hunger and weariness, 
 and betake himself to the ale-house in the village 
 we have before mentioned as being in the neigh- 
 So
 
 15C THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 borhood. He had no great difficulty in making 
 the host understand what he wanted. He knew 
 the names of bread and cheese in the Polish lan- 
 guage, and showed them by signs that he wanted 
 lodging. All was readily supplied ; and having 
 eaten heartily of the primitive fare they provided, 
 he laid himself down on his hard pallet, and, worn 
 out with excitement as well as the vigil of the pre- 
 ceding night, his sad and boding thoughts were 
 soon lost in the benevolent oblivion of sleep. 
 
 The morning, however, awoke him to renewed 
 care and anxiety. He resorted once more to the 
 spot from whence, on the preceding day, he had 
 watched the movements at the farm-house ; but 
 after the second day had passed, and he saw one 
 after another of the peasants go forth to their 
 field-work, and return in the same manner at meal 
 time, and no one at all resembling Eugene among 
 them, his hope failed him altogether, and he felt 
 himself fairly in a dilemma. 
 
 Poor Felix ! what was he to do now ? Dare he 
 begin his journey homeward, and leave Eugene in 
 servitude, maintaining himself by the way on the 
 money which belonged to his friend, and which he 
 still retained ? " No ! I cannot do it, it would be 
 wrong;" and so he resolved to wait a few days 
 longer, in which he would seek him more carefully 
 throughout the neighborhood ; for he could not go
 
 THE NEIGHBORS 1 CHILDREN. 157 
 
 until at least every avenue of hope as to finding 
 him should be closed. 
 
 Sadder than ever, he returned to the inn, where 
 he found assembled a greater number of people 
 than usual : for it was the time of holding annual 
 court in that district, and the magistrate of the 
 village made one of the party on this evening. 
 
 Most of the persons present were peasants, 
 wearing upon their physiognomy those peculiar 
 features which are supposed to be the impress of 
 slavery, as marked by an extreme depression, or 
 an apathy bordering on stolidity, such as our hero 
 remarked in the household of farmer Woida, and 
 which even the brandy, as it circulated freely, was 
 not sufficiently potent to alter ; and so our poor 
 Felix entered almost unobserved, and sat down in 
 a quiet corner of the smoky room unquestioned 
 save by one. 
 
 That one was the village justice, who, being 
 possessed of more intelligence, and a man of more 
 observation than most of those among whom he 
 lived, saw, notwithstanding the rude garb in which 
 the boy was clothed, that he differed from the 
 peasant herd whom he met with daily ; and wonder- 
 ing what business had brought him to this ale-house, 
 began to question him in Polish. Finding he could 
 not understand him, he next enquired his name, 
 and what his business was, in German ; which 
 language, although he spoke it badly, fell like
 
 158 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 magic on our hero's ears ; and seeming like sounds 
 from home, at once awoke his boyish confidence. 
 
 Believing he had met a friend in one who could 
 understand the speech of his country, he told his 
 interrogator all he desired to know, that he was 
 seeking his friend, who was in the service of farmer 
 Woida ; that he had given the latter twenty gold 
 pieces as compensation for his companion's liberty, 
 but that the money had been pocketed, without re- 
 leasing the boy. 
 
 The justice, whose name was Petrowsky, gazed 
 on our young friend as he was speaking, and his 
 glance was indicative of suspicion only ; he could 
 not read the lines of candor and truth on that 
 fair brow alas ! he knew too much of human 
 nature ; was too well versed in the tortuous ways 
 of men, to give much credit to any tale ; knavery 
 and double-dealing were so constantly brought 
 before his notice, that he lived in constant distrust 
 of all ; and believing that if one man was less 
 overreaching than his fellow, it was for want of 
 opportunity or acumen. 
 
 "That was a large sum," said he, after a pause, 
 " for a boy like you to have ; where did you get 
 the money you say you gave the farmer ? " 
 
 " Dietrich gave it to me ; he had hired Eugene 
 to farmer Woida, and this money was to buy him 
 back," was the answer of Felix. 
 
 " If Dietrich made the bargain, why did he not
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN T . 159 
 
 go himself, and release the boy from servitude ? " 
 asked the magistrate. 
 
 " Alas ! he could not, he is dead," said Felix ; 
 " he was unable to walk for some time, from a cut 
 he had received on his foot, and then took a fever, 
 of which he died. The morning after he gave 
 me the money, I found him dead in his bed. 0, 
 dear sir, Eugene is a nobleman's son, and if you 
 will only tell me how I may find him, as soon as 
 we get home, you shall be well rewarded." 
 
 "So then you do not know," replied the person 
 addressed, " that the young knave ran away from 
 his master a week ago ? He could have been no 
 great loss, methinks, since there was neither search 
 nor inquiry made for him." 
 
 A thrill of horror passed over the heart of Felix 
 at this intelligence. "Poor boy," said he. sadly, 
 " what will become of him, a fugitive in a strange 
 land ; and how can I hope to find him, ignorant 
 as I am of the language. The best I can do is 
 to go home as quickly as possible, and tell his 
 parents what has happened. His father will find 
 means to have him sought out and restored." 
 
 " Stop, my boy ! not quite so fast, if you please," 
 rejoined the justice ; " you say Dietrich died quite 
 suddenly; and it sounds very strange that Dietrich 
 should give a boy of your years such a sum. The 
 old knave did not look like one disposed to be 
 very liberal ; and as I saw him for the last few 
 35*
 
 160 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 months, more likely to spend it in draughts of 
 brandy, than give it away. No, no, I cannot 
 believe the half of this." 
 
 The anxiety of Felix now arose to the highest 
 pitch ; he foresaw the delay the magistrate's sus- 
 picion was likely to produce ; and he resolved to 
 tell him candidly the whole history of what had 
 befallen both Eugene and himself; but this did 
 not make things any better. Owing to his audi- 
 tor's imperfect knowledge of the German language, 
 more than one half of what he said was not under- 
 stood ; and instead of lessening, only served to 
 increase his already aroused suspicions ; for the 
 circumstances seemed too improbable to be believed. 
 
 " The thing must be looked into," said he ; 
 "when I go to the capital I will speak to the 
 justice Amtmann about it. In the meantime, you 
 must remain here in this neighborhood ; and until 
 the affair is settled, I will take you home with me, 
 and find work for you on my farm. You may 
 thank your stars you have found such a good 
 place ; for if you had told the tale I have been lis- 
 tening to to any other, it is most likely you would 
 have been sent to prison ; as it is, I have my own 
 suspicions that, although very young, your are a 
 crafty knave ; and have either stolen the money 
 from the old man, or helped him to his sudden 
 death!" 
 
 A sudden chill swept over the heart of the poor
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 161 
 
 boy as he listened to this speech, and for a moment 
 suspended the faculties of the living being. But 
 the vrarm tide again flowed forth, and he was able 
 once more to think. In the most earnest and 
 touching manner he besought the man, who from 
 his calling ought to be just, to let him return 
 to his parents, who, he was certain, mourned him 
 as dead ; and protested his innocence with an 
 earnestness that would have weakened, if not re- 
 moved, the suspicion of any one who was not pre- 
 determined to condemn. 
 
 His prayers were addressed to a deaf ear. The 
 justice demanded the rest of the gold ; and having 
 buried it safely in his waistcoat-pocket, he set out 
 for his home, taking our young hero with him. 
 
 The boy followed his new and self-constituted 
 master without uttering a word ; but an overwhelm- 
 ing sense of isolation and strangeness took posses- 
 sion of his whole soul ; and the feeling of desola- 
 tion was by no means diminished on entering the 
 long low chamber where the farm servants, of 
 whom he was now to be considered one, were seated 
 around a huge stove. They were not the only 
 occupants of the filthy room ; a number of chick- 
 ens, who were roosting on some crossbeams above 
 the fireplace, gave audible tokens of their vicinity, 
 as well as testified their displeasure at the interrup- 
 tion caused by the entrance of strangers. A long 
 table much cut and hacked, surrounded with cor-
 
 162 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 responding benches, was the only furniture ; arid 
 as our poor Felix gazed upon the faces of those 
 who were seated or stretched upon the latter, he 
 felt that neither sympathy nor assistance was to 
 be expected. A dogged sullenncss was the pre- 
 vailing expression, with which a slight shade of 
 scorn mingled itself, as they half raised themselves 
 to look at the new comer, who was introduced to 
 their companionship as "a knavish young German." 
 
 His courage was entirely subdued by this new 
 misfortune ; so near the long-desired end of all 
 his wishes already on the first steps of the jour- 
 ney which led to his home and now all this hin- 
 drance effected by the impatience of Eugene, with 
 whom, but for his flight, he might have been many 
 miles on his way. But complaints and reflections 
 were alike useless ; he knew the want of patience 
 to be his own besetting sin ; and as he had set him- 
 self fairly at work to overcome it, he determined 
 firmly to adhere to his purpose, although it was 
 with a far less buoyant spirit than heretofore. 
 
 His duties in this his new home were by no means 
 light ; being the youngest, and not a native, much 
 more labor was heaped upon him in consequence. 
 He had to be up first in the morning, to do such work 
 as the others did not like to do ; to help in the 
 barn throughout the day, and in the evening to 
 take the horses that had been used in ploughing to 
 the meadows, and there remain himself for moro
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 163 
 
 than half the night on the damp dull flats, from 
 whose unhedged boundaries he was to prevent the 
 fettered animals from straying. 
 
 Greatly as he suffered, as the season advanced, 
 under these increasing hardships, it was yet all as 
 nothing in comparison with the pangs of disap- 
 pointed hope. His heart grew sick as day after 
 day passed over without tidings from Eugene, or 
 prospect of deliverance from the wretchedness to 
 which he was a prey. Sadly, and in silence, he 
 crept about, scrupulously performing the tasks 
 required of him ; but buoyancy no longer marked 
 his step, neither did light kindle in his eye. Hun- 
 ger and weariness he had learned to bear ; but the 
 unnatural pressure on the youthful spirit was 
 beginning painfully to tell. His food was of the 
 coarsest kind, and so small in quantity, that it 
 scarcely served to nourish the overtasked frame ; 
 yet he was satisfied with it. The one all-absorbing 
 subject of regret, and longing to be with his 
 parents, swallowed up every minor consideration, 
 and made him altogether insensible of the failure 
 of his health ; and having coupled some of the 
 horses, and fettered others, he would leave them 
 to graze on such herbage as they could find ; and, 
 lying down on the ground, would bury his weeping 
 face in the fading grass, and wish to die. 
 
 The rude beings by whom he was surrounded, 
 in whose hearts call sympathy had been crushed by
 
 164 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 the pressure of their own bondage, and taught to 
 believe him a criminal of the worst kind, and only 
 screened from justice by their master's compassion, 
 extended to him on account of his extreme youth, 
 noticed not his faded and dejected appearance; but 
 as though they considered it an imperative duty, 
 they aggravated his already scarce bearable bur- 
 den, by their rude and unfeeling behavior, and 
 adding new hardships whenever they could. The 
 principle from which such conduct was prompted, 
 gave him more pain than the acts from which he 
 suffered. It was his nature to be kind and friendly 
 to all, and his education had taught him the true 
 courtesy of being affable to every one ; and his 
 loving spirit could scarcely brook the repulses he 
 received from the stupid boors, whom he vainly 
 tried to conciliate. But, as we have before re- 
 marked, no life is altogether dark no condition 
 altogether joyless. The smile of woman has 
 cheered the most dreary waste the prattle of a 
 child has poured out comfort to many a slave: and 
 so it was in this case. One flower bloomed in this 
 wilderness ; and like a fountain of sweet waters in 
 the desert, of which the traveller drinks that he 
 may not die, so was this slight treasure hailed as a 
 sacred gift from heaven, inasmuch as it recalled 
 the failing spirit from the verge of despair. 
 
 As he turned away, one day, more disgusted 
 than usual at the surly demeanor of those with
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 165 
 
 whom he was obliged to herd, his eye fell on a 
 little girl of perhaps eight years old ; whom his 
 master, as he stood giving directions, held by the 
 hand. Her large blue eyes beamed forth smilingly 
 from among her fair silken curls, and the sweet 
 angelic expression of her face, involuntarily brought 
 back the image of his dear little sister Pauline ; 
 and the imaginary likeness invested the little Polish 
 maiden with an almost supernatural beauty, in his 
 eyes, at the moment. 
 
 Mareska. for that was her name, was his mas- 
 ter's youngest and most favorite child ; and as she 
 stood beside her stern father, it was hard to ima- 
 gine that such near relationship could exist between 
 beings so different in appearance. She was allowed 
 unlimited indulgence ; and so, taking advantage 
 of her liberty of roaming where she pleased, in a 
 few hours afterwards she was seen bounding over 
 the meadow where Felix watched his grazing 
 charge. These visits from the little wild bird, 
 from this time, became more frequent, and were 
 productive of happiness to both. To him, she 
 came like a gleam of light from another world, 
 and rekindled the almost extinguished spark of 
 hope. Through her influence with her father, who 
 never denied her anything, might he not obtain the 
 liberty for which he pined ? But, independent of 
 these selfish considerations, her presence was a real 
 blessing : and instead of weeping away the hours^
 
 166 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 as he used to do when sent to the meadows with 
 the horses, he found pastime in making little wind- 
 mills, boats, and other playthings, out of wood, for 
 her, and was fully repaid for his trouble by her 
 expressions of wonder and delight. Her winning 
 ways, her kind and gentle disposition, and the 
 gratitude with which she received these expressions 
 of his friendly feeling towards her, rescued life 
 from that deadness into which it had been chilled 
 by the want of sympathy, and prevented utter 
 stagnation. 
 
 His master had at first amused him with pro- 
 mises of inquiring after Eugene, and sending 
 letters in his behalf to Steinrode : but as, in the 
 first place, he did not half believe his story ; and 
 in the second, when he found how easily his de- 
 mands were satisfied, and how diligent and faithful 
 he was in the discharge of his duty, he resolved to 
 keep him as his servant ; and therefore never 
 wrote, as he had promised, to a friend he said he 
 had in Silesia. 
 
 In order to lighten the burden of his servitude, 
 Felix had taken some pains to learn the language ; 
 and he succeeded so far as to be able to converse 
 tolerably well with the little Mareska, from whom 
 alone he received any intelligence of what was 
 going forward, since all but herself avoided him. 
 Her visits and childish playfulness, by awakening 
 his own young spirit from the despondent mood
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 167 
 
 into which it had fallen, had rendered life more 
 endurable, and he performed all that was required 
 of him, steadily and without sullenness, in hopes 
 that every day would bring the wished for intelli- 
 gence from Silesia. But the sun that rose on his 
 unfulfilled wishes, brought no fruition at its setting; 
 disappointment succeeded to disappointment, and 
 his master held him at too great a distance for 
 him to dare to question. It was only to gratify 
 his darling Mareska herself that she was permitted 
 to hold converse with him. 
 
 In her childish delight, she had shown her father 
 the toys Felix made for her ; and as he sometimes 
 had to pass whole days, which the others spent as 
 holidays in the ale-house, or elsewhere, alone in 
 the meadow, as he watched the horses, he worked 
 the whole time at this employment; and so became 
 quite proficient in this sort of rude sculpture. His 
 avaricious master now began to calculate on a new 
 branch of profit from his services, and so purchased 
 a small collection of common paints, with which he 
 one day surprised him ; and as he at the same time 
 released him from the performance of some of the 
 most menial offices, this toy-making became a 
 favorite pastime, rather than a labor. He pitied 
 the boy, in his heart. His patient endurance of 
 all that had been thrust upon him, awoke a softer 
 feeling; arid although too selfish to think of giving 
 up one whose services were, although unjustly ob- 
 36
 
 168 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 tained, so likely to be useful to himself, he relaxed 
 much from his early severity, and conversed with 
 him ; at times deigning even to comfort him when 
 he inquired if an answer had come from his pa- 
 rents. But at last, such questions awoke his impa- 
 tience ; and one day, as Felix ventured to interro- 
 gate him on the unpleasant subject, he fell into a 
 passion, and answered this time without hypocrisy. 
 
 "You may as well give up inquiring, and be 
 contented with your lot, which is no worse than 
 that of thousands. You remain with me for the 
 present, and I am sure you have nothing here to 
 complain of. When you are grown up to be a 
 man, and able to travel, I will let you go to your 
 home ; but now, such a thing is not to be thought 
 of, since it is not proved that you had no hand in 
 Dietrich's sudden death ; neither how you came by 
 the money found in your possession honestly, I 
 cannot suppose ; since if you had, you would not 
 have run off without telling any one your master 
 was dead. You may thank your stars that I 
 picked you up, for if I had not, you would at this 
 moment have been sitting between four walls; and 
 no cock would ever crow to tell that the day had 
 broke on which you were to set out for your 
 home." 
 
 Half broken-hearted by this cruel speech, Felix 
 turned away to the field where the bondsmen were 
 reaping oats (for he had now been many months
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 169 
 
 with his new master, and the ever changing seasons 
 had brought seed-time and harvest in their turns), 
 and took his place among them. His task was to 
 bind up the cut grain into sheaves; and silent and 
 weeping, he prepared to fulfil it. His distress was 
 noticed by one of the men, who, until this time, 
 had ever been foremost to insult and wound him ; 
 and Felix had been particularly careful to avoid 
 him, not only on this account, but such was the 
 dark and villanous expression of his face, that it 
 made him an object most persons would seek to 
 shun. 
 
 When the noontide meal was brought out, and 
 the reapers had retired to a shady spot to eat it, 
 this man seeing our young friend refuse his portion, 
 approached him ; and putting on an aspect of com- 
 miseration, began to condole with him on the hard- 
 ships of his lot, at the same time hinting that he 
 could propose a plan by which he might easily 
 escape from his present servitude, and reach his 
 home. 
 
 Felix, as we have said before, was by this time 
 sufficiently versed in the Polish language to under- 
 stand his meaning ; he raised his tear-swelled eyes 
 to his comrade's face, as if to see whether he was 
 in earnest ; and his whole frame trembled from 
 excess of joyful surprise. Looking the question 
 he dared not venture to ask of one he had ever
 
 170 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 approached Avith dread, he was met by the follow- 
 ing proposal. 
 
 "Listen to me now, and be prudent," said the 
 boor ; " when you are sent to the meadows to- 
 night with the horses, do not stop there, but drive 
 them quietly to the forest which lies at the furthest 
 side. Myself and one other of our men will meet 
 you there ; we will tie the horses in couples, so as 
 to drive easily, and dash on to try our fortunes in 
 the wide world. Help us only so far as this, and 
 it shall be our care to see that you reach home 
 safely, and no man shall touch a hair of your head." 
 
 "Steal my master's horses?" repeated the indig- 
 nant boy, and the blush of shame and displeasure 
 stole over his pale features as he spoke ; " never ! 
 I am no thief. Rather will I die in my hard 
 master's service, herding his cattle in storms and 
 darkness until my life shall end, than stand before 
 my parents as a thief and traitor." 
 
 "You are a fool," said the boor, with a scornful 
 laugh ; " you will only repay one great wrong with 
 a less. The justice holds you in his service here 
 against all right, because he finds you useful, and you 
 cost him but little. If you were not such a block- 
 head, you might be sure he had never written to 
 enquire about your parents, since he is determined 
 to keep you as his bondsman. Your money, 
 whether you stole it, as he says you did, or not, 
 has gone into his own pocket ; and you will never
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 171 
 
 see your home again, that I promise you, unless 
 you fall in with what I have proposed." 
 
 " If the justice has done me wrong, and deceived 
 me about sending to my parents," answered Felix, 
 " God has many ways by which, in his own good 
 time, he can deliver me from this misery. You 
 place a great temptation before me ; but, believing 
 as I do, you cannot entice me to do what I know 
 to be wrong." 
 
 " Well," exclaimed Lipinsky, bursting into a fit 
 of passion, " you will repent your refusal, sorely 
 repent it. To your own hurt be it, since we can 
 accomplish our purpose without you. But look 
 you sharp, my young man if you breathe one 
 word, or give a hint of what has been spoken in 
 this conversation, you and my knife shall make 
 close acquaintance, as sure as my name is Lipinsky. 
 So mark that, you Dutch blockhead !" 
 
 This circumstance served greatly to increase our 
 hero's embarrassment, as well as to augment his 
 happiness. Notwithstanding the threat uttered by 
 Lipinsky, he believed it his duty to give his master 
 a hint of what was intended ; and as the day ad- 
 vanced, and no opportunity for doing so presented 
 itself, his uneasiness grew greater as the moments 
 flew by. With his thoughts thus painfully busy, 
 he pursued his work, mechanically and in his usual 
 silence ; but the very blood curdled at his heart, 
 when on raising his eyes he encountered the dark, 
 36*
 
 172 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 revengeful looks of Lipinsky, who never for a 
 moment ceased to regard him. 
 
 The time allotted for work drew to a close ; but 
 no chance of communicating with -his master had 
 offered ; and sick at heart, with an aching head, 
 and apprehending he scarce knew what, he saw 
 the reapers prepare to leave the field. Lipinsky 
 kept close heside him, and prevented a word from 
 being spoken. He trembled as with a fit of ague as 
 the unsuspecting owner of the horses came to him 
 as he was busy with his charge in the stable, and 
 bade him drive them to that part of the wide 
 meadow which was in sight of the village, but most 
 distant from the farm-house. This was the very 
 spot desired by Lipinsky. 
 
 " What ails thee, boy ? " enquired his master, 
 as he noticed his great agitation ; " have you been 
 at the brandy sent out to the reapers ?" 
 
 Felix turned to answer, but a threatening look 
 from Lipinsky fettered his tongue. The poor 
 youth trembled only the more as he answered, " I 
 think, sir, you must let me stay home this evening, 
 for I am very sick." 
 
 " Pshaw nonsense," rejoined the master, laugh- 
 ing ; " you are only a little drunk ; it will soon 
 pass off; or, I suppose, being a little lofty, you 
 would prefer lying in a warm bed, to the clear 
 heavens and cold earth. But there, take a couple 
 of those horse-blankets with you, and you will
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 173 
 
 sleep like a prince. Now be off at once, and do 
 not make me impatient." 
 
 Felix was obliged to obey ; and as he left the 
 barn-yard with -his horses, he heard Lipinsky's 
 scornful laugh, and understood its meaning. Words 
 could not express his not only anxiety but perplex- 
 ity. He justly feared that the base Lipinsky would 
 fall upon him in the night, and rob him of his 
 horses, and perhaps take his life ; or if himself 
 should boldly tell his master of the intended wrong 
 in the miscreant's presence, the latter, who pos- 
 sessed his confidence, would deny the whole matter, 
 and have him punished as an utterer of falsehood, 
 desirous of supplanting him in the justice's favor, 
 by showing his own zeal in his service. 
 
 The sun had not yet disappeared behind the dark 
 boundary of the distant forests, and the air was 
 calm and still. Felix, stretched upon the green 
 sward, lay vainly meditating how he could acquaint 
 his master with the plot, or save the horses him- 
 self. He dare not drive them to another part of 
 the meadows, since this spot had been particularly 
 designated. The sound of approaching footsteps 
 aroused him ; he looked up, and saw the little 
 laughing Mareska beside him. She was fairly out 
 of breath with the speed in which she ran over 
 the wide fields ; but her whole face sparkled with 
 delight as she handed him a little white packet,
 
 174 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 done up in white paper, which she carried in her 
 hand. 
 
 "I have brought you something," said she, ad- 
 dressing the boy; "something that will do you 
 good, now that you are sick. See what a nice 
 cake it is ! and you shall eat it, because you have 
 always been so good to me, and made me such 
 pretty toys. But do not look so sorrowful as you 
 did this morning, when you talked to my father; I 
 will be good to you, if he is not, for I do not like 
 to see any one sad." 
 
 Felix patted her curly head; and as he accepted 
 her cake, which it would have pained her to have 
 refused, his eye fell upon the white paper in which 
 it was enveloped, and, quick as lightning, a thought 
 flashed through his brain. He had a piece of red 
 chalk in his pocket, that he used for marking the 
 wood from which he cut the toys for Mareska; and 
 although the twilight was beginning to fall, he 
 drew upon the paper, with hasty strokes, the scene 
 in which he now was placed. 
 
 It was at this time that the drawing he had 
 practised to relieve the tedium of Dietrich's cot- 
 tage, came to his aid ; and as he sketched his rude 
 draught, he acknowledged the mercy that rules 
 over man, fitting him for his destiny, and preparing 
 him to meet all life's emergencies. 
 
 The horses feeding quietly himself sitting on 
 the ground Lipinsky (who was easily made recog-
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 175 
 
 nisable by his peculiar cap, and natural deformity 
 of one arm shorter than the other), creeping up 
 behind him with his naked knife these objects 
 formed the foreground. In the distance, bounded 
 by the forest, were some two or three men, with 
 ropes and halters in their hands. Badly drawn, 
 and with such materials, it was yet striking enough 
 to show, at the first glance, it was intended to 
 designate something in reference to the horses. 
 What that was, Felix trusted to the sagacity, or 
 rather to the proverbial Polish cunning, to find 
 out. He scarcely doubted but that, through the 
 little Mareska, the picture would find its way to 
 the hands of her father ; the only fear was that he 
 might be absent. If he could but have written a 
 few words, it would have been more to the purpose; 
 but his master could not read German, neither 
 could he have made the circumstance known in his 
 own limited knowledge of the Polish letters. 
 
 A short time having served to complete the rude 
 picture, he gave it into the hands of the little 
 Mareska, who clapped her hands for very joy, and 
 ran off at full speed to show her treasure ; not 
 waiting to hear his injunction not to let any one 
 see it but papinka. He knew that, when at home, 
 the old man usually amused himself with his little 
 daughter, in the evening twilight, and that she 
 never was repulsed ; whether clambering on his 
 knee, or hanging round his neck, she was a favorite
 
 176 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 at all times, and in all places. The boy watched 
 her receding form, as she bounded over the wide, 
 level field, until the thickening twilight hid it from 
 his view ; then, leaning against the trunk of a huge 
 willow that grew at the border of the meadow, he 
 looked anxiously in the direction of the village, to 
 see if any uncommon movement was taking place 
 there : but all was quiet ; no sounds were heard, 
 save the whispering of the breeze, or the monoto- 
 nous chirp of the cricket. Night sunk down upon 
 the plain ; and, bathed in the cooling dews, reposed 
 in solemn stillness. A few kindly stars twinkled 
 in the sky ; but still, the darkness was so great 
 that any one might have approached quite close 
 without being seen. So calm and peaceful, so holy 
 and pure was the whole scene, it seemed almost 
 impious to suppose its enjoyment and quiet could 
 be interrupted by fears or deeds of bloodshed ; and 
 yet our hero could not divest himself of the appre- 
 hension of lurking danger. Worn out with the 
 labors of the day, he dared not yield to the drow- 
 siness which oppressed him ; and although, at 
 times, nearly conquered by sleep, he yet manfully 
 resisted the desire, by using every expedient he 
 could think of to keep himself awake. 
 
 Midnight had come, and nought had disturbed 
 its solemn hush. He began to think his fears had 
 magnified the danger that Lipinsky had only 
 been tampering with his honesty, to see if he was
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 177 
 
 indeed the deceiver he had beeii represented ; and 
 he now began to consider whether he might not 
 conscientiously yield to the burden of fatigue and 
 drowsiness which lay upon him. His eyes closed ; 
 his relaxed frame, and wearied mind, released from 
 the forced action he had imposed on both, had in 
 another moment settled into sleep ; but just then a 
 rustling noise, unlike the whispering made by the 
 breeze among the branches, aroused both, in an 
 instant, to the full power of action. He listened 
 it was no deception, for it came nearer; he 
 looked no light was visible from the village ; 
 nothing to show that any one was on the alert to 
 apprehend danger, or prevent violence. He placed 
 his fore-finger within his lips, and gave a shrill, 
 piercing whistle ; hoping that, as the wind blew in 
 the direction towards the village, it would be heard 
 by some one there, and so awaken alarm, and 
 bring help. 
 
 The rustling grew more distinct ; and he had 
 scarcely time to press himself close and closer, for 
 concealment, behind the huge trunk of the willow, 
 before two figures rose up, as if out of the earth, 
 just beside him. A ditch ran on this side of the 
 meadow, nearly to the village ; and, creeping 
 stealthily along its course, they had gained the 
 spot almost noiselessly, and, had any one been on 
 ,he watch, without being observed. They stopped 
 '.or a moment, looking carefully around, as if for
 
 178 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 some one ; but the friendly trunk of the spreading 
 willow, effectually concealed the watching boy from 
 their notice. 
 
 " I thought so," said a voice which Felix knew 
 to be Lipinsky's, although he could not distinguish 
 his figure in the dim starlight. " I thought that 
 stupid Dutch fool would pull his head out of the 
 noose, and give us leg bail. He has certainly run 
 off and left old Petrowsky's noble horses for us to 
 do as we please with. Well, it is all the better." 
 
 As he spoke, he carefully approached the ani- 
 mals, and rousing them with as little noise as 
 possible, endeavored to drive them into the forest, 
 which, as we have said, skirted the farthest side of 
 the meadow. Felix strained his powers of vision 
 until his eye-balls pained him, towards the village, 
 in hopes of the expected help, but in vain ; none 
 came. He was about to repeat his call of alarm, 
 when suddenly one of the men uttered a loud cry 
 of pain, accompanied with a volley of oaths. He 
 had approached quite close to a noble black horse, 
 the peculiar favorite of his owner, and was about 
 to throw the halter over his head ; but the spirited 
 animal resisted the effort, and rearing up, struck 
 out with his fore-feet, and wounded him severely 
 on the ancle. As he lay moaning on the earth, 
 Lipinsky came up to see what was the matter. 
 
 " Get up, you screeching fool," he cried, after 
 he had first vented his rage in a hearty fit of
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 179 
 
 cursing; "what business had you to touch that 
 horse? the wild devil won't let anybody but his 
 master, and that Dutch thief, halter him. Get up, 
 I tell you, and quit your whining, or else you will 
 have the farm-people here before you know what 
 you are about; and so your head will be knocked 
 off to keep company with your log." 
 
 Lipinsky did not utter this speech without many 
 interruptions, for the unmanageable horse gave 
 him much to do to keep him at all in bounds, for 
 although he held him by the halter, endeavoring at 
 the same time to couple him with two others, all 
 had become so frightened and unruly, that the 
 effort to fasten them required more strength than 
 the churl had at his disposal. 
 
 Felix was aware of his embarrassment, made 
 more plain by his continued and murmured impre- 
 cations, than could be visible in the dim light; and 
 taking advantage of the moment, he again gave 
 that peculiar loud and shrill whistle, commonly 
 used as a signal. This time, the sound reached the 
 village, as at once he knew ; for the dogs were 
 awakened, and began to bark loudly. Lipinsky 
 now became furious, and desperate. 
 
 " Betrayed ! betrayed ! and by that accursed 
 Dutchman," he cried, aloud; and Approached the 
 tree beneath whose dark shadow Felix found pro- 
 tection. Anxious, however, to retain possession 
 of the horses, now that he had got it, he still 
 37
 
 180 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 endeavored to force them towards the wood, within 
 whose shadow lay his only chance of safety, should 
 the alarm have reached the village ; but the nearer 
 he drew them to the willow behind which our hero 
 stood, the more unmanageable they became, start- 
 ing back and rearing, being frightened by the man 
 who still lay moaning on the spot where he had at 
 first fallen. 
 
 Finding his hiding-place no longer safe, Felix 
 now left it, and set off at the top of his speed 
 towards the homestead ; calling for help with all 
 the strength of which he was master. 
 
 " I will stop your mouth, boy, if I can do no- 
 thing else," muttered the treacherous vassal ; as, 
 with low curses spoken between his teeth, he let 
 go the leather thong with which he was endea- 
 voring to lead the unruly horse, that now, dashing 
 wildly over the plain in full force of his recovered 
 liberty, turned his ringing footsteps directly to the 
 village. Lipinsky knew he would not stop until he 
 had reached his master's dwelling. Not a moment 
 was to be lost and he resolved effectually to 
 silence the boy, whose evidence must betray him ; 
 and ere Felix was many yards distant from the 
 willow, his enemy was in full pursuit. Fleet of 
 foot, and possessed of great strength, he soon 
 gained rapidly on the young fugitive ; and at last 
 reached within a few steps of him. Felix half 
 turned his head, and as he saw the murderous knife
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 181 
 
 gleaming in his upraised hand, he thought himself 
 lost. His limbs trembled, but he sped onwards ; 
 but in his haste and anxiety turning somewhat 
 from the path, he stumbled over the protruding 
 root of a tree, and fell headlong on the earth ; 
 rolling, as he did so, into a slight declivity, or 
 rather what was a partially filled-up ditch. 
 
 This saved him. His pursuer, proceeding with 
 a velocity which he could not in an instant control, 
 bounded past him ; but almost instantly he turned, 
 rejoicing that his proposed vengeance should be so 
 easily accomplished on his young and fallen victim. 
 He laughed aloud, and it sounded like the rejoicing 
 of a demon, as he looked around for him ; for he 
 could not see at once where he had so suddenly 
 disappeared ; but this one moment decided our 
 hero's fate. Lipinsky saw, and, knife in hand, 
 again approached him ; but ere he could stoop to 
 drag the fallen boy forth, he found himself sud- 
 denly seized and restrained by a pair of powerful 
 arms. 
 
 Felix still lay senseless on the earth, for he had 
 received a slight contusion on his hea.l, by which 
 he was completely stunned ; but he at length was 
 conscious that some one was raising him up, and 
 rubbing his brow and hands. As he opened his 
 eyes, a number of persons were standing around 
 him with lighted lanterns, the glare of which fell 
 upon the dark face of Lipinsky ; who now, bound
 
 THE NEIGHBORS CHILDREN.- 
 
 with cords, was carefully guarded by the strongest 
 of the p;irty. Three or four others were preparing 
 to carry his wounded comrade to the village ; it 
 having by this time been ascertained that his leg 
 was broken. 
 
 The plan of our young friend had succeeded. 
 Mareska had hardly reached home, before she 
 sought her father; and climbing upon his knee, 
 nearly wild with joy, was in haste to show him 
 what she called her "beautiful picture." 
 
 ' 0, father! only look here!" she cried; "did 
 you ever see such pretty horses as these that Felix 
 has drawn for me? Just say now, does not this 
 look like our wild Black Raven, that always kicks 
 when you go near him ?" 
 
 Petrowsky took the picture fr< m the child's 
 hand, and laughingly, to tease her, began to criti- 
 cise the manner in which it was executed ; averring 
 that if she had not told him what figure was in- 
 tended for Black Raven, he would have supposed 
 it her mother's black cat, that had been chased out 
 of the pantry ; and the boy lying on the ground, 
 was to show that Felix was lazy and sleepy. Ma- 
 reska, who was very much displeased, had not to 
 endure this ridicule of her favorite very long ; for 
 he, remembering the boy's singular behavior in the 
 morning, as he now looked at the rude picture, 
 began to think there might be more meaning iu it 
 than, at the first glance, he had supposed.
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 183 
 
 He gave up his jesting, and examined it atten- 
 tively. That something menaced the safety of the 
 horses, he felt assured ; and as he looked, his cold 
 grey eye blazed up with angry fire, and instead of 
 giving back the drawing to the child, he thrust it 
 into his pocket. Mareska looked at him in asto- 
 nishment. She could not think how she had dis- 
 pleased him ; for, to her, he was always indulgent. 
 She began to cry ; but, contrary to his wont, to 
 this he paid no attention. Without speaking a 
 word, he put her down from his knee ; and giving 
 a sign to his brother, who was on a visit there that 
 evening, that he had business with him, they left 
 the room together. 
 
 A long conversation, which they held together 
 in a distant chamber, was followed by the result 
 we have described, and ended in the apprehension 
 of the treacherous vassals, and the deliverance of 
 Felix. The former were committed to prison; and 
 when Lipinsky found that nothing else would avail, 
 he threw himself on the clemency of his master, 
 and made a full confession. He stated that he had 
 tried to persuade Felix to fly with him ; that he 
 had promised to take him at once to his parents, 
 if he would but lead the horses into the forest,, 
 from whence they could have succeeded in their 
 plan, and with less danger than was promised by a 
 nearer vicinity to the village. 
 
 As Petrowsky listened, he rejoiced not only in 
 37*
 
 THE NEIGHBORS CHILDREN. 
 
 the sagacity as manifested by the shrewd expedient 
 of the boy, but his heart was touched by the faith- 
 fulness and integrity exhibited in his service. He 
 felt ashamed that he had treated him so badly. 
 His conscience now reproached him for having 
 degraded one whom, if he was not a nobleman's 
 son, as he represented himself to be, was at least 
 no born vassal to the low rank of a serf; and he 
 resolved now to do all in his power to have him 
 restored to his home and parents. But as some 
 little shadow of doubt still clouded the confidence 
 he was beginning to have in Felix, he could not at 
 once resolve to give him the money he had taken 
 from him, and a safe-conduct into Silesia. No; 
 he would go the next day to Wilna, and ask 
 counsel of a merchant with whom he was wel? 
 acquainted, in that city, and whom, he knew, was 
 in a business correspondence with the wool-dealers 
 of Silesia. 
 
 This person was to write at once, to know 
 whether such a person as Baron Lindenburg lived at 
 Steinrode, and whether he mourned an absent son; 
 and if our hero's tale should prove true, tell him 
 where to come and seek him. This was the reward 
 the best he could have for his honorable con- 
 duct in his master's service; and with what heart- 
 felt sincerity he thanked his heavenly Father, who 
 had so kindly changed the tide of sorrow, in the 
 space of a few days, to that \\hich was, ill compa- 
 rison, a full flood of joy !
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 185 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "I urn disgraced, impeached, and baffled here." 
 
 HOPE once more lent her purple coloring to our 
 hero's prospects ; light tinged again his life's 
 horizon, so lately bounded by darkest clouds ; and 
 in the childlike confidence in which he now looked 
 forward for a speedy restoration to his home, almost 
 forgot that he had sorrowed or suffered. His 
 eyes again beamed forth its smiles of boyish glad- 
 ness, his step resumed its vigor, and performed 
 every duty required of his master in the very spirit 
 of cheerfulness. " Home and parents," was the 
 constant burden of his thoughts ; he spoke often 
 of his homeward journey listened to the sound of 
 every strange voice and rolling carriage, with a 
 beating heart ; for he expected every moment to 
 see his father, or some messenger with whom he 
 was to travel, arrive. 
 
 With every day his anxiety became greater, but 
 one after another passed by, yet no tidings came. 
 The justice at length declared his intention of 
 going to the capital of the province, where he 
 regularly went to attend the yearly market, and 
 bade Felix be in readiness to go with him ; for
 
 186 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 much as he grieved to part with him, the impres- 
 sion made by the boy's honorable conduct had 
 touched him too deeply for him to wish to hold 
 him any longer in unjust bondage. 
 
 Latterly he had exempted him from menial 
 labor, treating him more as a son than a servant ; 
 and now had fitted him out in a new suit of clothes, 
 to which the little Mareska had added her own 
 bright and many-colored handkerchief, and by the 
 united effect of both, his appearance was greatly 
 improved. 
 
 It is true, no great taste was displayed in the 
 color, texture, or fitting of the garments ; and 
 Eugene might have laughed to see him dressed in 
 the fashion of the better sort of farmers' sons. 
 Into that rude and remote province no Parisian 
 modes ever had found their way ; and our hero 
 was only too glad to exchange his peasant garb of 
 untanned sheepskin for one whose less primitive 
 material gave him more the appearance of a civil- 
 ized being. 
 
 He really looked the farm-boy well ; and his 
 plain clothing could not hide the refinement of 
 manner received in his early training, and which 
 subsequent hardships had failed to obliterate. 
 
 His kindling hopes were somewhat damped by 
 the news he heard on his reaching the town. The 
 merchant had written to his business friend in 
 Silesia, who returned for answer that the posses-
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 187 
 
 sor of Steinrode was no Baron Lindenburg, or any 
 other German noble, but a rich old Englishman, 
 who had neither wife nor children, and was at 
 present absent on a journey to Paris and London, 
 and the servants, who were all English, knew 
 nothing of the family who hid lived there before, 
 their master baving had possession for nearly four 
 years. 
 
 This, the writer added, was the simple truth ; 
 there was, therefore, no doubt but that the magis- 
 trate had been deceived by some artful boy, who 
 wished to pass himself off as the son of a noble- 
 man, for reasons best known to himself, since he, 
 the Silesian merchant, himself had been at Stein- 
 rode only a few weeks before, as he was on a hasty 
 tour through the country, the object of which was 
 to purchase wool. 
 
 It was true, as far as it went ; for the person, 
 being taken up by the traffic by which he was to 
 profit, made but few enquiries, and those of persons 
 least likely to know, namely, English servants, 
 who, riot understanding the language, held no 
 intercourse with the peasantry; and, with the 
 characteristic exclusiveness of the nation to which 
 they belonged, sought no companionship save 
 among themselves. 
 
 The blood mounted high to our young friend's 
 temples as he found himself looked upon as a 
 deceiver ; but he soon forgot all uneasiness on his
 
 188 
 
 THE NEIGHBORS CHILDREN. 
 
 own account, in anxiety to know the fate of his 
 beloved parents. What could have happened, that 
 they had left Steinrode ? He could not think of 
 Steinrode as owned by any other than his father. 
 Where now was the poor boy to seek them ? He 
 turned to his master, dreading to meet his cold 
 eye, his distrustful glance ; but the man lately so 
 stern, had been disarmed of all suspicion by the 
 open straight -forward course steadily pursued by 
 the boy. 
 
 " Cheer up. cheer up, my little man," said he, 
 kindly ; " I have no more doubt of your integrity 
 than I have of my own existence. You have 
 sufficiently proved to me what you are, and I will 
 do all in my power to find out where your family 
 have removed." 
 
 Petrowsky's friend, the merchant of Wilna, who 
 stood by and heard what was said, now added a 
 word or two of his own. 
 
 "H is a heels-over-head sort of a body," 
 
 said he ; " I am going in the spring into Germany 
 on business, and can take Silesia in my way ; and 
 it will be as well to take this boy with me, as I 
 must have some one. We can soon find out where 
 his family have gone." 
 
 This decision pleased the justice quite well ; but 
 to our poor Felix, whose hopes had been so highly 
 raised, the delay seemed cruel. He thought to 
 have byn at home in a few weeks at the farthest;
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 189 
 
 but now, after an absence of more than four years, 
 he must remain throughout a whole winter. Why 
 could they not let him go to Steinrode himself? 
 he would go on foot, " yes, and willingly, too, only 
 let him set out." 
 
 As his impatience arose to the highest pitch, he 
 thought involuntarily of what his mother had often 
 said, as she reproved him for this his greatest fault, 
 " Ah, Felix, my dear Felix, you will have to learn 
 that patience in which you are so greatly wanting, 
 in a harder school than the present." Tears 
 swelled in his eyes, although he checked their 
 overflow, as the thought arose in his heart ; " 0, 
 my mother, your prediction has been accomplished 
 by a sterner ordeal than any of which you could 
 have dreamed." 
 
 "I have another plan," said Petrowsky to the 
 merchant, " which I think you will approve. How 
 would it be, if I would leave this boy with you 
 here in the city ? I owe a great deal to him, which 
 I would willingly repay ; and in the remote dis- 
 trict where I live, I cannot do for him as I feel I 
 ought. I am sure he is a gentleman's son ; hard 
 work is not what he ought to be set to ; he has 
 been taught from books ; and it is a pity he should 
 forget what he has learned. I wish that he should 
 go to school. See, here is money to pay the ex- 
 pense ; it belongs to himself, and I will willingly
 
 190 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 add more if you will help me to accomplish what I 
 design for him." 
 
 "I will help you all I can," answered his friend, 
 " since you tell me he is so good a boy ; I will keep 
 him in my own house, and let him go to school 
 with my son. If he was a wild, giddy-pated fellow, 
 I would not do so ; for I have too much business to 
 attend to, to be able to look after boys that play 
 pranks, and for which a large city like this offers 
 only too much opportunity. I like the boy's looks, 
 and think I shall not have any reason to regret 
 having kept him in my house until we are ready to 
 set out for Silesia." 
 
 "I am sure you will not," rejoined the justice; 
 "but, Felix, what will my little Mareska say, when 
 she sees I have left you behind?" 
 
 Felix answered only by a smile. Some regret 
 he felt at the thought that most probably he should 
 never again see that gentle little child, who had 
 been his comfort and solace when he had no bright- 
 ness in life, save what was bestowed by her true 
 and artless affection. Yet he knew childhood has 
 no lasting regrets, and she would soon forget him ; 
 and for his own part, no consideration could have 
 any weight put in competition with his extreme 
 anxiety to be at home. Great was his joy now, 
 since he must remain, to be able to go to school. 
 How far, very far, must he be behind his brother 
 Herman, in his studies !
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 191 
 
 He kissed the hand of his once stern master, 
 who promised, if possible, to see him often through 
 the winter ; sent many greetings to his little favor- 
 ite Mareska, and looked after the retreating carriage 
 of him who had changed from being his oppressor 
 into his friend, with that indescribable feeling we 
 have when we believe we have parted forever with 
 one to whom we have long been accustomed, until 
 it was out of sight. 
 
 He was now happier than he had been since the 
 day Dietrich forced him from Steinrode ; for he 
 now enjoyed, in a family of some refinement, the 
 comforts that belong to more civilized life than that 
 he found in the rude and distant province which 
 had so long been his home. Those to whom the word 
 neatness is without meaning, as was the case in the 
 hovel of Dietrich, or the better dwelling of the 
 justice, can have no idea of the discomfort the 
 want of it produces to those whose refined habits 
 make it almost as necessary as the air we breathe. 
 
 His well-washed clothes (and clean clothes are a 
 luxury), his good bed, and neatly swept chamber, 
 turning back the tide of habit to what it had been 
 at Steinrode, awoke a spirit of thankfulness ; and 
 cheerfulness once more laughed out from his eyes, 
 and the bright glow of health mantled his cheek 
 he looked the Felix of other days. 
 
 Henry, the merchant's son, was an amiable boy, 
 near his own age; and he found much more pleasure 
 38
 
 192 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 in his companionship than he had ever done in that 
 of Eugene. As he was most anxious to make up 
 for lost time, he was so diligent at his studies, that 
 his example served as a spur to Henry, who was 
 a little indolent ; a circumstance which caused the 
 good merchant to rejoice that he had received him 
 into his household. 
 
 As the winter passed over, and the spring-time 
 drew near, he was selfish enough to wish to retain 
 him ; but he felt that it would be cruel to detain 
 him by any pretext whatever ; for that his soul 
 was filled with longings to be with his loved-ones, 
 was evident from the emotion he ever exhibited 
 when speaking of them. 
 
 At length the snows melted away, and the sun, 
 no longer veiled by wintry clouds, shone forth with 
 benevolent warmth, and invited the approach of 
 spring. Felix imagined how beautiful the moun- 
 tains of Silesia the fields, the park, the gardens 
 of Steinrode would look by the time he should 
 have reached them ; and as preparations now were 
 really making for their departure, he could scarcely 
 control his impatience, or wait with moderate 
 transport the arrival of the day on which they were 
 to set out. At length even that was named, and 
 but one solitary cloud hung over the brightness of 
 the spirit with which he anticipated its coming 
 one brooding thought that disturbed the peaceful 
 flow of his present joy. Had he been absorbed in
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 193 
 
 self, the fate of Eugene would have given him no 
 uneasiness ; but he was now so happy himself, that 
 he could not bear to think of poor Eugene remain- 
 ing behind. Where was the unhappy boy wander- 
 ing, a fugitive in a strange land, enduring all the 
 ills of poverty and misery ? no doubt, if living, a 
 slave to some cruel master, as himself had been. 
 
 He was standing near the door of the counting 
 room one day, buried in such meditations, when 
 Mr. Berndt came out, with a letter in his hand. 
 The boy whose business it was to carry letters to 
 the post-office was nowhere to be seen ; and the 
 merchant with manifest impatience began to call 
 him loudly ; but the lad did not appear in answer 
 to his summons. 
 
 "This is too bad," said he; "here is a letter 
 containing money to be sent, and that fellow out 
 of the way ; time presses here, Felix, there is 
 nothing left for it but that you must run quickly 
 to the office and put this letter in the mail before 
 it closes." 
 
 Our hero was glad to have an opportunity of 
 obliging ; and setting off at a round pace, he soon 
 traversed the intervening squares, and was fairly 
 out of breath when he arrived at the place ; but 
 he found the window so completely crowded by 
 persons who had come before, and were impatient 
 to be served, that he could not force his way to the
 
 194 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 box in which it was the custom to deposit the 
 letters or parcels to be dispatched. 
 
 Fearing for the safety of his important missive 
 in such a crowd, he cautiously concealed it in the 
 inner pocket of his vest ; and crossing his arms 
 over his bosom, as though to insure its security, he 
 stood on the pavement near the door, enjoying the 
 bright sunbeams that poured their invigorating 
 warmth on all around, and woke a pure tide of life 
 in all. 
 
 As he stood looking at the dial-plate of the old 
 clock on the tower of the Bath-house, whose hands 
 showed that the time for closing the mail was not 
 near elapsed, he observed a slender, well-dressed boy, 
 apparently belonging to the upper class, come from 
 a cross-street, and as he slowly walked along to- 
 wards the tower, draw a small gold watch from his 
 pocket, on which he would often stop to gaze with 
 great seeming satisfaction. 
 
 A few coarsely clothed, dirty faced children, 
 who were noiselessly playing in his way, gave up 
 their sport at his angry bidding, and stood looking 
 at the beautiful bauble he held in his hand with 
 looks of mingled curiosity and envy. This seemed 
 to flatter the silly boy's vanity, and he resolved to 
 enjoy the implied preeminence it gave him to the 
 utmost. What was it that they were children, and 
 of the rabble? it was a sort of homage implied to 
 himself, and that is a tribute none ever refuse.
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 195 
 
 ft was easy to see how inflated he was with his 
 fancied importance, as, still surveying his \\utch, 
 he came up quite close to the tower, and remained 
 standing at the corner of the principal street, from 
 which many others diverge, and lead down into 
 narrow, dark, and intricate courts, inhabited only 
 hy the outcasts of society, or into dens where vice 
 finds a secure hiding-place ; there, looking up at 
 the dial-plate, he began to set his watch to the 
 right time. 
 
 At this moment a boy, something larger than 
 himself, and most miserably clothed, darted like 
 lightning from the point we have mentioned to- 
 wards him, tore the watch from his hand, and 
 vanished as suddenly as he had appeared down one 
 of those gloomy alleys, disappearing as effectually 
 as if the earth had opened to afford him a hiding- 
 place. 
 
 A thrill of horror passed through the frame of 
 Felix, ami a cry of painful surprise broke from his 
 lips. Without waiting one moment to reflect on 
 the important charge confided to his care, but 
 yielding to his natural impatient and impulsive 
 spirit, he dashed after the young thief; and tremb- 
 ling with excitement and terror, stopped not until 
 he reached a cluster of dilapidated houses, in a 
 court whence all further procedure was forbidden. 
 There he stood before the unwashed doors, without 
 being able to discover which the boy had entered, 
 38*
 
 196 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 if, indeed, he had entered any : so quick was his 
 movement, it was impossible to tell. The cry of 
 "stop thief," had brought the multitude to the 
 spot ; but, after following a little way, they had 
 turned off in another direction ; and the gradually 
 decreasing tumult gave evidence that they were 
 either entirely off the track, or else had lost 
 interest in the pursuit. 
 
 Felix stood, as we have said, irresolute ; he was 
 certain he had seen the boy turn down this street, 
 but where had he vanished ? the houses seemed for 
 the most part to be uninhabited, and although 
 himself had followed closely on the young culprit's 
 heels, he had seen no door open to receive him. 
 He was about to turn back, and had already moved 
 a few steps backward, when a slight creaking, as 
 though some one was cautiously opening a door, 
 caused him once more to look round. He was 
 himself rather hidden in the shadow of one of the 
 houses, but he saw a head gradually protruding 
 itself from the one next him, stretching forth as 
 if anxiously peering about to discover if the men- 
 aced danger was past. Quick as thought, Felix 
 rushed to the opening door ; and as he forced 
 himself through the small crevice, for the boy 
 within contested his entrance by pushing against it 
 with all his might, and pressing his hands within 
 both his own, exclaimed, in a voice hoarse and
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 197 
 
 broken with emotion, "Eugene, have I found you, 
 and in such a place !" 
 
 " Felix !" said the other, half frightened, half 
 joyful ; " Oh ! but I am glad you have come ! we 
 can keep together now, for I am sure you will not 
 leave me. 0, what hard, hard times I have had ! 
 But come, let us go up to my room in the attic. 
 Happily, old Simon is not at home just now, so I 
 can tell you all that has happened ; but I dare not 
 be seen in the street, at present." 
 
 It now, for the first time, occurred to our friend 
 Felix in what manner Eugene had made himself 
 master of the boy's watch. Forgetful of his 
 errand, forgetful of his own nearly accomplished 
 hopes, he let the absorbing interest he felt in the 
 unhappy boy's fate, stand in the way of his duty, 
 and he inquired, anxiously 
 
 " But Eugene, why did you take the boy's watch 
 from him ? do you know him, and was it only to 
 plague him ? If so, it was wrong. It is wrong to 
 cause any one needless anxiety ; and now come, 
 let us go to him ; you surely did not mean any 
 thing but a joke, and will certainly give it back." 
 
 Eugene looked down at the black and rag-strewn 
 floor, and a deep blush overspread his features. 
 "I will tell you all, Felix," he said, after an em- 
 barrassing silence. " I will tell you all the truth, 
 bad as it is ; perhaps you can help me to escape 
 from this vile old Jew, into whose power I have
 
 198 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 fallen. Oh ! I thought Dietrich hard, but he was 
 kindness itself, in comparison with this cruel man. 
 But come up to my garret ; no one will hear us 
 there." 
 
 Felix followed him in silence, his astonishment 
 being too great for words. Having reached the 
 miserable spot, a more filthy than which could not 
 be imagined, which Eugene called his chamber, he 
 commenced his story. 
 
 " On the day when Dietrich took me to the far- 
 mer, I felt that I would rather die than live in his 
 service ; but then, Felix, you know we cannot die 
 just when we want to. But what a home that was, 
 with scarce enough to eat, and such rough, hard 
 work ! I complained no little ; but what good did 
 that do, since no one heard me, or if they did, no 
 one minded me ? for they did not understand my 
 langu:ige, and had no sympathy for me. Dietrich 
 always gave us plenty to eat : but I was not going 
 to work for this surly boor, and so I told him; but 
 I found when I did not work I got nothing to eat, 
 so at length I had to yield, and set to in good 
 earnest. He was building a new stable for his 
 cows, and I had to carry all the stone and lime. 
 Think of that, Felix; I, a gentleman's son, to wait 
 thus upon a rude peasant's bidding ! At night, I 
 had to watch the horses in the fields, to keep them 
 from straying ; and I wonder I did not get my 
 Jeath, by lying on the damp grass."
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 199 
 
 "I had as hard work as that," said Felix. 
 
 " But the worst of all was," continued Eugene, 
 " the farmer's son was the wildest, worst boy that 
 ever lived ; and who, when I complained, or cried, 
 always mocked me. My hands swelled, and be- 
 came stiff, from the unaccustomed usage they got; 
 they pained me, and often bled; and yet this cruel 
 young man beat me one day unmercifully, because 
 I let a heavy dish fall, as it burnt me. Oh ! but 
 I was glad it broke, and spilled that horrid beer- 
 soup ! I had to bear his tyranny patiently, for if 
 I endeavored in the least to defend myself, he 
 complained to his father; and as he could not 
 understand my excuses, I then got two whippings 
 instead of one. I now wished for nothing so much 
 as an opportunity to play this fellow a sly trick, 
 just to provoke him." 
 
 "You were wrong there, Eugene," interrupted 
 Felix ; " it is commanded that we ' stir not up 
 anger.' ' Eugene took no notice of the reproof, 
 but went on. 
 
 " Yusuff, for that was the name of my tormen- 
 tor, had a pigeon-house ; and it was his greatest 
 pleasure every morning to visit and feed his 
 pigeons. Oh ! but I would have been glad to 
 upset the ladder as he mounted, could I have done 
 so without being seen ! I had seen a marten 
 several times, in the evening, prowling about the 
 pigeon-roost, and remarked how carefully Yusuff
 
 200 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 had fastened the latticed door; for lie had seen the 
 murderous fellow, as well as myself. One night, I 
 crept from the hay-loft where I slept, and opened 
 the door which he had taken such pains to secure ; 
 and rejoiced to think what an outcry he would 
 make in the morning, when he saw the destruction 
 of his favorites. But as I was coming down the 
 ladder, after accomplishing my purpose, old Bern, 
 the watch-dog, began to bark, which awakened my 
 master ; who got up, and saw what I was about 
 from the window." 
 
 "How could you do so?" asked Felix; "it 
 surely did not serve to make your lot any better." 
 
 " No, that it did not, but a great deal worse ; 
 for the next morning, on seeing the havoc made 
 among the pigeons, suspicion fell upon me at once ; 
 and after giving me an unmerciful beating, my 
 master put me into a sort of dark cell, used for 
 storing potatoes, and other vegetables, in winter. 
 A pitcher of water, and some coarse, black bread, 
 just enough to keep me from starving, was given 
 me ; and here I had to pass four dreary days in 
 perfect darkness. Yusuff used to look in at me, 
 sometimes, asking me how I liked my new lodg- 
 ings, and always mocking or pelting me with dirt; 
 while he stood devouring some dainty morsel before 
 my eyes, only to make my mouth water, and my 
 wretched fare seem more distasteful. I knew that 
 when I should be released from this prison, my lot
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 201 
 
 would be harder than ever ; and so I resolved to 
 flee at the first opportunity. The day of my deli- 
 verance came at last. I saved my bread as much 
 as possible, and filled my pockets with potatoes, 
 which I buried under the hay, after I was per- 
 mitted to leave my cell ; I waited hour after hour 
 for the wished-for chance to wander I cared not 
 where, so that I was but free. On the evening of 
 the second day, I was ordered to take the horses 
 to the meadow, and remain there with them. My 
 heart trembled with joy as I hid the stores I had 
 saved, in my pockets, and in the breast of my 
 jacket. Could it be possible, I thought, that 
 freedom was so near ? Yusuff followed me some 
 distance, and amused himself by setting his dog 
 upon me ; it was an ugly, ill-natured brute, by no 
 means friendly with me ; and seizing me by my 
 leg, bit me so severely that I screamed with pain. 
 Yusuff laughed as if ready to kill himself: while 
 his dog held fast to me, not letting go his hold until 
 his master called him off. Ah! Felix; I now know 
 how cruel it is to worry the defenceless ! If I live 
 to get back to my parents, I will never do it 
 again." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so. But how did 
 you get off at last?" asked his friend; who, ab- 
 sorbed in Eugene's narrative, forgot how time was 
 passing, and that the letter entrusted to his care 
 had not been mailed.
 
 202 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 " I had no sooner reached the border of the 
 wood, than I left the horses to themselves ; and, 
 plunging deep into the forest, I ran I scarce knew 
 where. The hope of obtaining my freedom, as 
 well as the dread of being overtaken, gave me new 
 strength ; arid carefully avoiding villages, of which 
 I saw several, I kept, during the greater part of 
 the nigl^, on the skirts of the forest. Towards 
 morning, I came to a half-extinguished fire, kin- 
 dled, probably, by soldiers, or some wandering 
 gipsies, the night before; for straw and half-picked 
 bones, lying about, showed that the party had not 
 long left the place. I scraped the embers toge- 
 ther, and heaping some dry rubbish upon them, I 
 roasted my potatoes, and so had food to last me all 
 the next day. Oh ! how I dreaded being taken ! 
 On the third day, when I began to feel pretty 
 secure, my provisions gave out, and I was forced 
 to beg. It was indeed but little I received, and I 
 scarcely know how I got to the neighborhood of 
 this city, which I was not able to reach, being 
 entirely exhausted. I threw myself down, in 
 despair, under an oak by the highway ; I wanted 
 to die, for I did not care much what became of me. 
 Tho setting sun, however, warned me that it was 
 time to seek a better place to pass the night in, 
 than on the road-side. I had not yet risen to pro- 
 ceed, when I heard the rattling of wheels. I 
 looked up, and saw the queerest old carriage,
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 203 
 
 Felix ! It stopped ; and a still queerer old Jew (1 
 knew him for one by his beard) got out, and came 
 quite to the spot where I was lying. He asked me 
 some questions in Polish; but as I never would try 
 to learn that horrid language, I could not under- 
 stand one word. I only shook my head, but I 
 suppose he knew what that meant; for he then 
 enquired, in bad German, 'whose boy I was, and 
 where I came from ?' ' 
 
 Our young readers, perhaps, will wonder that so 
 good a lad as we have represented Felix to be, 
 should so far have forgotten himself, and his obli- 
 gations to the friendly merchant, as to have neg- 
 lected the delivery of the important letter. The 
 hour at which the mail was to close had long since 
 passed, and the packet still remained, unthought 
 of, in his bosom. Strange that he who had so 
 lately recalled, and repented of his fault, should 
 so soon have forgotten the necessity of constant 
 watchfulness ; but such is human nature. Virtue 
 thrives best under the pressure of adversity; and 
 it is often sadly the case, that the moment that 
 pressure is removed, its salutary effects vanish with 
 it. The recollection of all that he had suffered on 
 account of not attending to the admonition of his 
 parents, was lost in his impatience to hear the rest 
 of Eugene's adventures. The cure was properly 
 begun, but alas ! not perfected ; and he now begged 
 him to proceed.
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 "Although the appearance of this man was 
 every way repulsive, his matted red hair, and the 
 knavish twinkle of his eyes, filled me with dread; 
 but oh ! when he began to speak German, Felix, 
 was not I glad ? Don't you remember how I once 
 despised it, and now oh ! how sweetly it sounded ! 
 I could not help telling him everything I was 
 so glad to have some one to talk to. I told him 
 who my parents were, and how I had been carried 
 off from my home ; nor did I conceal where I had 
 lived last, neither the trick I had played on Yusuff, 
 nor our subsequent quarrel. A malicious smile 
 distorted his ugly features, making them yet more 
 hideous ; and helping me to arise, he said, with 
 disgusting familiarity 
 
 "'My dear young gentleman, make yourself 
 easy ; I will take you to your parents. Get up, 
 now, into my waggon ; I have provisions there 
 good bread and meat and you may eat your fill, 
 for you are weak from long fasting.' 
 
 " I did as he bade me ; and diving down among 
 some straw which lay in the bottom, he brought 
 forth a basket containing eatables. They were 
 good; and as I devoured them with an appetite 
 made ravenous by long-continued hunger, the old 
 waggon moved on, and when it was quite dark, we 
 came hither. Next morning, all was changed. I 
 had a miserable breakfast, and the horrid old Jew 
 addressed me as his servant ; he also told me that
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 205 
 
 he was a dealer in old clothes, and from this time 
 forth it must be my business to brush them up, as 
 well as to scour all the rusty brass and copper, of 
 which there was a goodly collection, so as to make 
 it sell. In short, I, a nobleman's son, was to do 
 all this dirty work ; and when I told him I would 
 
 not Felix, I wish you could have seen him! 
 
 Dietrich's worst mood was mildness in comparison. 
 If my breakfast was bad, the dinner was no better 
 mouldy bread, and raw onions; think of onions 
 vulgar things, that I never could bear. I tried 
 to remind him of his promise to send me back to 
 my parents that they would reward him richly 
 if he did so ; but he only laughed mockingly, as 
 he said 
 
 "'You do not think that I believe that tale, 
 surely. You look like a nobleman's son, in your 
 sheep-skin jacket ! If you are, you have no doubt 
 played them some trick, as you did at the farmer's 
 where you lived last ; so that most likely they are 
 glad to be rid of you. When you found me, you 
 found your master ; and if you do not obey me, I 
 will take you back to farmer Woida, where the 
 right sort of reward will await you, for leaving the 
 horses in the wood, from whence they strayed off, 
 or were stolen ; at any rate, the farmer has lost 
 them, as I heard when I passed through the dis- 
 trict. You are now in my power, and shall not 
 escape, tricky as you are. I will keep you confined
 
 206 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 as I would an animal, until YOU have become per- 
 fectly tame ; then you shall carry the pack for me 
 aa I go through the country trading ; for I am 
 getting old and weak, and need a stout, cunning 
 lad, like yourself, to help me.' 
 
 " You may imagine my dismay, as well as my 
 rage, when I listened to these words, which showed 
 rne how firmly I was in the power of this hateful 
 man. Oh ! how I abhorred him ! how I spurned 
 the abominable food he would have forced me to 
 eat ! but at last, hunger obliged me to yield. 
 
 "'I will readily give you better,' said he, one 
 day, as he laughed at the faces I made in token 
 of my disgust, 'when you shall have learned how 
 to earn it. But you must be shown how, as well 
 as to get yourself some good clothes. Let me hear 
 what your nobleman's education has taught you.' 
 
 " With great reluctance, I told him what rny 
 course of instruction had been, but that lately I 
 had been learning nothing but hard work ; but he 
 shook his head, and mocked at all I named. 
 
 " * Such knowledge as that is too slim it is not 
 enough to coax a dog away from the fire,' said he, 
 contemptuously; 'if you could cipher up figures 
 quickly, aftd write a good hand, you could soon 
 make something.' 
 
 "I promised him I would make the attempt; in 
 short, I said I would do whatever he wished, rather 
 than wear such horrid clothes as those I now wore,
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 207 
 
 and live on those offensive onions. Simon, for that 
 was the old Jew's name, now brought me a whole 
 pile of account-books, which he said I must copy 
 to look like the originals. He waked me at sun- 
 rise, and kept me writing, or furbishing up old 
 clothes, all day ; but for the most part writing or 
 working at figures, so that my fingers were fairly 
 benumbed, by evening. But with all my endea- 
 vors, I could not please him ; he found fault with 
 my writing and calculations, caring little for the 
 pain and trouble it cost me, saying it would have 
 to be a great deal better done before I could hope 
 to make much from it. But after this, I did not 
 stick to it it was entirely too much trouble ; and 
 I begged Simon only to give me some employment 
 in the open air, for the confinement in this dull, 
 filthy room, was utterly unbearable ; and besides, 
 I was really growing sick from breathing the pes- 
 tilent odor issuing from the heaps of old clothes 
 which were piled up, and surrounded me like a 
 wall, so that not a breath of pure air ever reached 
 me, as I sat at work. 
 
 " l l will do well by you,' answered Simon to my 
 request ; ' but you must also do something for 
 yourself; and if you are spry and industrious, you 
 can soon save up a sum to enable you to go home 
 to your parents ; that is, if you are not telling a 
 lie about them. You must, however, help me in 
 the getting off of these old clothes ; for I am a 
 39*
 
 208 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 poor man, and cannot afford to feed you for 
 nothing. But if you won't, it is all one to me 
 whether you ever get home or not.' ' Only tell 
 me,' interrupted I, 'how I shall earn money enough 
 to take me from here I care not by what means I 
 get it, only so that I have enough to carry me to 
 my country and home.' Simon answered me 
 a-a-you see, Felix, a-a-I was so very hungry and 
 I wanted to see my parents so badly you are so 
 queer, Felix, I do not like to tell you but I must. 
 In short, Simon said that there were a great many 
 rich people here in this city, who had more money 
 than they knew what to do with ; and they could 
 very well afford to spare some of it to those who 
 were poorer. But the country was a better place 
 to begin such work he would take me to the 
 country people there left their doors open, par- 
 ticularly kitchen doors, where he had often seen 
 silver spoons and other such things lying about 
 there was nothing needed but to be sly and quick, 
 all that I acquired in this way should be my own 
 he would save or sell it for me until I had a sum 
 large enough to bear the expenses of a journey 
 into Germany." 
 
 "Did he mean to teach you to steal?" inter- 
 rupted Felix, starting up in horror, as Eugene, 
 flushing with shame, stopped to recover his breath. 
 " Ah, yes ; and you have only too well profited by 
 the lessons, as I myself witnessed scarce an hour
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 209 
 
 ago. How could you listen to, or follow such in- 
 iquitous counsels? how could you think God would 
 favor the end to be obtained by such sinful means ? 
 My poor, poor Eugene, into what miserable cir- 
 cumstances have you fallen !" 
 
 " After a time, according to his promise, Simon 
 gave me better clothes, and occasionally Avarm 
 food," continued Eugene, his voice choked with 
 sobs, and entirely cast down by the speech of 
 Felix ; " but he insinuated that I should have still 
 more if I brought him something worth while. 
 Pewter spoons, keys, and such things as I picked 
 up for, Felix, I could not bring myself to steal 
 silver, although I tried." 
 
 " The principle was as bad in the taking of the 
 one as the other," said Felix. 
 
 Eugene, not heeding the interruption, went on : 
 " Simon said these things were not worth the 
 trouble of putting away ; ' You will have to stay a 
 long time with me, if you do not make some better 
 hauls than this,' was his mocking reproach, as I 
 brought him a handkerchief I had taken. As I, 
 looked from the window I saw that silly boy 
 parading his watch ; Simon had gone out, and 
 forgot to lock me up as usual. 'Ah,' thought I, 
 ' this watch shall be the means of helping me out 
 of this horrible place,' and so I Felix you know 
 the rest." 
 
 "Alas! yes," answered Felix; and as he took
 
 210 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 the hand of Eugene, added in a tone of entreaty, 
 " but you will not keep the watch you dare not ; 
 neither must you remain longer with this bad man 
 who glories in teaching you to sin. Come with me 
 the good merchant in whose house I have found 
 a home, will take you too. I will tell him who you 
 are ; and only think in eight days we will both 
 be in Silesia. I am too happy and now come 
 quickly I have a letter here, containing money, 
 which I must put in the post-office, and then we 
 will both go to Mr. Berndt." 
 
 As he spoke he drew Eugene to the door of the 
 small garret-room in which they had been speaking, 
 admitting light only from a four-paned window, 
 and filled with piles of old clothes and worm-eaten 
 furniture ; let the day be ever so bright without, 
 there always, as Eugene had said, existed here a 
 twilight gloom, as though the dark spirits that 
 within its unhallowed walls had dreamed over plans 
 of wickedness, had left a shadow on the spot, which 
 even the sunlight could not illumine. It was a 
 long and narrow chamber ; and objects at the 
 further end were entirely involved in misty obscurity 
 the fugitive from justice the concealed assassin 
 might there be shrouded without suspicion, even 
 in the presence of its occupants ; and it now con- 
 tained a listener, of whose vicinity the boys had 
 no idea. 
 
 They had nearly reached the door of the dwell-
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 211 
 
 ing, when Eugene suddenly uttered a loud scream, 
 for at that moment Simon stood beside him, and 
 laid his heavy hand on the boy's shoulder. 
 
 " So, so," he croaked forth in a hoarse voice, "I 
 have spoiled a nice plot. A conspiracy, it seems ; 
 you were going to run away from me. Well, you 
 shall go, but it will be to prison ; that is the only 
 place to hold young thieves. And as for you, my 
 young preacher of morality," he continued, turn- 
 ing to Felix, "you must stay with me in his place 
 you will have a fine opportunity of proving the 
 strength of the foundation you have laid for your 
 charming edifice. But in the first place, I feel it 
 my duty to take care of your property whilst under 
 my roof; and sol Avill at once relieve the possessor 
 of his watch, and you, my young hero, of your 
 letter, which you say contains money." 
 
 He was a tall, thin, but muscular man, and as 
 he spoke he seized hold on Felix, and notwith- 
 standing he made stout resistance, he soon succeeded 
 in ridding him of his packet ; and dragging him 
 back to the gloomy room which they had just left, 
 and where Eugene followed, he flung him into a 
 corner ; and having locked the door, went laugh- 
 ing down stairs, his heavy tread on the stone steps 
 ringing the knell of those hopes that one moment 
 before had existed so brightly in the hearts of 
 those he left behind. 
 
 There they stood gazing upon each other those
 
 212 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 unhappy boys, more wretched than ever, shut out 
 from all human assistance, and without any chance 
 of escape from that dark, forlorn, and noisome 
 room, over whose portal it might have been written, 
 " Hope comes not here !" 
 
 As the day passed over, and Felix did not return, 
 the evening came, and brought no tidings of the 
 missing boy, anxiety was awakened in the house- 
 hold of the good merchant, which was afterwards 
 changed into suspicion. The boy had very will- 
 ingly consented to carry the letter which he knew 
 contained money, to the post-office ; he had been 
 seen near the door by a person who knew him ; 
 and it was equally certain he had not delivered the 
 packet, since he had no opportunity. 
 
 The old distrust of Felix being a deceiver began 
 once more to take possession of the merchant's 
 mind it was so easy to believe, that, now so near 
 the contemplated journey into Silesia, where his 
 imposture was sure to be made known, he had 
 deliberately taken himself off, now that he had a 
 large sum of money in his possession. 
 
 But all search (and nothing was left undone,) 
 proved fruitless. Felix had been seen running 
 down the suspicious street with every mark of un- 
 common anxiety ; but where he found, or was likely 
 to find admittance, no one could even conjecture. 
 
 Vexed to be disappointed, and mortified at being 
 so successfully deceived by one whom he had
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 213 
 
 begun to love so well, Mr. Berndt set out by him- 
 self on his journey into Silesia, and gave up all 
 intention of enquiring after the Lindenburg family, 
 firmly believing that none such existed ; and, 
 besides, he hated to speak the name, inasmuch as 
 it served only to remind him how he had been out- 
 witted. 
 
 The police, however, indefatigably endeavored 
 to trace out our young friend advertisements 
 appeared in the papers notices were pasted upon 
 the corners of the streets, describing his person, 
 and denouncing him as having committed a rob- 
 bery all of which he happily remained ignorant, 
 It was a knowledge which would have added 
 greatly to the pains of his imprisonment bad 
 enough to be shut up in such a place as he was, 
 and in the power of such a man as Simon, the 
 Jew, without this. 
 
 Under these circumstances, this roguish per- 
 sonage concluded it his best plan to absent himself 
 for a time from the city, himself having been fre- 
 quently an object of suspicion to the police ; but 
 although his tumble-down looking dwelling had so 
 often been watched as the place where many a deed 
 of darkness was perpetrated, this wily sharper 
 conducted his movements so cautiously, that he 
 never could be detected. With his small, twinkling 
 eyes, blinking incessantly to the right or left, he 
 went in and out of his narrow street with the
 
 214 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 stealthy pace of a cat. No one heard his footsteps 
 until he was close beside them ; and many averred 
 that his tall, but crouching form cast no shadow. 
 When danger came so close as to be dreaded, his 
 occupation as a pedlar gave him an excuse for 
 leaving the city, which he did ; driving on his 
 successful trade in some remote province, where he 
 was not known. 
 
 When he opened the letter which he had taken 
 from Felix, he found the enclosed sum very con- 
 siderable ; and concluding from this, as well as the 
 reward offered for his apprehension, that the search 
 was not likely soon to be relaxed, he resolved to be 
 on the safe side, and not only retain the merchant's 
 money, but receive a ransom for the boys when he 
 should have taken them into Silesia, to their pa- 
 rents ; for he no longer doubted Eugene's having 
 told him the truth of his being a nobleman's son, 
 since Felix, whom he was too shrewd an observer 
 to believe a knave, had corroborated his statement. 
 Exulting, therefore, in the chance of money-making 
 which had so unexpectedly arisen, he amused him- 
 self by watching the officers, whilst they watched 
 himself. He shut the boys up, so that they could 
 not escape (for his dwelling afforded more places 
 for concealment than those we have mentioned), 
 secreted the watch and money taken from them in 
 a vault in his cellar, where, notwithstanding his 
 seeming poverty, rich treasure was concealed ; and
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 215 
 
 taking up his bag, he slung it over his shoulder, 
 and sung out "old clothes !" in every street in the 
 city. 
 
 As no one had been seen to enter the dwelling, 
 for Simon had means of egress known only to 
 himself, the police, deceived by the old man's 
 apparent indifference, relaxed much of their vigi- 
 lance ; thus giving him the opportunity he wanted, 
 to remove his prisoners beyond all reach of disco- 
 very. For many days, he had hidden them in one 
 of the dark nooks of the garret before described ; 
 but, anxious as he was for their removal, he did 
 not dare attempt it until he saw that the coast was 
 perfectly clear. 
 
 A night, so wild and stormy that it had driven 
 all who had homes to seek their shelter, and suffi- 
 cient to excuse the messengers of the law from 
 pursuing their d'iscovery, even if they had made 
 one, was the time chosen for this purpose. His 
 old waggon had been got ready in the morning ; 
 and, entering it alone, he drove out of the city, 
 only to return by another way, where he left it at 
 a place, and in the care of one to whom himself 
 and his movements were well known. He had a 
 brother-in-law who was a cabinet-maker, and who 
 lived in a distant province on the very borders of 
 Russia; and his taking two boys there could create 
 no suspicion, even if the police advertisements had 
 reached that remote spot ; since it might be sup- 
 40
 
 216 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 posed that he intended to place them as appren- 
 tices to the business. Little of the truth could be 
 gained from themselves, since Eugene could never 
 learn to speak Polish so as to be understood ; and 
 although Felix succeeded much better, it would 
 avail but little, since out of the family of his 
 brother-in-law, who was a German Jew, they would 
 hear little except Russian spoken. 
 
 He was not a little surprised, however, when 
 Felix utterly refused to leave the garret-chamber. 
 The boy, perfectly assured of his own integrity, 
 had no idea but that others were so also. He had 
 no doubt that search would be made for him as 
 soon as missed ; but never dreamed that he would 
 be suspected of theft. Ail the time of his impri- 
 sonment, he had listened with characteristic impa- 
 tience to every noise that approached from the 
 street; believing it some one coming to procure his 
 liberation. He therefore, as we have said, de- 
 clared his resolution not to leave that house, or the 
 city, without making an outcry that should be 
 heard ; but for this the hoary villain was prepared. 
 He drew the advertisement, containing a descrip- 
 tion of our hero's person, and offering a reward for 
 his apprehension, from his pocket, and with a smile 
 of malicious meaning, opened and handed it to 
 him to read; stating, at the same time, that Eu- 
 gene also was watched by the police for having 
 stolen the watch ; arid that his removing them at
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 217 
 
 this time was truly an act of intended kindness, 
 and to prevent both from meeting the punishment 
 threatened by the law ; which, as they had no 
 witness to prove their innocence, they would be 
 sure to suffer. 
 
 With what anguish our unlucky hero listened to 
 his statement ! The blood chilled round his heart 
 at the reproach thus publicly cast upon his fair 
 fame denounced and followed as a common thief 
 what availed either resistance or resolution? 
 He buried his face in his hands for a moment, as 
 if in mute despair; then, mastering, by a powerful 
 effort, the emotion that attended the destruction of 
 the long-cherished hope of being restored to his 
 home, now so nearly accomplished, he rose calmly, 
 and told the Jew he was willing to go wherever he 
 might choose to lead. Simon smiled, and replied, 
 "that he was glad to see him at last brought to 
 reason ; that he had better be as quiet as possible, 
 since the least noise might bring the police upon 
 them, which must end in the ruin both of Eugene 
 and himself." 
 
 Taking his trembling companion by the hand, 
 our hero mechanically followed his wily conductor 
 down a dark back stair ; and leaving the house by 
 a different door than that which they had entered, 
 they soon gained the street. Unheeding the storm 
 which was furiously raging, Simon led his charge 
 throup-'i little-used thoroughfares, and narrow
 
 218 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 alleys, groping his way through the darkness, but 
 still threading his winding course with the coolness 
 of one accustomed to peril. They gained the spot 
 where he had left his waggon, without interruption, 
 and bidding the boys get in, he took the reins in 
 his own hands ; when, driving off at a rapid rate, 
 the city was soon left behind. 
 
 Eugene gave way, as usual, to a violent fit of 
 sobbing. Felix mourned over the repetition of his 
 fault, which had once more led to such untoward 
 consequences ; and uttering no word of complaint, 
 he yielded to the destiny which seemed to pursue 
 him, and rendered now more unbearable by the 
 severity of his self-reproach. Poor boy ! he had 
 learned some hard lessons, but there were some 
 harder ones yet to come. The world's teachings 
 are ever severe, and they end but with life. 
 
 We must now part company, for a time, with 
 the unhappy young travellers, and leave them to 
 battle with the fate that awaited them ; although 
 further than ever from the accomplishment of their 
 wishes, and though their hearts grew heavier as 
 each mile increased the distance between them and 
 their Fatherland. But we leave them in company 
 with the hoary villain who had them in his power, 
 to journey once more, through rain and storm, over 
 the vast wild plains of Poland ; and go back to 
 Steinrode, where we have not been for a long 
 time
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 219 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "Hold fast thy truth, young man; leave age its subtleties, 
 And gray-haired policy its maze of falsehood." 
 
 THINGS were greatly altered in the old Linden- 
 burg Castle, since we left it to follow the fortunes 
 of Felix and Eugene. Lady Lindenburg had at 
 first borne up wonderfully under the supposed 
 death of her darling boy ; but the not finding 
 either of the bodies, created an uncertainty in her 
 mind, producing a nervous irritation that greatly 
 affected her health. She felt that had he sickened 
 and died in her presence, she could have borne it. 
 She would have wept a mother's tears, as she 
 yielded the precious dust of her child to the earth 
 of which it was a part ; she would have bowed to 
 the stroke of bereavement, coming from the hand 
 of a Father who never chastises but in love, with 
 the submission of a Christian ; but she could not 
 divest herself of the idea that he might be living, 
 since they had no proof of his death living far 
 away from her, and most likely suffering. 
 
 She knew that gipsies had sometimes stolen or 
 decoyed boys away that they were carried to 
 remote provinces, or put on board of ships, to 
 40*
 
 220 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN". 
 
 serve as sailors and she oftentimes, when the 
 winds blew furiously from the giant hills, and 
 wailed or blustered round the walls of the stout 
 old castle, would think of her vanished boy, and 
 imagine him as swinging from the giddy masts, or 
 tossing on the raging ocean. 
 
 Baron Lindenburg had left nothing undone to 
 find out if the boys were still in life. Advertise- 
 ments were put up in all parts of the kingdom 
 messengers sent every where and large rewards 
 offered for their recovery, or at least some clue to 
 their fate. 
 
 All proved vain ; and himself and all the family, 
 except the mother, at length gave him up as dead, 
 and wore not only outward mourning, but were op- 
 pressed with the real sorrow of heart, and such as 
 could not easily be laid aside. 
 
 Felix, more lively and playful than his brother, 
 was missed by all the servants not less than those 
 more nearly connected ; and when the first Christ- 
 mas after his departure came round, no festivities 
 marked the season it would have recalled too 
 vividly and too painfully the contrast between the 
 present and the latter. 
 
 The servants at first remarked that an unusual 
 gloom and restlessness hung about Amade, the 
 servant of Lady Von Grosse ; and as they talked 
 the sad occurrence over beside the kitchen fire, at 
 length began to notice that he would not join in
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 221 
 
 any of their conjectures as to the sudden dis- 
 appearance of the boys, hooting at Dolly's belief 
 in the Rubezahl, but oftener maintaining a moody 
 silence. 
 
 In less than a month, however, his term of 
 service had expired, and he had started for his own 
 country. Since then no tidings of him had been 
 heard by any one at Steinrode. 
 
 At length Lady Lindenburg's health became so 
 seriously affected, that her physician declared 
 change of scene and air to be necessary for the 
 prolongation of her life her health, he doubted, 
 was lost irrecoverably. This was sad news for her 
 family to hear ; they could not bear the thought 
 of parting with her; but her husband, who deemed 
 no sacrifice too great to be made for the preserva- 
 tion of such a valuable life, resolved that there 
 should be no separation of the domestic circle, 
 until made by the irrevocable mandate. 
 
 A sojourn of some years uuder the milder climate 
 of Italy was, therefore, decided upon ; and circum- 
 stances turned up most unexpectedly, to furnish 
 facilities for their carrying it into speedy execution. 
 
 While his heart was aching under the pressure 
 of grief occasioned by the loss of his son, and 
 foreboding a gloomy issue from his wife's failing 
 health, Steinrode the beloved Steinrode had 
 lost its beauty and its charm for him ; and an 
 eccentric Englishman, generally, although mis-
 
 222 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 takenly, considered misanthropic, having more 
 money than he knew what to do with, had " come 
 to Germany," as he said, "to buy an estate, im- 
 prove the condition of the peasantry, and get rid 
 of his own countrymen." 
 
 Travelling round for this purpose, he was pleased 
 with the appearance of Steinrode ; and having 
 heard, in the course of his questioning in the vil- 
 lage, of the proprietor's going abroad with his 
 family for an indefinite time, he made a liberal 
 proposal to purchase, which the Baron, scarcely 
 taking time for consideration, hastily accepted. 
 
 Lady Lindenburg was greatly distressed at the 
 idea of forever parting with Steinrode, so long the 
 home of the Baron's ancestors, but her husband 
 urged, that to them, it never could have the charm 
 of other days. Felix, who would have taken his 
 place when himself was no longer able to fill it, 
 was gone forever ; and Herman, who wished, and 
 was capable of entering upon a learned profession, 
 could not leave his books, to be troubled with 
 farming. 
 
 "At any rate, wife," he added, "you cannot 
 recover in this climate, and I care not where I live 
 so as you only are spared to me." 
 
 Lady Lindenburg had nothing more to say. 
 The bargain was concluded, the old servants were 
 either pensioned off in the village, or recommended 
 to the notice of the new proprietor ; and Steinrode,
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 223 
 
 the old feudal hold on whose tower the Lindenburg 
 banner had floated for generations, passed into the 
 hands of an alien and a stranger. But when the 
 time for departure came, it was not without great 
 feelings of regret that the Baron prepared to leave 
 the home of his ancestors. Every spot was visited, 
 even to the one where the last trace of his son was 
 seen ; and it was only these sad recollections which, 
 by darkening the remembrance of former joys, 
 gave him perhaps more strength to overcome the 
 longing he sometimes felt to return, after he had 
 left his native place. 
 
 Until his arrangements were concluded, for it 
 took some time to complete them, the family re- 
 sided in the capital ; but they had left Germany 
 long before Felix exchanged his rude home with 
 Dietrich for Petrowsky; and when the latter made 
 interest with Mr. Berndt to enquire after them, no 
 one had been applied to who knew anything of 
 where they had gone. Unwillingly as the chil- 
 dren one and all left Steinrode, they parted with 
 even more regret from Ehrenfried, who, since the 
 loss of Felix, had become their favorite playfellow. 
 
 Steinrode had been sold, furniture and all, just 
 as it stood ; and when the juvenile portion of the 
 family were about to depart, they had all something 
 to leave in the peasant boy's charge. The English- 
 man was a bachelor ; and, as the halls were no
 
 224 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 more to echo with the merry laugh of childhood, 
 all their school-books, toys, dolls, and so forth, 
 were carefully put away in a small store-room at 
 the very top of the house, the door of which was 
 locked, and the key given to Ehrenfried, who was 
 to remain with the queer old Englishman at the 
 castle. With many tears Pauline gave her darling 
 canary-bird back to the care of his former owner ; 
 her tears, however, were only tears of regret at 
 parting she knew full well that charge of care- 
 fulness was unnecessary ; Peepy would be well 
 taken care of. 
 
 The Baron, not less for the boy's own sake, than 
 on account of his lost son, Felix, who had so 
 dearly loved this interesting peasant child, had 
 placed a small capital at safe interest for his use; 
 and not contented with this act of benevolence 
 from himself, had made interest with the present 
 eccentric possessor of Steirirode in his behalf. 
 Rich, childless, and liberal, his heart, although a 
 little warped, was not steeled against the claims 
 of real merit. He listened to the Baron's repre- 
 sentations, and when he looked into the clear blue 
 eyes that so ingenuously met his own gaze, he had 
 insight enough into human nature to see that they 
 were true. 
 
 He took the book-loving boy under his protec- 
 tion, made him his constant companion, instructed
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 225 
 
 him himself, which he was well able to do, for his 
 own store of knowledge was large and varied ; and 
 he had his reward, since he was twice blessed. He 
 found amusement and a companion for the time he 
 would else have found tedious, and had a solid 
 satisfaction in witnessing the success which attended 
 his efforts to instruct. The sequel will prove how 
 greatly the subject of their joint care deserved 
 the confidence of both his benefactors.
 
 226 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "Nearer he drew, and many a walk traversed 
 Of stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palm ; 
 Spot lovelier far, to him, than gardens famed 
 Or of revived Adonis, or renowned 
 Alcinoas, host of old Laertes' son." 
 
 WE must now pass over a space of eight years, 
 which intervened since the day on which Felix and 
 Eugene had disappeared, in such an enigmatical 
 manner, from Steinrode. Much as the habits of 
 the indwellers were changed, different as were the 
 forms that moved about performing the various 
 duties of steward, gardener, or farm-bailiff, the 
 outward features of the place remained the same. 
 It was summer, and the evening sun shed a flood 
 of golden light on the hill-sides, where thousands 
 of wild flowers basked in the genial rays ; the 
 yellow grain already ripening to the harvest, 
 waving gracefully in the soft breeze, and like 
 gentle undulations of the sea, gave back his bril- 
 liant coloring. As far as nature was concerned, it 
 was the same Steinrode of other days. All spoke 
 of peace, plenty, and quiet. The milk-maid sung 
 her rural ballad, as she stood, pail in hand, waiting 
 f >r her patient charge ; and the Ranz de Vaches
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 227 
 
 rung, not unmusically, through meadow and grove, 
 from the lungs of the lusty herdsman, as he drove 
 glossy-skinned cows in rank, and kept time with 
 his step to his own music. The whole scene was 
 in perfect keeping a calm picture of rural enjoy- 
 ment, so shut out from the noisy world, so appa- 
 rently peaceful, that no one would suppose sorrow 
 had ever been there. 
 
 On the road which led from the village to the 
 park, and close beside the gate which opened to it 
 from the garden (the same which we endeavored to 
 describe to our readers in the early part of our 
 narration), was seen a tall, fine-looking youth, with 
 a small bundle on his shoulder. His dress was 
 plain, and rather rough, but it could not conceal 
 the lithe, active play of his muscles ; his form, 
 straight as a young Hercules, was cast in nature's 
 most perfect mould ; his bright, fair hair, clustering 
 around his leather cap, partly shrouded his fair 
 temples ; and health had painted roses with her 
 own hand, upon his downy cheek. Young and 
 handsome as he was blooming and active, the 
 marks of deep emotion were visible in his noble 
 features ; and as his hand rested on the latticed 
 gate, it was evidently seen to tremble. At length 
 he opened it, and entered, walking slowly over the 
 clean gravel-walk, and stopping once or twice, 
 stood looking towards the castle, with tear-moist- 
 ened eyes. 
 41
 
 228 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 The gardener had one or two assistants busy in 
 another part of the garden, who had not marked 
 his approach ; and meeting with no hindrance, the 
 young wanderer sought not the regular entrance, 
 nor the principal walk; but like one well acquainted 
 with the place, sought out particular spots of inte- 
 rest, and still advancing by the further side, at 
 length stopped beside the broad pool upon which 
 the evening sun was playing. Its pure mirror shone 
 like a sheet of burnished gold ; and as it reflected 
 back his beams, as if there ought to be no light 
 without a corresponding shadow, the overhanging 
 shrubs that bordered its sides, mingled their dancing 
 shadows with it ; and some lively fish, springing up 
 from below, dashed the water-drops around ; and 
 they sparkled in all the beauty of prismatic color- 
 ing, as they fell back into the stream, and once 
 more mingled in its quiet flow. Beautiful as the 
 scene was the distant but plainly distinct hills, 
 the fruitful fields, the gay hues of the garden, and 
 the clear, pure sky, all speaking loudly of nature's 
 loveliness, and her Creator's goodness the young 
 traveller bestowed on it but little of his attention ; 
 his dark blue eyes were fixed upon an arbor covered 
 with branching vines, beneath whose shade two 
 persons were seated. 
 
 One was a large man, who, with his back toward 
 the stranger, was bending over a book which he 
 held in his hand ; whilst the other, a youth, appa-
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 229 
 
 rently about our traveller's age, leaned over a map 
 spread out upon the table before him, and which 
 he seemed to be studying very intently. The 
 stranger, with increasing emotion, approached 
 slowly, and came quite to the party without being 
 observed. The bloom on his cheek grew yet more 
 vivid, and bright tears trembled in the large blue 
 eyes. The reader was too intent upon his book to 
 be interrupted by the slight rustling he made. He 
 advanced, still unseen, until within a few steps of 
 him ; and letting fall his wanderer's staff, he 
 stretched forth his trembling arms, and exclaimed, 
 "My father!" 
 
 The person addressed turned round hastily to 
 see who was the intruder ; and the features of one 
 who was a perfect stranger, gazing in mute wonder, 
 met the eyes of the disappointed traveller. A loud 
 cry of painful surprise broke involuntarily from the 
 lips of the latter ; but in the same moment, and 
 ere a word could be uttered either in explanation 
 or reply, the youth who had been busy in examin- 
 ing the map, sprung over the table, and threw 
 himself into the still extended arms of the stronger. 
 
 "0, Felix! is it yourself?" "Ehrenfried !" 
 cried both, at once ; and after a long separation, we 
 find these early friends once more united. But 
 what pen can paint the joy of either? Could the 
 grave have opened, and given up its dead, Ehren- 
 fried's surprise would not have been greater. It
 
 230 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 were hard to tell what feeling predominated, as he 
 lay in that close embrace, and felt the warm breath 
 upon his cheek. The tangible evidence given by 
 the pressure of those arms that he had so long 
 believed were cold in the grave, was almost too 
 much, and he was near fainting. 
 
 He soon, however, recovered, and a hasty expla- 
 nation followed, which served to quiet the apprehen- 
 sions of Felix, who was scarcely less moved than 
 his friend. Ehrenfried introduced him to the new 
 master of Steinrode, who gave him not only a 
 cordial welcome to his old home, but such news of 
 his parents as was calculated to gladden his heart. 
 With feelings almost of bewilderment, he found 
 himself treading the old stone-paved halls of 
 Steinrode. There were the same wide stairs the 
 never-forgotten family clock, that told the time of 
 his birth, and measured his early and happy hours 
 ah ! it chimed not less regularly whilst he was 
 absent and suffering, and it would do so when he 
 had departed on the journey from where none ever 
 return. Seated in the same room, where long ago 
 we saw them assembled, and listened to their child- 
 ish voices, Felix almost wondered whether or not 
 he had been dreaming. Had he really been with 
 Dietrich, and in Poland Petrowsky Simon 
 Eugene all the scenes through which he had 
 passed, flitted rapidly before his mind's eye, like 
 the fleeting shadows cast by a phantasmagoria.
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 231 
 
 He could lay hold on nothing. The furniture was 
 all the same the polished oaken tables and chairs 
 his mother's curtains the bright stove, too, was 
 there, recalling the pleasant winter evenings ; but 
 where were the loved ones who once clustered 
 round it ? 
 
 Supper was served, but he was too happy to 
 think of eating ; but by the time it was over, he 
 had grown calmer, and was able to listen to the 
 account the kind Englishman gave him of his 
 family. Four years ago they had returned from 
 Italy ; and since then had lived in the capital, 
 where Baron Lindenburg occupied an important 
 place at court. A few weeks ago, he had written 
 to the present possessor of Steinrode, in which he 
 mentioned that his wife, who was still very feeble, 
 had been seized with an unconquerable longing to 
 see Steinrode once more ; and he had resolved to 
 gratify her by setting out as soon as he heard his 
 English friend would not be displeased by a visit. 
 At the same time, he enquired if he knew of any 
 estate in the neighborhood which was to be sold, 
 for there was nothing his family so much desired 
 as to be in that neighborhood again ; and as for 
 himself, his greatest wish was to spend his last 
 days in the retirement afforded by country life. 
 He was weary of courts, and the bustle of the 
 capital ; and to find a spot that afforded him a view 
 of the scenes that he had loved to look upon in his 
 41*
 
 282 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 early days, he would be willing to pay almost any 
 price. 
 
 As the old man concluded his narration, although 
 the advancing twilight had already begun to shroud 
 the earth in her gray mantle, Felix took up his 
 pilgrim staff, and prepared to set forth on his 
 journey to the capital, but his host held him back. 
 
 "No, no," said he, "you do not stir from Stein- 
 rode this night, that you don't. I am a queer old 
 man, and have always had my own way as well as 
 my own notions ; and I have got a plan in my 
 head which will please you all. What that is you 
 shall soon know; for the present, all you have to 
 do is to remain quietly here for a day or two." 
 
 "Ask any thing of me but that, dear sir," 
 answered Felix, still holding his staff and placing 
 his cap on his head, " any thing else I will do ; 
 but think, after an absence of eight years, how 
 could I linger even at Steinrode, when I knew 
 where my family are to be found my parents who 
 must believe me dead ? No, I must go." 
 
 " And travel all night and be sick, and lay bj 
 to-morrow," returned the Englishman, drily. "Boy- 
 like, boylike ; but it won't do. I see I will have 
 to tell you more than I intended. Your parents 
 are to be here on the day after to-morrow ; and as 
 they have left the capital some days ago, and are 
 now on their journey, it would answer no good 
 purpose for you to set out on foot, since, not know-
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 233 
 
 ing what road they intended to take, you might 
 miss them on the way." 
 
 Felix still stood irresolute he knew not how to 
 remain, and the old man went on. "Boy, if you 
 are as hard to be persuaded to do wrong as you 
 are difficult to manage in this case, you will yet 
 prove a treasure to your family. So it seems I 
 shall have to tell you more than I wish to ; for I 
 love to have those little mysteries. That is one 
 of my hobbies. Your father wishes to buy a 
 country place ; he shall have Steinrode again at 
 the same price I gave him for it. It is a pleasant 
 home, but I don't like a tame life ; I must travel ; 
 and so I have determined to make a voyage to 
 America, taking Ehrenfried with me. Now all 
 you have to do at present is to give up to my whim, 
 since by doing so you will likely see your parents 
 sooner than by taking your own way." 
 
 Felix found himself obliged to yield, which he 
 did very reluctantly. He deemed every moment 
 wasted in which he was not on the road which led 
 to the capital and his dear ones ; but when Ehren- 
 fried added his entreaties, and spoke of the prepa- 
 rations they two would make on the next day ; 
 this prospect, as well as his own fatigue, which was 
 every moment becoming more powerfully felt, 
 decided him to conquer his characteristic im- 
 patience. 
 
 He retired to rest at an early hour, but he could
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 not sleep it was the same room, the same bed 
 he had shared with his brother Herman ; and busy 
 thought, overmatching his worn-out frame, ran riot 
 in the feverish excitement caused by the agitating 
 circumstances through which he had passed on that 
 day. 
 
 He thought over what the meeting between him- 
 self and his parents would be what his brother 
 and sisters would think were he to start up sud- 
 denly before them did they really believe he was 
 dead, as Ehrenfried had told him they did ought 
 they not to be first written to, in order to prepare 
 them for so great a surprise ? But no ; a letter 
 could not reach them before they would have 
 arrived at Steinrode ; and, although thought rapidly 
 succeeded to thought, and plan to plan, he still 
 remained undecided. In vain he turned his pillow 
 again and again to cool his heated temples, and 
 invite sleep. The balmy god, with a caprice pecu- 
 liarly his own, and unlike the world, flies from the 
 couch of joy he would not obey the summons of 
 our hero, and midnight found him still feverish and 
 wakeful. Memory held her page open before him, 
 and he must read it whether he wished or not to 
 do so. 
 
 "This will not do," he said at last; " I shall be 
 unfit to bear the meeting myself if I keep on this 
 way." 
 
 He arose from his bed and went to the window,
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 235 
 
 through which the moon was shining, making every 
 object in that dear old room distinct, chronicling 
 the record of the times gone by so vividly, that it 
 almost seemed to him he had never been absent 
 from it. He raised the sash and looked out on the 
 landscape below, Avhich, bathed in her silver light, 
 lay spread out as if in holy quiet before him. No 
 breeze rustled in the branches the shadows cast 
 by the trees lay motionless on the ground, the dim 
 distant outline of the hills, the fringed border of 
 the dark forest, and the hedged fields with here 
 and there a cottage chimney rising visible in the 
 clear light all those objects on which his fancy 
 dwelt whilst a slave in a strange land, were now 
 in reality before him. No cloud was in the sky 
 no sound disturbed the universal hush ; arid pure, 
 calm, and holy as it all looked, it could not fail to 
 exert an influence on his excited frame. 
 
 He gazed long, and as he did so, soothing came; 
 for to a lover of Nature her preachings are never 
 in vain. He indeed recalled the childish light- 
 hearted feelings with which he had last regarded 
 them, and contrasted with his present experience. 
 Shadow and storm-clouds had since then passed 
 thickly over his life ; but now was not the repose, 
 so beautifully typified by the scene without, to 
 follow, its enjoyment to be greatly enhanced by the 
 remembrance of what he had endured ? 
 
 And after all what was it he had been made to
 
 236 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 suffer V hardships, it was true ; but at worst, only 
 man's experience. His teachings had begun while 
 he was yet a boy ; and he had surely had nothing 
 to complain of, since it enabled him to enter upon 
 the important duties of life, and undertake them 
 for himself with a prudence and foresight belong- 
 ing to maturer years. He regarded them, sus- 
 tained and delivered as he had been, as earnests 
 of the favor and kindness of his Heavenly Father, 
 to cure him of the besetments of his own evil 
 nature, and to teach him that patience which is 
 "necessary to do good works." 
 
 He had not only been taught by his severe trials 
 that man "in this world must have tribulation," 
 but had been visited in the same dark season with 
 the promised "peace." 
 
 He was no longer in dreams, but in reality, at 
 his much-loved. home, waiting the arrival of those 
 who were his earthly treasures. Joy and gratitude 
 filled his heart he felt he had nothing to complain 
 of God had done all things well, and he now saw 
 the wisdom of his providence, although at the time 
 the "affliction was grievous." 
 
 Alone, surrounded only by the influences which 
 speak to the soul and not to the ear, he felt the 
 Mighty presence. He knelt on the same spot 
 where his childish prayers had been uttered, and 
 tears flowed forth profusely tears which, issuing 
 from the purest spring of man's nature, cannot
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 23" 
 
 fail to soothe. They did, and angels registered 
 the accompanying petition ; for his later life 
 proved that the boon he had asked for on earth, 
 was ratified in heaven. 
 
 After a time he returned to the couch he had 
 left, and the tears he had shed proved as a "bath 
 and balm to the soul." Sleep came now without 
 much urging to his pillow; and the sun rose bright 
 above the hill-tops, and his senses were still locked 
 in balmy slumber, when Ehrenfried knocked at his 
 door, and bade him rise, for breakfast had been 
 waiting for some time. 
 
 "Ah! my young traveller," said his merry old 
 host, " you have let the sun beat you by a long 
 way ; had you set out for the capital, as you in- 
 tended last night, you would have, no doubt, 
 reached there ere this time, since you are such an 
 early riser. But come, you look pale, you are to 
 be excused ; some breakfast will set you up again ; 
 here it comes. I do not know," he continued, 
 " how you will like our English toast and coffee, 
 after your Polish gritz and bacon, or beer-soup 
 with a bit of toasted cheese running round in it. 
 The Poles are a very good sort of people, as I 
 found out when I travelled among them years ago: 
 but they lord it a little too hardly over the peas- 
 ants. We don't do so in England." 
 
 Felix smiled as he took the chair placed for him 
 at the table. " So, sir, you have tasted gritz and
 
 238 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 bacon ; there is worse food in the world than 
 that." 
 
 " So there is, tny boy, so there is," he answered ; 
 " I am glad to see you are of the right sort ; not 
 ready to find too much fault with the bridge, al- 
 though a rude one, which has carried you safely 
 over. And the rough Polish fare to which you 
 have been accustomed has done you no harm ; it 
 must be wholesome, if not very palatable, since it 
 has given you a complexion that any fair lady 
 might envy." 
 
 " He always had it," rejoined Ehrenfried, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " Well," replied the host, " it is still saying 
 much for it or the climate, that it has not spoiled 
 it; but come," he continued, as he placed a large 
 slice of toast on the plates of each of the boys, 
 " eat heartily, for I intend you shall work to-day. 
 When the Lindenburg family left Steinrode, they 
 took nothing away with them ; Ehrenfried knows 
 all about it ; I want everything fixed as nearly as 
 possible as it was when they were here, even to 
 the school and toy room. I know many people 
 think me odd ; but I have my own notions. Now 
 arrange everything as you know it used to be, so 
 as to have all ready for their arrival to-morrow ; 
 for I expect not only your parents, Felix, but the 
 whole family to take possession."
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 239 
 
 The boys joined heartily in the occupation which 
 was to create so great a surprise ; and to Felix, 
 whose mind had dwelt constantly on Steinrode as 
 it looked when he left it, it was an easy task to 
 direct what arrangements were to be added to 
 those already existing. 
 
 Nevertheless, they had much time to spare ; and 
 to fill up the hours that would else have dragged 
 heavily, the young friends visited all the spots 
 where years ago they had played together the 
 garden where Eugene had ordered Ehrenfried to 
 pull off his boots (how changed their conditions 
 now), the grassy bank where the latter had sunk 
 exhausted in his search after Melanie's bracelet ; 
 and lastly, they went to Petersmiehl, and the cot- 
 tage where Ehrenfried had lived with his mother. 
 The windows were closed, and the garden over- 
 grown ; it looked slovenly and ill-kept. 
 
 " She don't live there now," said Ehrenfried in 
 answer to his question, " but at Steinrode ; farmer 
 Shultze turned her out of it three years ago. You 
 know she rented it from him until his son Robert, 
 out of malice to me, turned his father against her 
 by some falsehood he told ; she was greatly troubled 
 at first, but it turned out all for the best. Since 
 that time we have both lived at the castle, where 
 she has the charge of the dairy, and I act as the 
 English gentleman's secretary, when I ana not at 
 school." 
 42
 
 240 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 "He seems to be a very kind man," responded 
 Felix. 
 
 "He is," returned Ehrenfried; "but I have you 
 and Herman to thank for all the good that has 
 happened me. Who could have thought that the 
 kindness that brought you to Petersmiihl, and led 
 you to give books, and teach your own lessons just 
 as you had learned them to a poor, sick, and igno- 
 rant peasant boy, should have borne such valuable 
 fruit ? If you had not awakened me to such a love 
 of learning, and a desire to gain knowledge, I 
 would have been a poor ignorant boy still ; and 
 with all the industry I could use would only be able 
 to provide my mother a living of the poorest 
 sort; and now she has every comfort. See how 
 many blessings have sprung from your kindness." 
 
 "But what has become of Robert?" enquired 
 Felix, interrupting him less from curiosity than 
 embarrassment at hearing his own praises. 
 
 " 0, that is a sad history," answered Ehrenfried. 
 " Farmer Shultze purchased a large property a few 
 miles from here, and died almost immediately after. 
 Robert was not contented to live as his father had 
 done, but gave up the management of his affairs to 
 a steward, who turned out to be an unprincipled 
 man, and betrayed the poor fellow into the hands 
 of sharpers, who soon ruined him. From the time 
 he became of age he had been advised to be care- 
 ful of this man. and to undertake the management
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 241 
 
 of his own affairs ; but he was deaf to all his friends 
 could urge ; and so, never having loved books or 
 intellectual pleasures, and being without employ- 
 ment wherewith to fill up his time, in order to dis- 
 sipate the hours that hung so tediously upon him, 
 he began to frequent the low ale-houses in the vil- 
 lage, where he formed companionships that led him 
 to the practice of every species of vice. A love 
 of gambling brought him to the lowest grade of 
 human depravity; for, finding himself completely 
 impoverished, and having had no education by 
 which he could obtain an occupation, even that of 
 the poorest paid teacher, he found himself entirely 
 without resources. As to bodily labor, he deemed it 
 too far beneath him ; and, reduced to actual want, 
 he at last sunk so low as to join a plan of house- 
 breaking, proposed by his desperate associates. 
 An attempt was made by them to rob the dwell- 
 ing which his father had purchased, and he had so 
 carelessly let slip from his possession. He joined 
 the undertaking, and one of the party turned 
 traitor, and all was discovered when just on the 
 point of succeeding. They were all taken by the 
 police, and now " 
 
 "And what has been his fate?" interrupted 
 Felix, impatient to hear the conclusion. 
 
 " He is no longer in this world," was the answer ; 
 " he died in prison, a year ago. It seemed a mer- 
 ciful interposition of Providence ; for if he had not
 
 242 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 suffered a public execution, he would have been 
 sentenced to the galleys for life." 
 
 "The way of the wicked is hard," said Felix, 
 thoughtfully; "and they that enter into companion- 
 ship with the ungodly, find their path leads unto 
 death. I have much to tell you of what I have 
 seen and suffered since last I trod these well-re- 
 membered paths ; and although in the midst of the 
 wicked, beset by snares and temptations, I bless 
 God I was preserved from becoming like those who 
 would have led me astray." 
 
 "Tell me, Felix, tell me all," said Ehrenfried ; 
 " I am impatient to know how you and Eugene 
 were spirited away, and what befel you in that 
 barbarous province of Russian Poland." 
 
 "Not now," answered Felix; "I am at present 
 too anxious ; every moment I expect to see the 
 carriage that brings my parents. I start at every 
 noise like a nervous maiden. It is a long story, 
 and will take time to tell ; let us go back to the 
 house at present ; maybe some tidings of the 
 visitors may have arrived." 
 
 Ehrenfried assented. They returned to the 
 castle, and found Mr. Norman (for that was the 
 name of the English gentleman,) reading a letter. 
 
 " They will not be here until the day after to- 
 morrow," said he, in answer to the boys' look of 
 enquiry ; " but be patient, you will have more time 
 to prepare for the meeting."
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 243 
 
 " Cannot I go some miles on the road they will 
 travel, and so see them sooner? Every minute 
 seems an hour, and every day a week, until I see 
 those dear faces once more those faces that for 
 more than eight years I have beheld only in 
 dreams." 
 
 " It is so uncertain which way they will take," 
 said Mr. Norman, " that you by going forward 
 may miss them by the very means you take to 
 hasten the meeting. No, no ; remain quietly here 
 until they come ; you will but have the more time 
 to make Steinrode look as it used to do eight years 
 ago. They will be ready to suppose they have 
 been asleep and dreaming for that length of time, 
 when they find Steinrode unchanged, and Felix 
 here. We know there are fabled sleepers, and 
 visions of enchantment; and as these Silesian hills 
 belong to the very realm of superstition, they 
 may be ready to think some mischievous goblin has 
 been playing them a trick." 
 
 " My parents are too good Christians to be 
 superstitious," said Felix, laughing; "but I was a 
 true believer in all good Dame Spiller's marvellous 
 stories of the pranks of the Hartz demons. I do 
 wonder what the old lady will say when she sees 
 me !" 
 
 " That the Riibezahl has brought you back the 
 same as he spirited you away," rejoined Ehren- 
 fried, entering into the merry mood of the others ; 
 42*
 
 244 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 " but come, Felix, let us go to work ; and while 
 we are waiting for the arrival, there will be time 
 to tell and hear your story." 
 
 They took up their caps, and left the castle ; 
 and as they wandered on the same paths, and 
 through the same fields over which he had so often 
 bounded in the frolicsome time of his boyhood, as 
 he went with his brother to visit Ehrenfried, he 
 related to the latter the adventures through which 
 he had passed, in the greater part of which we 
 have already followed him.
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 245 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " We bear our fortunes in our own strong arms." 
 
 As our readers lost sight of the young adven- 
 turers on the stormy night when the old Jew, after 
 carefully closing them up in his waggon, drove 
 cautiously out of the city, so we will take up the 
 thread of our narrative from that point. Closely 
 as he had been watched hy the police, for a length 
 of time, the crafty old villain concerted his plans 
 so well, that he was once more able to elude their 
 vigilance. It was a night of horror ; and none 
 but a murderer seeking his victim, or a criminal 
 flying from justice, would have dared its fury. 
 The thunder rolled, but its voice, although like 
 that of a threatening spirit, was unheeded the 
 lightning played in forked streams and the wildly 
 raving tempest threatened destruction to all ex- 
 posed to its rage ; but the hoary old sinner, in 
 whose soul a continual tempest ever fermented, 
 cared not for the strife of elements, or convulsion 
 of nature. As though he knew himself under the 
 protection of some evil power, whose potent rule 
 could chain the storm, and fetter its wrath, he 
 drove his affrighted horse stoutly forward, uncaring 
 21*
 
 246 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 for the pealing thunder, yet straining every listen- 
 ing nerve to distinguish noise of pursuit ; and 
 looking back, to try if in the blinding flashes he 
 could discover any pui'suing forms. None were in 
 sight, and with each mile his confidence increased. 
 After midnight, the storm subsided ; and although 
 dark and angry clouds still obscured the sky, the 
 moon broke out at intervals through the mist ; and 
 by her struggling light the young travellers saw 
 that they had left the high-road, and were again 
 entering on a rude and savage district. 
 
 As each mile disclosed some new feature of 
 barbarous wildness, that forcibly reminded them of 
 scenes they had passed through with Dietrich, their 
 young hearts sunk within them at the idea of once 
 more encountering the horrors of a remote pro- 
 vince in Russian Poland, which they had no doubt 
 was at this time their point of destination. As 
 the day struggled into existence, and they could, 
 by watching the course of the clouds, which were 
 driving wildly before the wind, determine to what 
 point of the compass their course was steering, 
 their feelings were little short of despair. Eugene, 
 as usual, was loud in his lamentations ; but Felix, 
 tortured by self-reproach, uttered not a word. He 
 looked out on the bleak and seemingly interminable 
 plains, varied only by patches of heath, and on 
 which, at times, a brilliant spot of sunlight rested, 
 as it broke forth from the driving clouds; con-
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 247 
 
 trasting, by its vividness, with the sombre hue that 
 rested on all else around ; and as it would vanish 
 as rapidly as it had arisen, was only too true an 
 emblem of the bright and evanescent hope that 
 had so lately illumed the dreary waste of his own 
 cheerless existence. 
 
 But youth is ever hopeful. The very alterna- 
 tion of light and shadow cast upon the face of 
 nature by the drifting cloud and flying sunbeam, 
 awoke a better spirit in the youth's heart. " The 
 sunbeam," said he, "is hidden by the cloud, and 
 the darkness, in its turn, is driven away by the 
 cheering ray. So it is in life, at least as I have 
 found it ; all is not brightness, neither is all gloom. 
 I will hope on, and hope ever ;" and with such 
 thoughts he began at last to feel comforted. 
 
 The wind still swept by in wintry gusts, but its 
 shrill whistle was unheeded; and wondering what 
 could be Simon's intention, or to what place he 
 was taking them, he gave himself up to more ma- 
 ture deliberation than was to be expected from one 
 of his years; surveying the land-marks, and noting 
 all conspicuous objects on the sterile plains over 
 which they were passing, in the prospect of such 
 observations one day aiding them in effecting their 
 escape. They travelled over those flat plains for 
 many days, when one evening, after objects became 
 indistinct in the advancing twilight, their conductor 
 drew up before the door of a house, at one end of a
 
 248 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 village, which Simon informed them was the resi- 
 dence of his brother-in-law, the cabinet-maker, 
 with whom they were to remain. 
 
 " At this place," said Felix, in his relation to 
 Ehrenfried, " we had not the best times ; we were 
 kept constantly at work in the shop, and up late 
 and early. This was harder on Eugene than on 
 myself; for he was always averse to doing any- 
 thing, and every day became more discontented. 
 I comforted him as well as I could, and helped him 
 out of many unpleasant circumstances, into which 
 he had fallen by his own perverseness. From day 
 to day, I looked for Simon's return ; I knew he 
 had gone into Silesia, and I was assured the reward 
 he hoped to receive, when he found our story true, 
 would induce him to come back that way, and take 
 us to our homes. Horwitz, our new master, also 
 waited anxiously for news from his brother-in-law ; 
 but as none came, and month after month passed 
 away, he at length placed us in the shop as regular 
 apprentices, declaring that we must serve the full 
 time, as he was unable to support us except on such 
 terms. He was a very different person from 
 Simon, and by no means unreasonable in his de- 
 mands. He exacted a steady obedience, but was 
 as upright and honest as his brother-in-law was 
 knavish ; and whilst he represented his own ina- 
 bility to send us into Silesia, explained that it 
 could do us no harm to learn a respectable trade,
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 249 
 
 since it would at last furnish us with the means to 
 travel homewards, if Simon should fail to return 
 with tidings. 
 
 " So, then, for three tedious years we had to 
 serve a pretty tough time of apprenticeship ; my 
 heart was often heavy enough ; but I had the good 
 fortune to gain my master's confidence and favor 
 through some slight services I rendered him, and 
 finding I understood figures, he made me his book- 
 keeper. You know I always loved to draw. I 
 made some designs designs from the remem- 
 brances of Steinrode for him on paper ; and as 
 the pieces of furniture made from those patterns 
 were approved, and opened a new source of profit, 
 Horwitz made me several presents of small sums 
 of money, and promised to relinquish the last year 
 of my apprenticeship. 0, how happy I was to 
 hear it. Besides, I could, by working at odd hours, 
 earn something for myself; this I carefully laid 
 away every week ; and counting it over, found I 
 would soon have enough to carry me into Silesia. 
 But, now anxious as I was to go home, I could not 
 bear to leave Eugene behind. I entreated our 
 master to give him his freedom ; but I could not 
 prevail upon him to do so. He said 'he had 
 nothing but trouble with him ; he was self-willed 
 and lazy ; and he would not release him from his 
 last year, unless for an indemnifying sum.' 
 
 " Indeed. I did not much wonder ; for it was
 
 250 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 true he had little right to be indulgent and kind. 
 Eugene had not at all improved, but remained as 
 untractable as ever ; not only disobedient and 
 negligent of his duties, but tried, by the playing 
 off of some petty tricks on members of the house- 
 hold, and every other means, to provoke and irri- 
 tate his master. The money that he received for 
 carrying home furniture, he spent as regularly for 
 some unnecessary dainty ; and in spite of all I 
 could urge, would not take the least trouble to con- 
 ciliate his master, or lay anything up to bear the 
 expense of his hoped-for journey. 
 
 U 0ne day as I was searching for something in an 
 unused part of the house, my eyes fell upon an old 
 cupboard that stood almost out of sight in a corner ; 
 although nearly dropping to pieces through age 
 and decay, the quaint and old-fashioned carving 
 attracted my attention. I imagined it might once 
 have graced the hall of some barbarian king, in 
 some by-gone age ; and having always a reverence 
 for these old chroniclers, I begged my master to 
 let me repair it, for I thought it well worth the 
 trouble. Laughing at my enthusiasm, he consented, 
 saying I might 'have the old thing for my trouble ; 
 that it had been in that corner ever since he could 
 remember, and he had heard his father say it had 
 been many generations in the family, although 
 none of them knew how it came into their posses- 
 sion.'
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 251 
 
 " Although it was a holiday, I began at once to 
 work upon it. In the meantime, Eugene sat at the 
 shop window, looking moodily out into the street. 
 I begged him on this morning, as I had done often 
 before, to get at some work at spare times to help 
 himself a little. I told him, too, how willingly I 
 would work if he would aid me, in order to raise 
 the requisite sum to pay Hor\\itz for the release 
 of his last } T ear. As it would require a long time 
 for me to do so, since he had nothing laid by, 
 neither would assist, I deemed it best for myself to 
 go at once into Silesia, to seek my own and his 
 parents, and they could at once send the necessary 
 sum. With this proposition he was greatly dis- 
 contented. 
 
 "'No, indeed,' said he; 'I would rather wait 
 until you can gather the necessary sum ; you have 
 the knack of earning money, which I have not ; so 
 do not talk of going. How do you think I could 
 stay in this horrible place alone ?' 
 
 " You may think, Ehrenfried, how this behaviour 
 vexed me; what pain that selfishness which thought 
 only of its own desire, and cared not for my long- 
 ing even to sickness for home, gave me. I thought 
 of a passage I had once read, ; that selfishness, like 
 the sand of the desert, drank up all, and returned 
 nothing.' I made him no answer, but began to 
 work on my old cupboard, while he still sat idle, 
 and gazing out of the window. 
 48
 
 252 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 " But I must now tell you that, with the consent 
 as well as advice of my master, in the early part 
 of my apprenticeship I had written twice to my 
 parents. To the first no answer came; the last 
 came back with these words written on it : ' No 
 family of that name at Steinrode left many years 
 ago.' Not altogether discouraged, I then wrote a 
 third, and directed it to aunt Angela, who lived in 
 the capital ; but this too was returned, with the 
 tidings written also on the cover, ' that the lady 
 addressed had been many years abroad, perhaps in 
 England, most likely in Italy; but her residence 
 in either country was unknown.' 
 
 " There was now nothing left for me but to wait 
 patiently for the term of my apprenticeship to ex- 
 pire, and then set out myself to seek my family in 
 whatever part of the world they might be sojourning. 
 I therefore gave up writing, as I was indebted to my 
 master for postage money ; * and to a boy without 
 means of making any, as I was at that time, it was 
 no easy matter to repay. 
 
 " One day, as I was very busy with my plan of 
 repairing the old cupboard, I observed on one side 
 a singular piece of carving, which did not match 
 with the rest, and of greatly superior workman- 
 ship. I wondered how it had ever come to be 
 
 * Postage \a a much more important itom of expense in 
 Europe than in our own country.
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 253 
 
 placed there ; and the idea struck me, that by re- 
 moving it I could use it more advantageously by 
 ornamenting some other piece of furniture with it. 
 I accordingly got my tools, and began to endeavor 
 to loosen it ; but it was so tightly imbedded in 
 the wood, that my efforts were vain ; I could not 
 move it an inch. I called to Eugene to come and 
 help me ; but his ill-humor had not gone off, and 
 without turning his head from the street on which 
 he continued to gaze, he answered sullenly, 
 
 " ' Indeed I will not do any such thing ; I work 
 enough other days, and I am not going to take any 
 unnecessary trouble on holidays.' 
 
 " I said nothing more to him, but continued to 
 work away with all my strength at the piece of 
 carving, which seemed to be made of iron rather 
 than wood. At length by a powerful effort, just 
 as I contemplated giving it up as a hopeless job, 
 it yielded ; and at the same moment a concealed 
 drawer flew open, arid a large sum of money, in 
 rouleaux of gold and silver, lay before my eyes. 
 Eugene, awakened from his indifference, now stood 
 near me; and as he surveyed the trcnsnre with the 
 gloating look of a miser, he exclaimed, joyfully, 
 ' See there, Felix, we are rich now without any 
 trouble, or wronging any one. With this money 
 I can get my freedom ; and now leave off working 
 at the old cupboard, and let us go home !' 
 
 He made a movement towards the dnnver, as
 
 254 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 if to grasp the gold, but I caught his hand and held 
 him back. 
 
 "'Without wronging any one?' I repeated 
 quietly ; ' do you think it your right to take pos- 
 session of this money ? It does not belong to 
 either you or myself.' 
 
 "'Now, Felix,' rejoined he, 'I hope you are 
 not going to be such a fool as to tell this secret to 
 our master? the treasure does not belong to him, 
 I am sure.' 
 
 " ' If not to him, much less to you,' said I in 
 answer: taking up the rouleaux of gold out of the 
 drawer, I put them in my pocket, and took my 
 way towards the family room, where I knew I 
 should find our master. Eugene, by this time in 
 a towering passion, sprung after me ; and seizing 
 me by the collar, endeavored to possess himself 
 of the money. His attack was so sudden, that it 
 cost me some trouble to defend myself. 
 
 " I kept him at bay for some time ; but his 
 anger getting the better of his prudence, he 
 snatched up the knife I had been using from the 
 work-bench where I had thrown it, and pierced me 
 in the side. A little pinchbeck watch, which my 
 master had given ine, broke the force of the blow, 
 and saved my life. The stroke was not deep, but 
 the wound bled profusely; yet only for the watch, 
 and my life would have been the sacrifice, and 
 Eugene forever unhappy ; since the murderer's act
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN'. 255 
 
 would have been the consequence of his own rash- 
 ness only. I bound up the wound myself as well 
 as I could, for Eugene was of no use to assist; as 
 sincere in his repentance as he had a few minutes 
 before been furious in his anger, he now lay rolling 
 upon the floor, reproaching himself with what he 
 had done, and bidding me do as I pleased with the 
 money 'he wanted none of it.' 
 
 "I left him to complain and weep as long as he 
 chose, and went to our master ; who was greatly 
 pleased with what he called my honesty, as well as 
 the receipt of the money. He told me the old 
 cupboard had been possessed by his family for 
 many generations ; and it was only on that account 
 that he had not broken up the unsightly old thing 
 years ago. He supposed the gold must have been 
 hidden in the drawer, for safe-keeping, in the time 
 of the 'Thirty Years' War;' those lawless days, 
 when persons were obliged to secrete almost every- 
 thing, to secure it from the violence of marauding 
 soldiers. Of course, the money belonged to him, 
 but he was no niggard ; he took one of the rou- 
 leaux, and giving it to me, wished me 'good 
 luck!' I accepted it without hesitation; and going 
 back to Eugene, who had risen from the floor, and 
 was again seated at the window, apparently in 
 great trouble, I laid the whole of it in his cap. 
 
 " 'Now go to our master,' said I ; ' pay what he 
 asks as the price of your last year, and to-morrow 
 43*
 
 256 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 morning we will pack up our traps, and set out for 
 Silesia.' Eugene stared at me in mute wonder ; 
 then, throwing his arms around my neck, he em- 
 braced me warmly for a moment, and without 
 uttering a word, rushed -out of the house. 
 
 *' I did not attempt to follow, nor question him ; 
 but having no doubt that he would do as I advised, 
 I walked down into the village, and purchased two 
 portmanteaus, dreaming of nothing else than that 
 we should both set out on our journey- the next 
 morning. I was greatly astonished, on my return, 
 at not being able to find Eugene. I asked the 
 children they did not know where he was; I 
 applied to Horwitz he had seen nothing of him. 
 It was evident he had not gone to him with the 
 money I had given him, as our master was at home 
 the whole day. As the day advanced, I became 
 more and more uneasy; evening fell, but the truant 
 did not return. I proposed to Horwitz that we 
 should seek him, and he consented ; but we both 
 had to return without having found him. 
 
 " Horwitz went to bed ; but, uncertain what I 
 ought to do, I could not sleep; I therefore resolved 
 to sit up awhile, in hope of his coining. After an 
 hour or two had passed, I heard a knock at the 
 door. I knew whose it was, and hastened joyfully 
 to open it, when Eugene, with flushed and inflamed 
 features, stood before me. But you may imagine 
 how 1 felt when I saw that he was beastly drunk ;
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 257 
 
 he laughed wildly when he saw me, and when I 
 enquired where he had been, he answered, in all 
 the pride of drunken insolence, ' What business 
 is it of yours ? Do you think you are to be my 
 master, because you gave me some money that you 
 earned very easily ? 0, it has flown away as 
 lightly as it came ! See there ! my pocket is 
 empty, and I am under no obligation to you.' 
 
 u A sad foreboding arose in my heart, of which 
 the tidings of the next day fully verified the truth. 
 Instead of going to seek our master in his own 
 house, Eugene went to a miserable ale-house in the 
 suburbs (it seemed he was in the habit of frequent- 
 ing it, unknown to me) ; on this holiday occasion, 
 he found many apprentices there; and among 
 them, one haughty boy, rather richer than the 
 rest, and being the only son of a doting mother, 
 he had money at all times, and for all purposes. 
 This youth had never liked Eugene, and now, in a 
 mocking manner, asked him 'if he would not treat 
 the company to wine ; as he had always given 
 himself out to be a nobleman's son, he ought to 
 show, by his liberality, that he really was so. 
 Eugene, too hot-headed to treat this silly speech 
 from one half-drunk with the contempt it deserved, 
 called loudly for wine, tossed a piece of gold pom- 
 pously on the table, in payment, and boasted that 
 he had plenty more. He pledged his companions, 
 and drank deeply ; the wine mounted to his brain,
 
 258 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 and he began to look with great interest on a party 
 of strangers, who were playing cards at a table 
 near him. He saw how easily large suras were 
 won why might not the same good fortune be 
 his? Then he could have enough to spend upon 
 pleasures he had not known for a long time, and 
 without the striving and grinding of perpetual toil. 
 He knew the game ah! Ehrenfried! you re- 
 member how we used to tell you of the Hausdorff 
 children driving the time away with playing cards 
 and when the strangers at last invited him to 
 join their party, he was only too willing to accept 
 of the invitation. At first, he won considerably ; 
 and his spirits rose as he contemplated the sum 
 that lay beside him. What I had given him was 
 to pay for his freedom the little we both had 
 would only serve to defray the expense of a jour- 
 ney on foot ; but Eugene had a spirit above this, 
 that is, when it could be helped. How much 
 better, and how much more suitable it would be, 
 for the heir of the Von Grosse family to go home 
 in a post-chaise; 'his father never travelled with a 
 knapsack on his back, like a wandering tinker, and 
 he would not disgrace his family by doing so.' 
 
 " He staked more than all he had won ; and 
 with beating heart, and trembling hands, watched 
 the course of the cards. He lost and as part of 
 the money I had given him to pay for his freedom, 
 was gone, with that desperation which always
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 259 
 
 marks the gambler, he determined to risk what yet 
 remained, in the hope of winning back that which 
 was lost. With feelings of increasing anguish, he 
 staked one thaler after another, until he had emp- 
 tied his pockets of every farthing. The players, 
 seeing he had nothing more to lose, now rose up 
 from the table, and declared the play was ended. 
 To this, however, Eugene would by no means con- 
 sent ; he insisted that they should continue the 
 game, so as to give him a chance of retrieving his 
 losses ; he said he would go home for more money, 
 which he could easily get by applying to me. 
 
 " The players then began to inquire who he 
 was ; and finding that he was only a cabinet- 
 maker's apprentice, became very angry ; they 
 reproached him with having deceived them by 
 representing himself as the son of a nobleman, so 
 that he might thrust himself into better company 
 than that to which his birth entitled him; and this, 
 as may well be supposed from our knowledge of his 
 character, provoking an insolent answer, brought 
 on a contest which ended by their throwing him 
 out into the street. 
 
 " It was not until the evening of the next day 
 that Eugene was sober enough to give me these 
 particulars. Ashamed of his behavior, and sin- 
 cerely repentant, he begged me no longer to delay 
 my journey into Silesia ; to find his parents, if 
 possible, and send his father to liberate him. I
 
 260 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 considered this the safest, as well as the shortest 
 plan ; and so, shouldering my knapsack, I bade 
 farewell to my master, and to Eugene, who stood 
 looking after me with a face expressive of so much 
 sorrow, that I was once almost tempted to return, 
 and stay to work out the time demanded for his 
 ransom. But prudence prevailed over sympathy. 
 My heart grew lighter as each mile lessened the 
 distance between myself and Steinrode ; and as I 
 saw the sterile plains of Poland gradually exchange 
 for the cultivated fields of Germany as the glo- 
 rious mountains of my Fatherland shut out the 
 view of that inhospitable and despotic region where 
 I had so long been made to bear the yoke of sla- 
 very, I cannot tell you what I felt. It was joy 
 pure, unmitigated joy. I was proud of having 
 been born a son of Teutonic forefathers I gloried 
 that mine was the land of learning and invention 
 and this high tide of enthusiasm did not at all 
 subside until I saw the Silesian hills. The Giant's 
 Crest, with his mantle of eternal snow old Zob- 
 tenberg, with his cap full of storms there they 
 were, looking just as they had done in the happy 
 days of my boyhood; but my spirits sunk when I 
 thought of those who had looked upon them with 
 me ah ! where were they ? I journeyed on ; I 
 recollected hamlets and fields I hailed the towers 
 of Steinrode from afar there was the forest, the 
 brook, and the park : but although T met many
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 261 
 
 forms wearing the peasant dress once so familiar, 
 there was not one face whose lineaments reminded 
 me of any one I had ever known. You know the 
 rest, Ehrenfried ; and now, perhaps you can give 
 me some clue whereby I can find the Von Grosse 
 family ; for in my own happiness, I must not for- 
 get that Eugene is still in slavery, and waiting for 
 his father to release him." 
 
 This was a question which neither Ehrenfried 
 nor his patron could answer, and Felix was obliged 
 to await the coming of his family ; they alone, it 
 was likely, knew to what part of the country they 
 had withdrawn. In the few months they had lived 
 in this neighborhood, their conduct had not been 
 such as to create many friends; arid so, when they 
 left, no one cared to enquire whither they had 
 gone, or how they fared. 
 
 Mr. Norman treated Felix as if he had been his 
 own son, bidding him consider himself at liberty 
 to do at Steinrode just as he had been used to in 
 by-gone days ; and the latter was rejoiced to find 
 in Ehrenfried, now grown to be a man, the same 
 unassuming, gentle spirit, he had so loved him for 
 when a child. Entirely unspoiled by his pros- 
 perity, and the indulgence shown him by his 
 eccentric patron, Felix found him even more worthy 
 of the friendship he had formed with him in earlier 
 days need we say it was again warmly renewed ? 
 
 But with all this happiness around him. his heart
 
 262 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 pined for the arrival of his family. In the morn- 
 ing, he would be sure that ere that day's sun had 
 sped his course, he would have been folded to his 
 mother's heart; but day after day passed, and still 
 they came not. The sickening pang of hope 
 deferred began to weigh heavily upon our hero's 
 heart ; and it was only by being kept busy in 
 carrying out the plan of his singular host, namely, 
 to make everything look as much as possible as 
 they did when the family left Steinrode, that he 
 was able to control his impatience to be with them. 
 It was indeed no small relief to his nervous longing 
 for their arrival, that he was obliged to direct 
 everything ; the furniture must be placed just as 
 it had been when they dwelt here the curtains all 
 put up and whatever articles of English comfort 
 had found their way among the heavy specimens 
 of German house-keeping, were, by the orders of 
 Mr. Norman, laid aside. 
 
 But in the garden, his task was peculiarly plea- 
 sant ; his memory bore the truest record of all as 
 it had been arranged there. There, under that 
 linden, and beside those beautiful oleanders, the 
 little bench was placed, where his mother, on sum- 
 mer afternoons, would sit to work or read. The 
 bench had decayed, and fallen down, but he had it 
 renewed. There, on the other side, in a corres- 
 ponding shade, had stood the table around which 
 they had often sat, when choosing to take their
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 263 
 
 evening meal in the open air. The old camp-chairs 
 had been stored away ; but now, brought out from 
 their dusty nook in an unused corner of the castle, 
 they were again placed around it, as though the 
 family had just arisen from the repast. Nor was 
 the old gymnasium forgotten the two youths 
 entered heart and hand in this ; it was neatly put 
 up again, and the space around it filled with fine 
 sand. 
 
 Their business of arranging was nearly com- 
 pleted, when one evening, Mr. Norman received a 
 letter from the Baron, telling him they might be 
 expected on the next day. 0, how happy was 
 Felix ! he read the letter again and again ; and 
 although he passed a sleepless night, he was up by 
 daylight, to put the finishing touches to what was 
 already begun. Garlands of flowers, such as the 
 sisters used to make to decorate the walls of the 
 vestibule and the old stone hall, were not wanting. 
 They waved in graceful festoons from the antlers 
 of slaughtered deer, that hung there as trophies 
 of some chase-loving ancestor's skill; Ehrenfried 
 and Felix, themselves not wanting in taste for 
 flowers, succeeded well in this ; for who does not 
 succeed, when the labor is one of love ? Nothing 
 was forgotten. Vases filled with flowers, remem- 
 bered to have been favorites with his mother, were 
 placed in the chamber formerly her own ; on the 
 garden-table, lay a volume which she had always 
 44
 
 264 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 loved to read; and near it, to bring back as nearly 
 as possible the appearances of other years, a little 
 basket, full of keys borrowed from the house- 
 keeper, was seen a gentle hint that Lady Linden- 
 burg was not deficient nor negligent in a matter 
 involving so much of comfort as does the know- 
 ledge of being able to conduct and manage the 
 affairs of a large household. 
 
 The day passed on, and Time, who neither 
 hastens nor delays his course, brought round the 
 hours at which they might begin to look out for 
 the carriages in which they were to travel. At 
 length they were in sight. 
 
 "Can it be possible!" thought Felix, "that 
 within this hour I shall meet my parents. But 
 the meeting with my mother it will not do to 
 surprise her ; I must not come to before her until 
 Mr. Norman or Ehrenfried has told her all;" and 
 scarcely able to restrain his own impatience, he 
 retreated to a small patch of shrubbery in the 
 garden, himself concealed by the friendly thicket, 
 where he could see and hear all. 
 
 The carriage drove up to the hall door, and its 
 occupants alighted. Felix's heart beat audibly, as 
 two well-remembered forms ascended the stone 
 steps that led up to the hall could they really be 
 those of his parents after nearly nine years of 
 absence and sore trial, did he truly behold them, 
 or was it only a dream, such as he had often had
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 265 
 
 in sleep. The lady turned her head towards the 
 spot where Felix was concealed, and her features 
 were distinctly revealed to the anxious son, who 
 could scarcely resist the impulse he felt to rush 
 forward to meet her. But one glance was suffi- 
 cient to show him how greatly nine years had 
 changed those features. She looked much older, 
 was very pale, and her step was feeble and languid. 
 Ah ! sorrow records her march much more strongly 
 than time ! her impressions are sterner and even 
 more indelible ! 
 
 But who are those tall, slender maidens, grace- 
 ful and elegant as those brought up in court atmo- 
 sphere, who, bounding up the steps, stood gazing 
 round on the prospect, as if too much delighted in 
 viewing the beauties without, to think of exchang- 
 ing the sight for the comforts within could they 
 be his sisters, the joyous companions of his child- 
 hood ; who, wild as the birds of Steinrode forest, 
 had gambolled over the very spot with himself? 
 
 He had almost called aloud to them an excla- 
 mation of joy was ready to burst from his lips ; 
 but he restrained it. He pressed his hands close 
 upon his wildly throbbing heart, a film over- 
 shadowed his eyes, and he was near fainting. 
 
 They entered the castle, but it was only for a 
 few minutes, and to lay off their travelling mantles. 
 The Baron and Lady Lindenburg were talking to 
 their host ; and the happy maidens felt at liberty
 
 266 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 to run wherever they pleased. They chose the 
 garden first; although not strictly within the rule 
 of politeness, they could not resist the temptation 
 to visit those never-forgotten spots where their 
 childish sports had been enjoyed. 
 
 The sun was near setting, and their English host 
 had directed an early supper, or rather lunch, to 
 be set out on the table in the garden. The air 
 was mild and balmy ; and the soft shadows cast 
 by the overhanging branches on the spot below, 
 made this particularly pleasant to those who (as is 
 much the usage in Europe,) are accustomed to 
 take their evening meal in the open air. 
 
 Baron and Lady Lindenburg and their host were 
 now seen advancing to the spot where the servants 
 had spread out the repast. The latter called his 
 guests' attention to some English improvement he 
 had made ; and while the gentlemen stopped to 
 examine it, the mother walked forward to join her 
 daughters in the garden. 
 
 This was the time chosen by Mr. Norman to 
 make the disclosure of Felix's existence and 
 presence : but he had a roundabout way of his 
 own for doing every thing ; and he must finish 
 talking over his English fixtures before he entered 
 on the subject in which Baron Lindenburg might 
 well be supposed to be most interested. Before 
 he had concluded the first part of his conversation 
 the denouement had been made. Lady Linden-
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 267 
 
 burg, as we stated, left the gentlemen to join her 
 daughters. Little Pauline of other days \v.is now 
 a lively girl of fourteen ; her eyes were as blue and 
 gentle as ever ; she carried her straw bonnet hang- 
 ing by its strings carelessly over her arm, her 
 bright curls floating in the summer breeze, and her 
 fair features radiant with health and happiness. 
 Not altogether out of the ranks of childhood, not- 
 withstanding her rapid growth, she bounded on 
 before the rest, skipping through walk and alley, 
 as frolicsome as at the earlier period of our story. 
 At one end of the gravelled path she suddenly 
 stopped and uttered an exclamation of surprise ; 
 for there, right in the way before her, was a little 
 carriage made of basket-work, full of dolls, and 
 strewn over with flowers. 
 
 ' ; 0, mother, dear mother, only look here," she 
 exclaimed, as she bent over what had once been 
 her favorite possession ; " surely some kind fairy 
 has brought my old waggon from Elfland, to remind 
 me of my childhood's Paradise. Just see, Adie 
 Emma, there is Rosalie, my own sweet wax doll 
 that poor Felix gave me for a Christmas gift. Ah ; 
 poor, dear Felix ! " she stopped, for the sisters 
 made a sign that this was a subject on which their 
 mother had better not be agitated ; and while they 
 stood smiling and wondering over the little toy 
 waggon, a canary bird set up his sweet warbling 
 just above their heads. Pauline looked up. 
 44*
 
 268 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 "0, what a good fairy this has been, tc take 
 such care of all that belonged to me there is 
 Peepy, my own Peepy ! " she exclaimed, clapping 
 her hands in joyful glee. " Arn I not happy ! how 
 much rather I would live in the country ! I do wish 
 father would stay here all the time ; it is so much 
 more pleasant to look at the fields and mountains, 
 and hear the birds, than to be pent up among high 
 brick walls and narrow streets, in the capital." 
 
 "That is not Peepy, I am sure," said Emma, 
 laughing; "Peepy would be too old to sing so 
 lively ; but I think the new warbler must be a 
 relation, he is so much like the the old bird. But 
 I agree with you in liking the country the best," 
 she continued, as she broke a branch of blooming 
 Euphrasy from its graceful stem, and twined it 
 into the curls of the happy Pauline, who, forget- 
 ful of the years that had passed, was a child again, 
 amusing herself as she used to do long ago, by 
 drawing her doll-laden wagon along the walk. 
 
 "Indeed, Adie," said Emma, "there is no con- 
 cert that I have heard in the capital half so fine 
 as that I have heard from the larks this morning, 
 as we travelled at sunrise. How sweetly their 
 songs rose from the ripe green fields on which the 
 dew-drops, glittered like diamonds in the crown 
 of a prince. Indeed, I wish with Pauline, father 
 would stay in the country." 
 
 "A';l give up the Opera, the glorious court-
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 269 
 
 ball, and the parade of the royal guards, held just 
 before our window?" asked Adelaide, smiling. 
 
 "0, I know what you mean," was the laughing 
 answer ; " you are jeering me now, Adie, because 
 at first I expressed my great admiration for those 
 things ; but the charm of novelty was soon over, 
 and I often \\ished myself back here among those 
 green and odorous woods, resounding with the song 
 of birds. I longed for the flower-beds I had made 
 myself, and where I found more pleasure in watch- 
 ing the seeds spring up, than in all the exotics in 
 painted vases, with which the court gardener used 
 to send to decorate our parlor ; and this morning, 
 as I saw the merry calves and lambs, as they were 
 let loose from the stable, how they skipped and 
 played, I could not help confessing how much more 
 amusing it was to watch their movements, than the 
 stiff manoeuvres of the royal guard. That does 
 very well for a little while ; but it is the same 
 thing over and over again, and one soon tires of 
 it. But when I lived here I never grew weary of 
 anything." 
 
 "Not even of spinning worsted?" asked Adie, 
 smiling mischievously. 
 
 " 0, that was long ago," was Emma's answer. 
 
 By this time they had approached quite close to 
 the spot where Felix was concealed by the shrub- 
 bery. The beating of his heart became painful, 
 and hardly to be borne.
 
 270 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 " Is it not wonderful, mother," asked Pauline, 
 "that things are so little altered? I can scarcely 
 realize that nearly eight years have passed since 
 we left Steinrode, all is so much the same. It 
 must be that kind Ehrenfried who has prepared all 
 this for our reception ; but why is he not here to 
 welcome us ? Nothing is wanting but " 
 
 "Felix, my lost son Felix!" sighed the mother, 
 and she covered her streaming eyes with trembling 
 hands. Convulsive sobs burst from her, in spite 
 of her efforts for self-control. The sisters, cluster- 
 ing round her, supported her in their sustaining 
 arms ; and deeply grieved to see her thus shaken, 
 essayed to speak words of comfort. But just then 
 a rustling in the shrubbery attracted their atten- 
 tion ; and not without some alarm they beheld a 
 strange youth emerge from the recess, and ap- 
 proach the group with form and features visibly 
 agitated by some great emotion. But ere they 
 had time to express surprise, or call for assistance, 
 the stranger rushed forward and fell at the feet of 
 the weeping mother. She looked up the maternal 
 heart keeps its own record one glance was enough 
 for recognition the flashing glance, expressive of 
 the joy of his soul, that spoke from the blue 
 eyes of her never-forgotten boy, was all-sufficient. 
 
 "Felix! my own lost Felix ! whence hast thou 
 come!" was all that she could utter; and com- 
 pletely overcome, she sunk fainting in the arms of 
 v long-lost son.
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 271 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "He meets the roughness of the middle waste, 
 Far from the track and blest abode of men ; 
 While round him night resistless closes fast; 
 And every tempest, howling o'er his head, 
 Renders the savage wilderness more wild." 
 
 IT was a wild and stormy night ; fierce blasts 
 from the north, and tempestuous drivings of rain 
 swept round the lonely forest lodge in the Hartz 
 mountains; the old trees groaned and creaked, 
 tossing their half-denuded branches wildly, as if in 
 despair for the unequal battle they were waging 
 against the strife of elements. No living creature 
 was to be seen abroad ; men and cattle had alike 
 sought a place of shelter. Fires burned brightly 
 in the dwellings, whose closed windows and doors 
 were barred alike against intruders and the cold. 
 
 The evening had long since deepened into night, 
 when a pale, wayworn, and thinly clad wanderer 
 knocked at the outer door of the forest house, and 
 begged admittance. It was sometime before any 
 movement was heard from within ; at length a 
 peasant maiden opened it, and cautiously looking 
 out, asked him what he wanted, at the same time 
 bidding him to make the least noise, as there was 
 a sick person within. He shook the rain-drops
 
 272 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 from his thread-bare clothing, and humbly begged 
 for shelter through the night. He had lost his way 
 in the darkness, and had wandered through the 
 forest until completely exhausted ; " and surely," 
 he added, " if you have any compassion for crea- 
 tures of your own kind, you will not, in such a 
 fearful night, refuse a place of shelter to one sick 
 and astray." 
 
 The peasant girl grumbled something forth which 
 sounded like "you had better go elsewhere; we 
 do not keep an ale-house, in which to lodge stran- 
 gers; the village is only three miles distant;" when 
 her mutterings were interrupted by a young girl 
 dressed in deep mourning ; who, opening an inner 
 door, looked out, and enquired, in a soft and gentle 
 tone, "Marie, did I not hear some one speaking?" 
 
 "Oh! such a savage-looking man!" whispered 
 Marie, in answer to her enquiry ; " his face all 
 covered with moustache and beard; he looks like a 
 very suspicious character, and takes our nice forest 
 lodge for an ale-house. I am sure he must be 
 some vagabond soldier, for there are plenty of 
 them running about. It is always dangerous to 
 harbor them, and then to-night we are all alone ; 
 
 for Triva the huntsman has not returned from S 
 
 where he went to sell skins. If he could not travel 
 on account of the badness of the weather to-night, 
 you may be sure this fellow means no good in 
 running about in such a storm."
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 278 
 
 "Forgive me, lady," begged the stranger, in a 
 tone of deep humility ; " I mean you no harm. I 
 have been wandering in this unknown region, 
 without knowing one step of the way ; and it is 
 the third night I have been unable to procure 
 lodging under a roof the damp earth of the forest 
 has been my only bed, and I have been an invalid 
 for some time. If you will only give me a bundle 
 of straw in a corner, or even in the stable " 
 
 "Poor man!" interrupted the maiden; "we 
 would be hard-hearted indeed, were we to refuse 
 you what you ask, in such a frightful night as this. 
 I cannot say 'go farther.' You are a stranger to 
 us you have heard we are alone we two helpless 
 women and my mother is very ill ; come in, then, 
 but be very quiet, as the least noise will make her 
 worse. Marie shall get you some warm supper, 
 and make up a straw bed for you ; more than this, 
 I have not to offer." 
 
 The stranger thanked her, and would have fol- 
 
 o * 
 
 lowed the grumbling damsel to the kitchen ; but 
 Melanie (for it is herself we recognise in the 
 mourning garments of an orphan), again spoke, 
 and her voice oh ! how unlike that of the impe- 
 rious Melanie of former years fell sweet as sounds 
 from Heaven on the ears of the wanderer. 
 
 " Come into this room, there is a good fire here. 
 You are wet through, and look sick ; but be very
 
 274 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 quiet, for my mother is sleeping now, and every 
 thing depends on her not being disturbed." 
 
 She gave him a chair in the corner, beside the 
 brightly-blazing fire ; arid placing herself before 
 a spinning-wheel which stood beside a table on 
 which a small iron lamp, such as was used by the 
 commonest peasants, was burning, she began most 
 industriously to spin. The stranger spread out his 
 broad hands to meet the warmth of the cheerful 
 blaze ; and, soon revived by the genial glow, began 
 to look round the plain and scantily furnished 
 room ; he noted but little of what it contained, for 
 his gaze was riveted on the fair features of the 
 maiden. She was tall, slender, and very pale ; an 
 expression of deep sadness, not natural in one so 
 young, rested on her face ; her soft and glossy 
 brown hair was parted over her white forehead, 
 and simply braided in a comb. No ornament of 
 beads, tinsel, or riband, such as the peasant 
 maidens love to display, found a place on her 
 person. She wore a coarse, but clean linen apron 
 over her black dress, which was made of no fine 
 material ; and the stranger remarked that her 
 whole figure and bearing wore a stamp of some- 
 thing like nobility, although her hands, once so 
 soft and delicate, were now as red and rough as 
 those accustomed to the rudest work. 
 
 At the least rustle or movement from the inner 
 chamber, she would stop her wheel to listen, and
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 275 
 
 Steal cautiously into the sick room, to watch the 
 feverish breathing of the sick slumberer. Marie 
 brought in some warm supper for the stranger; 
 half famished as he was, even this did riot divert 
 him from his scrutiny of the maiden. And as he 
 hastily devoured the food, so grateful to one in his 
 circumstances, with still increasing sympathy, for 
 which himself could not account, he continued still 
 to gaze on her, watching every movement and turn 
 of feature with an interest almost painful to him- 
 self, although he could divine no cause by which it 
 was called forth. 
 
 The hours wore away far into the night, yet she 
 relaxed not her industry ; she spun as though life 
 and death hung upon the completion of her task ; 
 and when her weary eyelids fell, and she nodded 
 over the wheel which she turned mechanically, she 
 would rouse herself again, and spin only the more 
 vigorously, as if to atone for the momentary inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 At length Marie entered with a lamp in her 
 hand ; she, mentioning that she had prepared a 
 bed for the stranger, asked her "if she did not 
 know it was midnight, or had she no intention of 
 going to bed at all that night?" 
 
 "I do not know that I can,", answered the in- 
 terrogated ; "my work is not done; and did you 
 not tell me the yarn merchant would be here early 
 in the morning?" 
 45
 
 276 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 " Yes, I did say so, but what of that ? You 
 have not slept for two whole nights, and such 
 doings will make you sick," said the peasant girl. 
 " The yarn merchant will not care if you dis- 
 appoint him ; for he will come again in a week or 
 so, and you can give him the yarn then, if it is 
 not ready now." 
 
 "You do not know all, Marie," answered Melanie, 
 with a slight blush ; " he is to bring me something 
 
 I sent for by him, when he went to S . to 
 
 market a little jar of raspberry jelly, and some 
 other articles that my mother wanted. Ah ! she 
 longed so much to have them ; but she does not 
 know I sent. So you see, Marie, I must finish my 
 task, so as to be able to pay for them ; and after 
 that I will sleep gloriously!" 
 
 " What do you think your mother would say if 
 she knew you had set up working for two whole 
 nights to procure these things?" asked Marie ; " the 
 upshot of the thing is, you will be sick, and my 
 mistress more troubled than all that you have done 
 for her comfort is worth." 
 
 " Hush Marie ! " whispered Melanie, glan- 
 cing at the stranger. " You won't tell mother, I 
 know ; you would not spoil my pleasure so much, 
 I am sure. And now, my good girl, go to bed ; 
 rest is more needful for you than myself." 
 
 The damsel, finding she was not to be moved 
 from her purpose, poured some oil in the now dimly
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 277 
 
 burning lamp that stood on the table ; and having 
 re-lighted her own, prepared to leave the room, 
 first telling the stranger she would show him where 
 to sleep, and bidding Melanie "good night." 
 
 " Give the stranger the woollen comforter, 
 Marie," Melanie called after her ; " the garret 
 room is so cold I wish we had a warm bed to 
 give him." 
 
 " A thousand thanks for your kindness, lady," 
 said the rough-looking stranger, completely over- 
 come by the gentleness of the maiden ; a quality, 
 the exhibition of which he but seldom met with, 
 directed to himself; he sighed deeply, as though 
 oppressed with painful recollections, and following 
 the servant girl, began to ascend the rude stairs 
 which led to the garret chamber, through which 
 the winds whistled and swept, as though they were 
 keeping high holiday. 
 
 " Tell me," said he to Marie, as they left the 
 room, " is this family so poor that the young girl 
 has to spin all night in order to procure comfort 
 for her sick mother? Has she no husband has 
 she no father ? I mean, is the kind maiden an 
 orphan ? " 
 
 " She is," was the answer ; " her father died six 
 months ago ; and since then her mother, giving 
 herself up to grief, has been more sickly than 
 before. But it is not only grief now they have to 
 bear, but trouble, too. The new forester is to
 
 278 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 come in a few weeks to take possession of his place ; 
 they will then have to leave this house and forest- 
 wood that they love so well, for he has a large 
 family, and they will want all the room that they 
 can get. What Madame and Melanie will do, 
 Heaven only knows; where can they go? I am 
 distressed for them ; altogether empty-handed, and 
 in a country where they know no one." 
 
 "Has the mother no relatives no son or 
 brother?" was the question of the stranger. 
 
 " 0, yes indeed," said Marie ; " she had a son. 
 She has many a time told me the sad tale of his 
 having been drowned. Yes, and in her sleep she 
 will so often call out 'Eugene Eugene!' and then 
 *he will \v;tke up and cry so bitterly it breaks 
 my hfnrt to he;ir her." 
 
 " Eugene ! " repeated the stranger, musingly ; 
 "and what is the name of the sick lady?" 
 
 "I believe it is Grot/, or Grice, or Grosse, some 
 such name," replied Marie; "we never call her 
 anything but Madame. They came here from 
 Silesia ; and Melanie has often told me of a beauti- 
 ful castle where they lived, which was burnt down. 
 They belong to the nobility, I am sure; and I am 
 sure Madame may well grieve over the loss of 
 her riches, for it is a fine thing to be rich ; but it 
 is not for that so much as for her son she frets so 
 constantly. Her grief is killing her, and she is 
 wrong to give vray to it so, for she ought to think
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 279 
 
 how desolate her good daughter will be if she 
 dies." 
 
 " Grosse Von Grosse!" almost shrieked the 
 stranger ; " what mysterious Providence has led 
 me to this spot, only to have my conscience pierced 
 with new and sharper stings !" 
 
 He clasped his emaciated hands over his agitated 
 face, and was silent ; but large tears trickled from 
 between his fingers, and fell on his bushy beard. 
 Marie was too much frightened to ask the cause 
 of this new emotion ; and turning hastily from 
 him, she fled down the narrow stairs, flinging the 
 door after her with a force that shook the whole 
 house. 
 
 The stranger seated himself on the lowly couch 
 that had been prepared for him ; and leaning his 
 head on his hand, remained buried in painful 
 reverie. He felt not the cold wind that swept 
 through the open walls, and shook the rattling 
 windows he heard not the rain that pelted with- 
 out, and heeded not the solemn crash which some- 
 times boomed through the forest, telling that some 
 giant oak, some moss-covered chronicler of ancient 
 days and Druid rites, had fallen. The intensity 
 of the emotion which swayed his heart was plainly 
 visible in the perturbed features and agitated frame ; 
 but after a time the painful expression subsided 
 some ray of comfort seemed to have streamed ia 
 upon his troubled soul ; for rising from his couch- 
 45*
 
 280 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 ing posture, he had so long maintained, he folded 
 his hands together, and prayed aloud : 
 
 " I understand what thou wouldst have me do, 
 righteous, sin-forgiving God ! who, in thy mys- 
 terious Providence, has led me through my wander- 
 ing to this spot, to give me an opportunity to undo 
 the wrong, the remembrance of which has caused 
 me such bitter repentance, poisoning every moment 
 of life's enjoyment with its sting. Have rtiercy 
 yet further upon me, Heavenly Father; help me 
 to find the son of whom I robbed this family* 
 whilst the poor mother is still in life; and then, 
 if I can again fall on the place where I concealed 
 the treasure which is justly theirs, their deep pov- 
 erty will be at an end." 
 
 He remained in a musing attitude for some time 
 longer, as if resolving some plan ; at length he 
 rose, and tearing a leaf from his pocket-book, wrote 
 a few lines upon it with a pencil, the dim light of 
 the lamp which Marie, in her fright, had left 
 behind, placed upon the floor of that rude chamber, 
 scarcely serving to make objects discernible. 
 
 Having finished a task which seemed to bestow 
 comfort in its prosecution, he laid down on his 
 hard pallet and slept soundly until the day began 
 to break. He rose with the first my : and going 
 down into the kitchen, he found the peasant girl 
 had already kindled a fire, and was preparing a 
 breakfast of warm milk and bread for him. In
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 281 
 
 answer to bis question^ she told him Melanie was 
 still sleeping, and her mother had seemed to 
 grow better towards morning. With many thanks 
 he ate heartily of the simple fare Marie had pro- 
 vided ; but to her invitation to remain until Me- 
 lanie should have arisen, he at once answered that 
 he could not. 
 
 " I have a long journey before me, and must go 
 farther; for I have important business to attend 
 to. business which must on no account be delayed. 
 But thank the kind young lady for me, and give 
 her this note ; tell her good days are yet in store 
 for her and now farewell !" 
 
 Even as he spoke these words he left the house ; 
 and with the hasty pace of one bound on an errand 
 of life or death, set off through the forest. The 
 surprised maiden looked after him ; but although 
 she had followed to the door, she saw but his re- 
 treating form as it vanished between the tall trees 
 of the wood, on which the gray light and sacred 
 stillness of morning still was reposing. 
 
 She did not, however, disturb Melanie to give 
 her the stranger's note, of which she could not 
 read one word herself; and busying herself in 
 household and dairy cares, and deeming it of little 
 importance, she laid it on the kitchen table, where 
 Melanie, on rising, found it. 
 
 No note or written document ever found its way 
 to that lonely house, for the inhabitants seemed
 
 282 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 shut out from human sympathy and human inter- 
 course; and wondering what it could mean, she 
 took it up and ran hastily over the illegible writing. 
 A bright glow overspread her pallid face, and her 
 features beamed with rays of sudden and pleasant 
 emotion. 
 
 " Mother, mother ! " she exclaimed, forgetting 
 all her prudence and acquired self-command in the 
 excess of her joy, in the news she had to tell ; 
 " Eugene is living, and we shall see him again !" 
 
 "What is it you tell me?" cried the mother, 
 starting up from her sick bed as lightly as if youth 
 and health had returned in a moment ; " did you 
 say, Melanie, that my son was living ? 0, merciful 
 Father ! how can I thank Thee !" 
 
 With these words she fell back fainting on her 
 pillow, while Melanie, alarmed at the effect of her 
 own precipitancy, hung over her in agony, believ- 
 ing her sudden announcement of the unexpected 
 tidings to have killed her. 
 
 She wept while she administered such simple 
 remedies as were within her reach ; but Lady Von 
 Grosse remained in a most critical state until the 
 evening, when Melanie was comforted by the arri- 
 val of the physician, who declared her mother's 
 disorder had now reached the crisis ; and he 
 thought that on awakening from the quiet sleep 
 into which she was fallen, she would find herself 
 greatly better.
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 283 
 
 Three whole days elapsed before Melanie had 
 much to encourage her ; but at length the wished- 
 for change became visible; yet there was still 
 a long time between this and recovery, during 
 which period she sacrificed every feeling of self, 
 and attended the beloved sufferer with the most 
 anxious solicitude. From the suddenness with which 
 the news was told, the shock had been very great. 
 But still it proved the best medicine for Lady 
 Von Grosse. Once on the way of recovery, her 
 convalescence was rapid ; she forgot her grief for 
 the loss of her husband, in joy for the hoped-for 
 restoration of her son. Weakness, poverty, the 
 knowledge that they must soon leave their quiet 
 forest home, without knowing where they were to 
 go, gave her no uneasiness, no care ; she read 
 again and again the half-effaced lines left by the 
 unknown lodger for Melanie; and there was com- 
 fort for her in every letter. It ran as follows : 
 
 " To Mademoiselle Melanie: Your kindness has 
 been shown to one altogether unworthy one who 
 has injured you almost past the power of restitu- 
 tion. But I hope it is not yet too late ; perhaps I 
 may be able to restore in part that of which I 
 robbed you. I will try to do so. Know then that 
 Eugene yet lives. I know his place of abode, and 
 I will hasten to it, and bring him back to the arms 
 from whence I tore him. Your servant has told 
 me you would soon be obliged to leave the forest
 
 284 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 lodge. If you do so, go no further than the town 
 
 of W ; leave your address at the council-house, 
 
 and unless life should fail me, I will be the bearer 
 of good tidings to you !" 
 
 Many were the cogitations of both mother and 
 daughter as to who the enigmatical stranger might 
 be ; they could not read the riddle, and so gave it 
 up it was of little importance in comparison with 
 the knowledge that Eugene was alive. 
 
 The period which they so greatly dreaded now 
 arrived, namely, that of vacating the forest lodge 
 for the reception of the new warden and his family. 
 He wrote to let them know he would arrive in the 
 course of few days ; and they made their arrange- 
 ments for leaving with less than half the pain they 
 had anticipated. A new source of comfort had 
 arisen ; and although the hope of fruition was 
 still at a distance, like the stars that cheer in a 
 cloudy night, there was sufficient radiance stream- 
 ing from it to dispel the gloom that would have 
 otherwise enveloped them. 
 
 Their preparations were soon made, for they had 
 little they could call their own. All their once 
 numerous articles of luxury were diminished to a 
 few pieces of such furniture as were indispensable 
 for the commonest wants some cooking utensils, 
 and a scanty wardrobe and with these, comprising 
 all their earthly goods, Madame Von Grosse 
 betook herself to W , as had been enjoined on
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 285 
 
 her by the stranger. Here she hired a small garret 
 room ; and together with Melanie, resolved to earn 
 a support by taking in work. 
 
 With many tears the latter had bade adieu to 
 the collier's family, who had been her only friends 
 in those days of discontent and loneliness that 
 marked the first year of her residence in the Hartz 
 forest. But sad as they were in the retrospect, 
 they were yet greatly brighter than the prospect 
 promised by the future, should Eugene fail to re- 
 turn. She dared not think of such an alternative, 
 for hope then would die out completely. 
 
 The forest children, kind and attached as ever, 
 had all prepared some farewell gift ; each one had 
 something of which the sight must bring back re- 
 membrance of the little foresters ; and Fritz, who 
 was now a large boy, and still remained Melanie's 
 favorite, had put forth his best efforts, and made a 
 very neat bird-cage, in which he placed a tame 
 bullfinch, whose merry notes, he said,, would each 
 day serve to cheat her into the belief that she was 
 still in the Hartz forest. The collier's wife, how- 
 ever, gave her the best gift of all the Bible Avhich 
 she had formerly lent her the book whose light 
 had served as a lamp to her own path, and from 
 whose fount of healing Melanie had received her 
 first drops of consolation, and from whence glad- 
 ness had flowed in upon her mother's darkened 
 soul. Her heart swelled as she received the touch-
 
 286 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 ing gift, and most gratefully she accepted it, espe- 
 cially as she knew her humble friend to possess 
 another. 
 
 The parting between them was sad, but not 
 hopeless. Many were the days they had enjoyed 
 with each other, those dwellers in that wild forest. 
 Widely as the conventional forms of rank and edu- 
 cation had separated them, here the claims of 
 human sympathy demanded and prevailed, break- 
 ing down all the strong barriers which pride and 
 fancied superiority once had raised. They here 
 learned that there is but one great human family, 
 that all are more or less dependent on each other 
 for mutual happiness ; and in recognizing the 
 superior advancement of the collier and his wife 
 in all things pertaining unto holiness, they were 
 able to realize that " God is no respecter of persons, 
 but chooses the humble to confound the wise." 
 
 Grieving yet hoping from each other, they 
 parted, believing that although they might never 
 gaze on each other's faces on earth, yet, as 
 numbered among Christ's ransomed, their inter- 
 course should be renewed in heaven. And thoughts 
 like these we well know soften the pang of separa- 
 tion, although the grave utters no response to our 
 "farewell." 
 
 In more narrowed circumstances than ever, Me- 
 ]anie and her mother took possession of their garret 
 chamber in W , plying their needles busily
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN-. 287 
 
 throughout the day, but always appropriating a 
 portion of the evening to the perusal of God's holy 
 word. Gay and glancing equipages rolled along 
 in the street below, hearing their thoughtless occu- 
 pants to ball or theatre ; but our two friends, 
 having experienced the change effected by renew- 
 ing grace, saw them without envy, for they read 
 "those who truly seek the Lord, shall not want 
 any good thing." 
 
 They wondered now that they had ever prized 
 such fleeting vanities, so as to make their pursuit 
 the whole end of a life bestowed for better pur- 
 poses ; and were thankful that their eyes were 
 opened to behold the right way they experienced 
 how hard it was to find the way to heaven through 
 the intoxicating pleasures and excitements of the 
 gay world how greatly the stings of repentance 
 exceeded the charms of folly or allurements of sin ; 
 and now they blessed the hand of the Eternal 
 Father, that had so sorely smitten only that it 
 might save from death. 
 
 A whole month passed away since the exciting 
 evening of the stranger's arrival at the forest 
 lodge ; but we may say the impression of his visit 
 faded not for a moment from the minds of either 
 mother or daughter. Every knock at the street 
 door, every quick step in the passage or on the 
 stairs, caused the glow of expectation to color the 
 wasted cheeks of the anxious mother, and made 
 46
 
 288 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 the sister start ; but the one as often faded back 
 into the pallor of disappointment, and the other 
 experienced the sickening pang of hope deferred, 
 for neither Eugene nor the stranger came. 
 
 To add to their disappointment, they found 
 that, with the closest application to their sewing, 
 they were only able to earn what was sufficient to 
 procure them food. Unaccustomed to such work, 
 they could not pursue it as rapidly as could those 
 who had known nothing else ; and Melanie trembled 
 with apprehension at the thought that when the 
 day for payment of the rent came round, she had 
 not one single penny laid away to meet it. This, 
 however, she carefully concealed from her mother ; 
 and when the Enemy assailed her with doubts of 
 God's goodness, and distrust of his promises, she 
 resolutely applied to her book the comforting gift 
 of her humble friend in the Hartz forest ; and, 
 like that poor but confiding Christian, she ever 
 found comfort. The tide of unbelief was turned 
 away, the light of hope illumined the pages as she 
 read, " Fear thou not, Jacob, my servant, saith 
 the Lord ; be not dismayed, for I am with thee. 
 I will make an end of all wickedness, but I will 
 not make a full end of thee, but correct thee in a 
 measure ; yet will I not leave thee wholly un- 
 punished." 
 
 Her tears would flow more calmly when she 
 dwelt on passages fraught with consolation to the
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 289 
 
 sorrowing : " Wait on the Lord, and do good ; 
 verily thou shalt be fed ; for he will not chide con- 
 tinually, nor keep his anger forever ; but he is full 
 of compassion, and delighteth in mercy ; therefore 
 commit thy way to God ; trust in him, and he shall 
 give thee the desires of thine heart." And though 
 there seemed no earthly help on which she could 
 lean in the trial that her heart so painfully fore- 
 boded, she was able to contemplate the dark pros- 
 pect without despair. 
 
 But a few days more were wanting until the 
 dreaded rent-day would arrive. Melanie had 
 denied herself everything but that which was barely 
 necessary ; but her mother, who was still delicate, 
 knew no want, so careful had been this good 
 daughter to provide her with comforts which she 
 had resolution enough to do without. 
 
 Which of our readers could now recognize the 
 selfish, affected, pleasure-loving Melanie, in this 
 dutiful, self-denying daughter, whose Christian 
 character was now fashioned from the example of 
 one who "came to save the world that hated him," 
 and scoffed at goodness it could not comprehend. 
 It is no overdrawn picture the prayerful reading 
 of the Scriptures, attended by the Spirit's blessing, 
 effects such changes every day; for not more 
 wonderful than a second birth, to which our 
 Saviour compared it, is the transforming influence 
 of that Spirit's operation on the heart.
 
 290 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 As we have before stated, but a few days wen; 
 now to intervene between the present time and 
 that on which the landlord would expect to receive 
 the rent for their garret. In spite of her faith^ 
 Melanie had felt sad all day, for at times human 
 nature will prevail over grace ; yet she had worked 
 very busily until the deepening twilight forced both 
 herself and mother to lay aside the sewing on 
 which they had been employed. 
 
 Madame Von Grosse sat by the window looking 
 out at the stars, as one by one they began to 
 "light up their watch-towers" in the sky, cheering 
 the darkening heavens by their rays, even as the 
 promises of God do the heart obscured by grief. 
 Melanie was busy preparing their supper of meal 
 porridge, and was stirring it so lustily that she 
 scarcely heard a gentle knock at their room door. 
 But she did hear it, and her heart beat nervously 
 was it the landlord? No light burned in the 
 little chamber; but the moon, shining in with 
 friendly look, made objects distinct enough for her 
 to pursue her avocation. She advanced to open 
 the door at whosoever bidding it might be, and a 
 man, whose features she could not distinguish in 
 the uncertain light, entered, and walked without a 
 word into the middle of the room. Both females 
 were silent, for they could not comprehend the 
 meaning of this intrusion. But at length the 
 stranger spoke.
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 291 
 
 "Mother sister!" he exclaimed, "have you 
 forgotten me ? Have you no welcome for the 
 wanderer, or do you not care to have your Eugene 
 back again ?" 
 
 Such a meeting as this cannot be described 
 hearts keep their own record of such scenes, suffer- 
 ing no stranger to intermeddle or to scan ; s^p we 
 will pass over that sacred hour in silence, only say- 
 ing that three happy hearts beat in perfect unison, 
 as they made that hour of meeting a sacred one, 
 for they knelt down before the God whom they 
 now all served, to thank him that the lost, the 
 long-believed dead son, was restored. It was like 
 a resurrection from the grave ; and with the deep- 
 est humility they bowed to the greatness of Him 
 whose goodness and mercy had so exceeded their 
 deserts, their fears, and even their hopes. 
 
 At length they found time for question and 
 answer to tell to each other what had severally 
 befallen. But Eugene could not help acknowledg- 
 ing to himself, and with shame too, how much less 
 of salutary fruit his trials had brought forth to 
 him than his sister. He felt how greatly she ex- 
 ceeded him in all that was noble and good. Know- 
 ing what she had been, and contrasting it with 
 what she now was, and remembering, too, all that 
 Felix had tried to teach him, and how greatly 
 severe discipline had improved the character of his 
 friend, he was convinced there was something more 
 46*
 
 292 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 tluin words at the bottom of the change he had 
 witnessed in them all ; and felt that much was 
 wanting in himself. 
 
 Love now effected what hardship had failed to 
 do. As he looked at his mother's bowed form and 
 wasted features, at Melanie's rough swelled hands 
 and imxidus eyes, he formed a strong resolution 
 he would be patient, he would seek steady em- 
 ployment, and he would work and lighten, if ho 
 could not remove, the burden which pressed so 
 heavily on those dear ones ; and this resolution, 
 as he made it in a proper spirit, he kept through 
 life. 
 
 " But tell us, dear brother," said Melanie, as 
 they were talking over matters one evening, "tell 
 us, if you can, who was that stranger that begged 
 a night's lodging of us, while we lived at the forest 
 lodge ? it was he who first gave us to hope that 
 you were living." 
 
 " Could you not recognize our old servant 
 Arcade ?" answered Eugene. 
 
 "Not possible it was he !" replied the sister; 
 " why did he fear to tell us his name, or make him- 
 self known ?" 
 
 "A guilty conscience makes men cowards. He 
 had wronged us all too much to be happy in find- 
 ing himself so unexpectedly in your presence, and 
 obliged to ask a favor of you ; for he it was who 
 decoyed me away. But I will tell you his story as
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 293 
 
 he told it to me. About the time he entered into 
 mother's service, he fell into bad company, and 
 turned gambler, loving play so much that he often 
 lost in one hour all that he could earn in a month. 
 At length he got into debt; his companions pressed 
 him for payment ; and his mother, who was a 
 widow and owned a small property, in her blind 
 indulgence gave him her last penny. But even this 
 was not enough ; he staked the little homestead, 
 all she had to support her in her old age, and lost 
 it. He was in despair ; he loved his mother, and 
 could not bear the thought that she should be re- 
 duced to beggary in her old age. But his love of 
 gambling was not diminished. He left his home 
 and country, and came to Germany, less with the 
 hope of entering into service, than that of finding 
 less skilful players than in France, from whom he 
 might expect to win that which would make up, if 
 not exceed, his losses. 
 
 " This plan did not succeed as he wished. He 
 found the laws of chance, and the lovers of gamb- 
 ling the same here as in the country he had left; 
 and having entered your service, dear mother, he 
 bethought himself of another medium by which 
 he might as suddenly become rich as that promised 
 by a lucky throw of the dice. He staked all the 
 money he earned ; he lost continually ; and in his 
 despair, as he told me, there was no crime he
 
 294 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 would have hesitated to commit, for his whole soul 
 was given up to the desire of gain. 
 
 '* The birth-day festival opened a glorious pros- 
 pect to his avarice. He saw the valuable casket 
 with its sparkling gems standing upon your dress- 
 ing table; and determined, when opportunity 
 offered, to appropriate some few of them to his 
 own use. 
 
 " 'It can be no sin,' thought he ; ' the Countess 
 has so many she can never miss them ; and my 
 old mother is suffering. No ; I will do this for 
 her sake, for she ruined herself to pay gambling 
 debts for me !' 
 
 "He waited on the company throughout the 
 day ; but it was not until the evening, when 
 the guests, .servants and all, left the castle to see 
 the fireworks exhibited in the garden, that he 
 could find a fitting time to carry out his plan. To 
 the invitation of some one of his fellows to witness 
 the spectacle, he replied that ' fireworks were so 
 common in his country, that the sight would be 
 aothing new to him ; they might, therefore, all 
 50, and he would stay behind and watch the castle.' 
 So far all succeeded. They went, and he was left; 
 be knew where the key of the casket was kept; 
 and putting it in the lock, he turned it, and the 
 costly treasure lay before his gloating eyes. 
 
 " ' Only one chain, or a few rings,' he said to 
 himself, and he buried his hand among the gems ;
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 295 
 
 hut at that moment something fluttered behind 
 him. The large chamber was but dimly lighted ; 
 and he could not discern objects at the further end. 
 But his hair rose upon end as he believed himself 
 detected, for a hoarse voice, proceeding from one 
 corner, cried out, ' Villain ! Knave !' 
 
 u He waited not to discover who was the accuser, 
 but, catching up the open casket in his arms, he 
 fled like one bereft of reason ; and he felt that he 
 wns pursued, for he heard the rushing of wings 
 behind him as he ran. He reached the long corri- 
 dor, and was proceeding to grope his way in dark- 
 ness to the back stair; but all at once a bright 
 light sprung up around him, making every object 
 visible in its fearful glow. Horror-stricken, he 
 turned to seek another outlet, still clasping the 
 open casket in his arms, although he yet believed 
 himself pursued by demons. It must have been 
 our parrot, Melanie, that frightened him by its 
 voice ; you remember we used to take great 
 pleasure in hearing him repeat those words. 
 
 " He sought the stairs which led to the front 
 entrance, for the flames were now bursting forth 
 from the chambers and galleries, where they had 
 been so successfully kindled. On the first landing 
 place he met a ferocious-looking man with matted 
 hair, and whose expression of wild despair, as he 
 brandished a flaming torch in his hand, applying 
 it to everything combustible within his reach,
 
 296 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 served to picture to his now heated fancy one of 
 the lost spirits escaped for a season from the pit, 
 and come to spread destruction and ruin over the 
 scene that, a few hours before, was so fair. 
 
 "'Come along! come along!' he cried in the 
 tone of a mocking fiend ; ' help me to kindle up 
 the fires, that they may all warm themselves, 
 you and me too ! it is nice to be warm !' and the 
 maniac laugh with which he concluded his speech 
 rang out above the no\v crackling flames ; and in 
 it Amade' recognized the insane prisoner Dietrich. 
 Scarce knowing what he did, and dreading that 
 the peasant would destroy him, groping in the 
 casket, he grasped a handful of jewels from the 
 store, and handing them to him, bade him take 
 them as some requital for his wrongs. Dietrich 
 received them with great indifference, thrusting 
 them into his vest pocket. Amade was only too 
 much rejoiced when the former told him that all 
 he desired in return for his keeping silence in 
 reference to the loss of the casket, would be to give 
 him a hiding-place for a few days, as he was certain 
 he would be pursued. He directed him, therefore, 
 without hesitation, to the cottage where his mother 
 now lived ; and knowing Dietrich's proverbial 
 honesty, he committed the casket to his charge, 
 and sent him at once on his way. 
 
 "No suspicion was attached to Amade, for he 
 was among the most busy in extinguishing the
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 297 
 
 flames, and seeking for the lost treasure. In the 
 meantime, whilst the consequent bustle was going 
 forward, the prisoner, with his costly charge, 
 reached the desired asylum, where both himself 
 and it were successfully hidden, although justice 
 left no means untried to find out whither he had 
 fled. 
 
 " His revenge, however, was but half satisfied ; 
 and having Amade now completely in his power, 
 he next demanded of him the betrayal of myself 
 into his hands. I have already told you how this 
 was done. You remember, mother, Amade's term 
 of service was nearly expired at that time ; he 
 greatly dreaded that Dietrich would return ; and 
 anxious to secure his ill-gotten gain in a safer place 
 than it was at present, he left you ; and telling 
 every one he was going back to France, he thus 
 put them completely off the track of his where- 
 abouts, if any suspicion should ever arise. But 
 instead of this, he withdrew into a distant duchy 
 on the borders of Poland, where he purchased a 
 small inn, together with a spot of farming-land. 
 
 At first all went well his customers were 
 pleased, and his cattle throve ; his means were 
 ncreased; he laid by a smart sum of money, still 
 lepositing it in the casket, where yet many of the 
 jewels remained. But his old passion for play 
 evived ; and the more riches he acquired, the more 
 .varicious he became. And not contented to gain
 
 298 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 wealth by fair play or honest endeavors, he sought 
 the quicker method to obtain, which he so greatly 
 desired, by fraud. He procured loaded dice, 
 played falsely, arid was detected ; gens-d'armes, 
 sent by the provincial authorities, appeared sud- 
 denly, and surrounded his house ; but Amade suc- 
 ceeded in making his escape, bearing with him the 
 treasured casket concealed within the folds of his 
 cloak. 
 
 "Not daring to seek the habitations of men, he 
 wandered in unfrequented districts ; and it was 
 when forced by hunger he entered at times into 
 some obscure village, in order to purchase coarse 
 food, which he devoured in some mountain cavern, 
 where he had spread the couch of leaves that 
 served him for a bed. It was on returning from 
 such an errand on a stormy evening that, mistaking 
 the path that led to his cavern home, he strayed 
 into a different part of the forest. The light of 
 torches glimmered from among the trees ; and to 
 the voice of the tempest were added the oaths and 
 imprecations of men. His pursuers were on the 
 track. He turned to flee he knew not whither ; 
 but his progress was considerably hindered by the 
 weight of the casket, from which he never parted 
 by night or day. 
 
 " But what was gold now, when his life was at 
 stake valueless as the earth on which he trod; 
 and throwing it among a heap of loose stones that
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 299 
 
 lay in a little hollow, where the ground was covered 
 with a thick undergrowth, he rolled some of the 
 largest over the opening, so as effectually to con- 
 ceal it ; and creeping on his hands and feet for 
 some distance through the spiky shrubbery, not 
 heeding the wounds made on his hands and face, 
 he succeeded in escaping the observation of his 
 pursuers. At length the lights ceased to stream 
 on the deep darkness of the wood, and the voices 
 died away in the distance ; and although at another 
 time the surrounding horrors would have spoken 
 only of death and danger to the alarmed culprit, 
 how cheering now was the sombre shadow what 
 soothing came in the unaccompanied voice of the 
 still raging tempests ! 
 
 " He arose to his feet and looked round ; the 
 trees, much less dense, assured him to be near the 
 end of the forest ; and when the morning dawned, 
 clear, calm, and beautiful, he found himself at its 
 edge. Smoke issuing from the distant cottages 
 told of man and domestic comforts ; but the out- 
 cast dared not seek sympathy in the one, or parti- 
 cipation in the other. 
 
 " Filled with sad and repentant thoughts, as he 
 stood gazing upon the scene he feared to approach, 
 he was startled by a loud scream. He turned in 
 dismay ; and close beside him was a little girl, who, 
 with a basket on her arm, had come thus early to 
 the forest to pick*berries, which grew in abundance 
 47
 
 300 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 there. He enquired what it was had frightened 
 her ; but without making any answer, she screamed 
 but the louder as he tried to drive away her fears ; 
 and when he attempted to lead her by the hand, 
 fled with the speed of the lapwing, occasionally 
 looking back to see if the frightful-looking man, 
 covered with blood and dust, was following. Her 
 cries awakened the attention of some wood-cutters 
 who were at work near the spot. They hastened 
 to see what was the matter ; and without waiting 
 to question the stranger, whose appearance was so 
 very suspicious, they overpowered him at once ; 
 and putting him in a cart, carried him to the nearest 
 market-town, where he was brought before a magis- 
 trate to answer for himself. 
 
 " Among the crowd collected to witness his 
 examination, were one or two persons who had 
 known him in his public capacity. They gave evi- 
 dence of his being not only a notorious gambler, 
 but one who played falsely ; the trial was short, 
 and he was sent to the house of correction. At 
 this time he learned from an old neighbor, who 
 compassionately visited him in his prison, that his 
 house and all the goods had been seized upon by 
 his creditors, and sold ; his mother dead died 
 from hardship, poverty, and grief; and the worm 
 of remorse, preying upon the heart of the unhappy 
 son, ho wished for the death which he yet feared to 
 meet. *
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 301 
 
 " It was now that, left to solitude and reflection, 
 and hating the life which he feared to take, for 
 although he had formerly mocked at all religion, 
 and said within his heart ' there is no God,' the 
 conviction of an all-prevailing Power so forced 
 itself upon his tortured mind, that, though sorely 
 tempted, he could not determine to rush uncalled 
 into the dread presence of the Mighty Judge. He 
 had read the words, ' It is appointed to all men 
 once to die, and after that the judgment;' and the 
 sentence echoed fearfully into the inmost recess of 
 his soul. He thought over every wicked act of his 
 past life the space so mercifully given to man 
 for the preparation of a holier and more blissful 
 state of the vile ingratitude he had shown to his 
 mother, who, in her blind affection, had sacrificed 
 her earthly all for his sake of the sorrow and 
 wrong he had wrought on the Von Grosse family, 
 who had received and trusted him when he was a 
 fugitive, driven from his early home and from the 
 society of his fellow men. Whilst with that family 
 he was received into the friendly castle of Stein- 
 rode ; and there, where Piety sprinkled the sweet 
 dews daily from her cup of consolation, some few 
 drops had reached him ; and though at the time 
 considered of no account, they came now in his 
 hours of affliction like soothing balm to the 
 diseased. * Come unto me, all ye that are weary 
 and heavy laden, and I will give you rest,' were
 
 302 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 words that he could not but remember ; and thej 
 now gave sweet assurance that there was no sin of 
 dye so deep that it could not be washed away in the 
 all-atoning blood of Him, the pure and perfect, who, 
 having suffered and died, * had passed into the 
 heavens,' where, as man's Advocate, he ever lives 
 to make intercession for all who come to God 
 through Him. 
 
 " Whilst thoughts of this kind, mingled with 
 some of more worldly character, were revolving in 
 
 ' O 
 
 his mind, a felon was brought in to share the cell 
 he had heretofore occupied alone. His loose dress, 
 pointed cap, and flowing beard, at once proclaimed 
 him a Jew ; and in the natural course of communi- 
 cation which ensued between them, they soon 
 became quite confidential in their intercourse. 
 A mad*', in his distress of mind, made a. full dis- 
 closure of all his guilt t.o Simon (for my old master 
 had got to the right place at last), perhaps in hopes 
 that one so much older than himself could help 
 him plan some way of escape, or maybe that the 
 confession served to lighten his own mind. 
 
 "The Jew, it seemed, had made no effort to 
 find out where the parents of Felix and myself 
 were gone, but engaged in new thefts, which 
 promised to be more speedily profitable than such 
 a search, and the police had at last been able to 
 detect and secure him. 
 
 " As Arcade", in the nights when he could not
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 303 
 
 sleep, related his story concerning the robbery of 
 the rich casket, and abduction of myself and 
 Felix, not withholding our own and family names, 
 the hardened Simon laughed at him, calling him 
 'a whining fool ;' and then, by way of boasting of 
 superior strength of mind, vaunted of his own 
 deeds, together with the dexterity by which he had 
 so long eluded the vigilance of the police; and 
 concluded by declaring that he could tell his 
 'chicken hearted companion all about me, and 
 where I was at that time.' He also recounted, in 
 a triumphant manner, how he had got me into his 
 power, and what pains he had taken to make me 
 as accomplished a thief as himself. ' I wanted a 
 companion,' said he, 'for I am getting old and 
 stiff, and the boy was tall and slender, and could 
 accomplish much that a large man could not.' In 
 short, mother you must spare me the shameful 
 remembrance. Let me only say that Felix was 
 the good angel sent from heaven to save me 
 from becoming like Simon and Amade, who, with 
 many others, chose to gather gain in forbidden 
 paths, rather than earn their bread as God had 
 commanded man to do, by the sweat of his brow. 
 
 " At last Amade was released from prison ; and 
 as his repentance was really sincere, he resolved 
 to seek an humble service, whereby he might gain 
 an honest living. But he soon found that a 
 tarnished reputation is not easily retrieved. No 
 47*
 
 804 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 man wished to employ the liberated convict ; no 
 one pitied his destitution ;. no one believed in hia 
 intended reformation. 
 
 " Hunger and want at this time almost com 
 pelled him to pilfer, in order to supply their press- 
 ing demands ; but true to the resolution he had 
 formed, he yielded not ; for it was his fixed pur- 
 pose to be honest. Some few little turns he found 
 to do, and for which bread, barely sufficient to 
 keep him from starving, was given ; but anything 
 like regular employment, for which he might 
 demand regular wages, was out of the question. 
 At length a good-natured farmer took him into hia 
 barn to thresh. This was hard work for him, who 
 never wielded a. flail in his life; and now for little 
 more than the rough food he ate, he labored six- 
 teen hours out of the twenty-four ; but so great 
 was the change that had c<mie over him, he per- 
 formed his task without a murmur. He thanked 
 God for the asylum he had found; but, alas! it 
 was not long until he had to seek another. 
 
 " His fellow-laborers found out by some means 
 that he had served his time in the house of correc- 
 tion, and utterly refused to work in company with 
 one who had been so publicly disgraced. The 
 farmer pitied him, and remonstrated with his 
 men ; but it was of no avail. They insisted that 
 Amade' or themselves must be parted with. The
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 305 
 
 master had no alternative, and he was obliged to 
 dismiss him. 
 
 " Almost despairing, he once more resumed his 
 wanderings ; and as he strayed from place to place, 
 his heart again grew harder under the cruelty and 
 unfeeling treatment he met with from his fellow 
 men. He felt himself powerfully tempted to go 
 back to the ways of wickedness, palliating the sin 
 by saying to himself, ' If I steal, it shall only be a 
 few farthing?, which nobody will miss, or else some 
 food to keep me from starving.' 
 
 " No opportunity, however, occurred to put his 
 purpose into execution, until on the evening when, 
 wandering through the region of the Hartz moun- 
 tains, he came upon the lonely forest lodge, which, 
 lying so remote, so shut out from all other habita- 
 tions, seemed almost to invite to depredation. But 
 heaven spared him the sin ; here, for the first time, 
 he was met by gentleness and compassion, his heart 
 was again softened ; he gave up the unrighteous 
 thoughts that were revolving in his soul, and he 
 determined to beg rather than steal. 
 
 " When he heard from the servant girl the name 
 of the family who had so unhesitatingly sheltered 
 him in that inclement night when the circum- 
 stances she recounted assured him that the inmates 
 of the cottage were those he had so deeply wronged, 
 repentance once more became busy at his heart, 
 and he resolved, as far as Inr in his power, to
 
 306 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 endeavor to redress that wrong/ He sought me 
 out almost immediately ; and calling my master 
 to one side, had a long and private conversation 
 with him; when it was ended the latter, looking 
 much troubled, bade me get ready, for I might set 
 out at once for home, at the same time offering to 
 lend me money for the journey. 
 
 " It was on the same night that Amade, whom I 
 could scarcely recognize as our former footman, 
 so changed was his whole appearance, occupying 
 the same chamber with myself, told me the tale I 
 have related to you. What arguments he used 
 to pursuade my stern master, I know not ; and I 
 could not ask him, for when I awoke in the morn- 
 ing he was gone, and no one knew at what hour 
 he had departfid. It made little matter to one so 
 happy as I now was, in my haste to leave my 
 Russian home. I could scarcely wait to eat some 
 breakfast, but tied up my few articles of clothing 
 in a bundle, and threw myself into the mail 
 waggon, which brought me safe to this place and 
 to you, from whom I hope never again to be sepa- 
 rated. 
 
 " I am determined to do my best, dear mother, 
 to make your declining years pass in comfort, and 
 to share Melanie's burden, be it what it may. In 
 the first place, I will seek a mechanic, for whom I 
 can do journey-work by day, and in the evenings 
 I will copy documents for a lawyer, with whom I
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 307 
 
 made acquaintance as I travelled hither. I have 
 been wicked, thoughtless, ah ! and in days past, 
 cruel and disobedient ; but Adversity has taught 
 me salutary things ; and I trust God will give me 
 strength to maintain my good resolutions." 
 
 Eugene had finished his narrative, and for 
 some moments the little party remained silent; 
 but at length Lady Von Grosse rose from her 
 chair, and folding both her children to her heart, 
 blessed God for the wonderful Providence that had 
 so worked together for the good of all ; but above 
 all, she prayed that her returned son might be 
 strengthened in the pursuit of every good work, 
 and kept secure from the allurements of vice, and 
 above the temptations of the world. 
 
 Although Eugene's money, by the expenses of 
 his journey, had melted away to his last penny, 
 and he had not the most distant idea of finding 
 his family in such straitened circumstances, yet 
 on this night he was happier than ever he had been 
 in all his life before. He enjoyed, in anticipation, 
 the pleasure he should have in being the support 
 and stay of his mother and sister ; and slept 
 soundly, although he had no better bed than the 
 hard floor, on which Melanie had spread a few 
 blankets, to which she added her own pilow, choos- 
 ing to do without it herself, for the pleasure of 
 giving it to her brother. 
 
 Who ought ever to despond while he knows
 
 308 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 that "God is in heaven," watching over all for 
 good? In the evening, when Melanie and her 
 mother gazed on the sunset glow, it was with 
 hearts sad in the prospect of coming difficulties ; 
 but a happy night was theirs ; and when the morn- 
 ing shed her light once more upon the earth, the 
 sun poured forth his early beams upon bright 
 countenances, and as grateful beings as any that 
 existed in the whole compass of the great city of 
 W .
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 309 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " They spoke of many a banished scene, 
 Of what they once had thought and said, 
 Of what had been and might have been, 
 And who was changed, and who was dead." 
 
 PLEASANT indeed were the days passed by the 
 guests at Steinrode ; but time will move onward, 
 and duty will call imperatively ; and so in this 
 case. The days flew like hours, for they were 
 crowned with delight ; but sooner than was wished 
 by any of the party, the Baron began to speak of 
 returning to the capital, where the affairs of his 
 oflice at court demanded his presence, and where 
 Herman had been left behind to pursue his college 
 studies. 
 
 Mr. Norman had, as yet, given no hint of his 
 meditated plan of the disposal of Steinrode to its 
 former owner ; but when Baron Lindenburg de- 
 clared that they must set out for home on the 
 morrow, the eccentric old man took him by the 
 hand, and shaking it warmly, said, " You have been 
 disappointed in your wish to purchase a suitable 
 property in this neighborhood, and I doubt whether 
 you can anywhere find one that would please you 
 so well as this old castle. Stay where you are
 
 310 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 then, my good friend ; I see it is hard for you all 
 to think of leaving Steinrode; and for yourself, 
 I know you would rather again be the possessor of 
 your ancestral domain, than to fill the most exalted 
 post your king can offer you. Lady Lindenburg 
 will get well here, since all painful remembrance is 
 removed, and Steinrode be to you all the pleasant 
 home of other days. I have loved it, too; but I 
 am of a restless nature I cannot remain long in 
 any place. Besides, I love a little bustle, and I 
 long to mingle with the world ag;iin ; and I have 
 for some time been planning a voyage to America, 
 where I propose taking my good Ehrenfried with 
 me, as he seems as much filled with the love of 
 travel as myself. Steinrode, therefore, if you wish 
 it, shall be given back into your hands fettered 
 with this condition only, that when weary of 
 wandering, I may feel the need of rest, you will 
 receive me for a short space as your guest, and my 
 young companion will you not find a place for 
 him too? My trunks are already packed," he 
 continued, laughing, as the Baron endeavored to 
 express the grateful astonishment he felt at this 
 unexpected fulfilment of the heart's wish he had 
 not dared to utter. " Ehrenfried and myself set 
 out in the morning, and you must all stay here, if 
 it is only to see the harvest gathered, and the 
 flowers that, hid in their beds by thousands, are 
 yet to bloom before the withering winds of Autumn
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 311 
 
 corae. I am a queer old man, but I love, in pur- 
 suing my Dwn notions, to make others happy." 
 
 New joy was diffused among the Lindenburg 
 family, when the father communicated the intelli- 
 gence that Steinrode was once more to be their 
 home. That of the parents was calm and quiet ; 
 but the children they were almost boisterous. 
 Felix would have felt but half satisfied at leaving 
 the old castle ; but now he saw himself prospect- 
 ively the farmer he had ever wished to be, tilling 
 the old acres over which his ancestors had trodden, 
 and filling, as his father had done, the place of 
 landlord and benefactor to those born on the soil, 
 after he had passed away like the others, whose 
 faded portraits in the old hall alone reminded the 
 gazer that they had been. 
 
 The maidens did they not long for the" scenes, 
 the bright glittering court scenes, left behind in 
 the capital ? no ; all was bright and pleasant 
 there ; they had many valued friends, many sweet 
 associations springing from the intercourse, the 
 employments and pleasures of a city life ; but 
 Steinrode dear Steinrode it was the sweetest 
 place in the world. And now it was particularly 
 so the glorious summer sunlight, the cool gray 
 shadows of the forest, the thousands of bright 
 colored flowers that clothed the hillsides, the yel- 
 low waving grain, the songs of birds in the grove, 
 and sweet odours from the garden who would be 
 48
 
 312 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 willing to exchange these for the dull, hot brick 
 walls of a city? Ehrenfried himself, though burn- 
 ing with desire to visit those wondrous western 
 realms of which he had read so much, could not 
 leave it without bitter regret. 
 
 Felix and himself were to exchange letters 
 regularly, and the latter was to make large collec- 
 tions of the plants and insects found in that tropi- 
 cal clime, which he was to send from time to time 
 to his friend, whose long servitude in Poland had 
 not in the least abated his love of Natural History. 
 
 The day came only too soon when Mr. Norman 
 and the peasant boy were to leave Steinrode, per- 
 haps forever; and all were sad and melancholy at 
 the parting. With heavy hearts they listened to 
 the clang of the post-horn that called the travellers 
 from that quiet home ; and some tears fell as the 
 rumbling mail-coach vanished in the distance, and 
 bore with it the friends they had learned to love. 
 
 Silent and sad, they were still seated at the 
 breakfast table, which was spread in the old parlor, 
 whose wide open windows permitted all sounds 
 from without to enter, when the rolling of a 
 carriage over the gravelled road in the front avenue 
 roused them from their musing, arid awakened their 
 attention. They rose at once and looked out, 
 wondering who those early visitors could be, and 
 their eyes were greeted and their hearts gladdened 
 by seeing the placid face of aunt Angela, and
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 313 
 
 hearing the hearty cheer which Herman gave as 
 he thrust his smiling face through the open blinds 
 of the carriage. 
 
 Oh ! the meeting between the two brothers, who 
 could describe it ? No one ; for no one can enter 
 into the hidden depths of the heart they could 
 not have explained their emotions ; and we will 
 only say that they lay in each other's arms, whilst 
 heart beat to heart ; and answered each other in 
 pulses that spoke to the spirit, but found no 
 utterance in words. There was joy this day 
 at Steinrode ; such joy as to human beings is 
 seldom permitted, whose remembrance no after 
 sorrow can ever obliterate, and whose impression 
 never altogether fades, even in the turmoil of 
 busy life ; for could brothers, like these thus re- 
 united, forget? how could anything separate hearts 
 thus joined? 
 
 Much of the former mode of life was resumed 
 at Steinrode ; occupations in the morning, and the 
 family meetings round the fire in the winter even- 
 ings. Lady Lindenburg daily improved in health 
 since she had found her long-mourned son again ; 
 and with great gratitude to heaven, she saw that 
 Adversity had been sanctified to him. She re- 
 sumed her house-keeping duties by degrees ; but 
 they were not hard, for old mother Spiller, still fresh 
 and hale, remained at the head of the kitchen
 
 314 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 concerns, and kept Dolly and the fat cook in due 
 bounds. 
 
 Greatly were they all delighted to have Felix 
 restored ; and although Dolly would have been 
 better pleased had he recounted adventures in 
 Fairyland rather than his hardships in Poland, she 
 bore her disappointment quite rationally, notwith- 
 standing the cook often reminded her of all that had 
 been said at the kitchen fire, on the night of his 
 mysterious disappearance. Mother Spiller, as she 
 laid her withered hand on his bright clustering 
 locks, and looked into the laughing blue eyes she 
 had so loved in childhood, could scarcely believe 
 that the tall youth, with firmness and character 
 written on every feature, proclaiming him a man 
 in spirit, while the downy cheek and insipient 
 moustache spoke him yet a boy in years, was the 
 same she had nursed : but she found that, though 
 hardened to battle with the storms of life, he had 
 lost none of his natural amiability; and that union 
 of gentleness with determination in the cause of 
 right, ever so beautiful in their blending, detracted 
 nothing from the character of her favorite, who, 
 in a short time, became a greater one with her than 
 ever. 
 
 Aunt Angela was the same as ever ; the advance 
 of years had infused no sourness into the disposi- 
 tion of her who was now a determined old maid
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 315 
 
 Crow's-feet lurked around the corners of her once 
 beautiful eyes, and threads of silver shone among 
 her dark locks ; but she covered the one with a 
 plain cap, and the winning smile that played on 
 every feature of her pleasant face prevented all 
 notice of the other. Ready as ever to promote 
 the happiness of those around her, she still was 
 projecting plans for the improvement or amuse- 
 ment of those she loved so well ; and entered, if 
 not into the feelings of youth, at least into the 
 participation of it, as it was called forth by her 
 own efforts in the domestic circle. 
 
 " Tell me, girls," said she one evening, when 
 they were all gathered around her except Pauline, 
 " tell me, are you not sorry to have missed the 
 great party given by the Princess Sulkony ? You 
 have lost all that by coming to the country ; all 
 the world was there, Einma." 
 
 " Where you there, aunty?" asked Pauline, who 
 just looked in for a moment. 
 
 " No indeed ; what business would a plain old 
 maid like myself have there?" was her reply ; and 
 then, in a jesting manner, described the affair as 
 she had heard of it from some of the guests who 
 were present. The dresses worn were splendid; the 
 ladies blazed with jewels; the arrangements 
 nothing was ever seen in the capital to equal them ; 
 it was all fairy -like, a scene of perfect enchantment 
 48*
 
 316 THE XEIOIIBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 Adie made no other answer than by laughingly 
 jingling her mother's hunch of keys close to her 
 good aunt's ear, much to the annoyance of the 
 auricular nerves : and Emma, flying to the open 
 piano, after playing a short symphony, struck into 
 a song, half lively, half serious. 
 
 Who can's for the towrt, when the country's so fair, 
 With its cool shady woods, and soft .summer air; 
 Where flowers on the hillsides more brilliantly .glance, 
 Than fair ladies robed for the court or the dance. 
 
 Where the violet sends forth her sweet breath on the 
 
 breeze, 
 
 And voices are whispering among the green trees ; 
 Mysterious and holy they fall on the ear, 
 Like music that swells from a loftier sphere ; 
 And speaks of a world where in beauty arrayed 
 No blossom e're withers, no flowers e'er fade. 
 
 give me the country, with valley and plain, 
 With rude mountain crest and soft waving grain ; 
 Which speak to the heart while charming the eye, 
 Of the goodness that still every want will supply. 
 
 When o'er the gay city still evening shall fall, 
 And fair dames issue forth enrobed for the ball, 
 ' The court, or the revel /would not be there, 
 For here in our home 'tis the season for prayer. 
 And listening angels that bend from the skies, 
 Smile on us while watching our pure sacrifice. 
 
 Pauline, who had too much business on her 
 hands to care for the princess or her party, waited 
 until her sister had finished her ballad, (for although
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 317 
 
 not present at the beginning, she had come in in 
 time to hear the latter part of the description,) and 
 now coming up to her aunt, she opened her apron, 
 which, until this moment, she had held gathered in 
 a bundle before, and displayed the treasure it con- 
 tained. A dozen of black and yellow chickens, 
 not more than a day old, set up a chirping as they 
 met the light, and peals of laughter burst from all. 
 
 u That will do, little sister," cried Felix; "you 
 are our little Pauline still, though grown so tall ; 
 but what are you going to do with your chickens ? 
 have you the charge of the poultry-yard ?" 
 
 "Not altogether," said she, laughing; "you 
 see I can now not only bear to be laughed at, but 
 I can laugh with you, even when myself is the 
 subject ; but I have brought my chickens here to 
 have them named. I want the largest called 
 Felix. But indeed, dear aunty, I have no time 
 to grieve over the loss of the party. Who would 
 be shut up in a ball-room, though ever so much 
 decorated, when they can run over the fields, 
 where the fresh flowers are growing, and smell 
 so sweet? And in our tulip-beds there are a more 
 richly dressed company than that of the Princess 
 Sulkony ; and as for dancing, my chickens jump 
 about and are a thousand times more active than 
 
 the best of them, not excepting Major D , in 
 
 his nice white kid gloves !"
 
 318 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 "Indeed!" said her aunt in mock astonishment; 
 you must have learned such renunciation of what 
 you cannot obtain from Gellert's Fables, that you 
 so loved when a child something like the fox 
 when he could not reach the grapes." 
 
 And the happy maidens, full of the gleesome 
 spirit of youth, entwined their arms around the 
 neck of their beloved aunt, and half smothered 
 her, as they stopped her jesting mouth with kisses.
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 319 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 "His purpose is not to appear just, but to be." 
 
 LEAVING the Steinrode family in the possession 
 of as much happiness as ever falls to the lot of 
 man, we look once more into the attic chamber 
 which the Lady Von Grosse still occupied with her 
 
 children, in the great city of W . The Easter 
 
 holidays had come ; and never had a more beauti- 
 ful morning risen upon the earth than that which 
 heralded the Monday of Whitsuntide. The city 
 hells rung out a merry peal, and cheerful tones of 
 gleeful children echoed from the street all told 
 of a rejoicing world ; hut the sleepers in that 
 low-roofed room awoke not. The bullfinch in his 
 cage, which hung above Melanie's bed, twittered 
 and piped his loudest ; but she did not awake until 
 in its fluttering he shook down some hemp-seed 
 into her face, and then, astonished at her own 
 slothfulness, in an instant she was up. 
 
 Dressing hastily, but quietly, for fear of dis- 
 turbing her mother, she first performed her devo- 
 tional duties, which now she never forgot ; and 
 next began her preparations for the family break- 
 fast, a task which it was always her's to execute.
 
 320 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 But as she left the room to get something she 
 wanted, she perceived the door of the outer room 
 where Eugene slept was open, and himself absent. 
 Astonished at this movement, she was also disap- 
 pointed ; for she had prepared a little surprise for 
 both, and she felt that if he was not at the table 
 her plan would but half succeed. 
 
 Both her mother and Eugene were particularly 
 fond of coffee ; and as that was a luxury in which 
 they seldom allowed themselves to indulge, she 
 had made some sacrifices, in order to procure a 
 small quantity, whereby to prepare a sort of feast 
 on this high holiday ; and was now cooking it, 
 instead of their usual milk porridge, in another 
 part of the house. 
 
 All was ready before her mother awoke ; her 
 little table was spread with a nice white cloth, cups 
 were placed on a waiter, and the sugar basin was 
 filled with sugar. 
 
 " Melanie, my dear," said the astonished mother, 
 when on rising she saw the preparation for what 
 they now considered a sumptuous breakfast, " where 
 did you get all this? Eugene told me his master 
 had not paid him for his last week's work, and I 
 hope you have not gone in debt to provide us with 
 a Whitsun feast." 
 
 "No indeed, mother," was the reply, "I did 
 not do any such foolish thing. I took a simpler, 
 and I hope, a wiser plan. I have so much hah
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. ^21 
 
 that it gives me a great deal of trouble, and makes 
 me break so many combs. One day, not long 
 since, when I went into the hair-dresser's shop to 
 buy one, he noticed the great quantity, and re- 
 marked that I could spare a good handful, and not 
 miss it ; besides I could get a good price for it. 
 So I cut out some locks and took them to him, and 
 he paid me willingly and well ; and now I have not 
 half so much trouble to keep it in order. It often 
 took up more time than I had to spare, and I am 
 sure, mother, you can't miss it ; I have one trouble 
 less, and one pleasure more, since I am able to get 
 up a little feast for you and Eugene on this 
 glorious holiday." 
 
 The mother was about to answer, but at that 
 moment the room door opened, and Eugene entered, 
 bearing a packet in one hand, and a bunch of 
 odorous spring flowers in the other. 
 
 " There, Melanie," said he, as he handed her 
 the bouquet, " that is for you you love flowers so 
 well, and are kept so closely at work in this dull 
 chamber, that you see nothing of gardens or 
 flowers, except it may be now and then through 
 some open gates ; so that is your gift. Here, 
 mother, is something of a different sort for you." 
 Laughing as he spoke, he opened the paper parcel, 
 and a large brown Streitzel koche, freshly baked 
 and odorous with spices, lay within. " I know you 
 loved it, mother ; and as for myself, I often thought
 
 THE NEIGHBORS CHILDREN. 
 
 of the Hausdorff Streitzeh when I was munching 
 gritz in Poland. But I must say, I believe the 
 gritz did me more good than the cakes at the castle. 
 
 " My dear good children," said Lady Von 
 Grosse, "I do not regret the luxuries of Hausdorff 
 now ; heaven has granted me purer, better bless- 
 ings in this my poverty than I ever knew there. The 
 Holy Spirit, whose office is love, has operated 
 upon your hearts ; and since I have found accep- 
 tance with God, and receive daily testimony that 
 you, my beloved ones, are likewise of the house- 
 hold of faith, I want nothing more. I am super- 
 abundantly rich the measure of my happiness is 
 full and overflowing." 
 
 Eugene kissed the hand that rested caressingly 
 on his sunburnt brow ; and then turning to his 
 sister, said, in a tone of half command and half 
 entreaty, " Come, Melanie, you are house-keeper, 
 cook, and everything else. Let us have breakfast, 
 I am sure it will be a glorious one, for I think 
 from the signs on the table you have something 
 very good behind the scenes. Whether yourself 
 or some good fairy has provided it, bring it forth 
 now, for I have a great appetite for this holiday 
 meal. Give me your cup, mother, I will pour out 
 (you know Mademoiselle Adele used to say that 
 was the French fashion,) while Melanie cuts the 
 cake." 
 
 But, notwithstanding his great appetite, Eugene
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 323 
 
 had yet to wait for his breakfast ; for ere Melanie 
 could place the odorous beverage on the table, a 
 knock was heard at the door. Eugene rose to open 
 it, and a man, whom they knew to be a letter 
 carrier, handed him a letter and parcel. But now an 
 unforeseen difficulty arose ; the postman must have 
 his fee, and there was not one farthing in the 
 house. Eugene groped in one pocket after another, 
 but all were alike empty. He blushed to the 
 temples while the man stood waiting ; his master 
 owed him a week's wages, and had promised to pay 
 him at noon, but what of that he wanted it now. 
 Melanie cast down her eyes to the floor ; she had 
 nothing left from her holiday purchases. 
 
 " Who would have thought of us getting a letter, 
 we have no friends," she said to herself; ah ! I am 
 afraid I have been too extravagant, for maybe the 
 sugar was too great a luxury for us, now that we 
 are so poor." 
 
 " I can come again," said the good-natured post- 
 man, as he remarked the embarrassment of the 
 family ; " I know this young man to be the same 
 who held back the wild horse of the Count Von 
 Holm, when he was about to tread on my child, 
 whom he had thrown down. The Count is a good- 
 hearted gentleman, though a little too fond of frolic ; 
 and he was returning from a wine party when he 
 rode over my boy, who was playing in the street. 
 He has been asking for the brave vonne 1 tradesman 
 49
 
 324 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 who sprang out of the window of a workshop and 
 held back the horse at his own risk ; he called on 
 me to say that ten ducats were ready for the 
 young man's acceptance as soon as he chose to 
 claim them. He did not know where to find you, 
 nor I neither ; but I know you to be the same, and 
 I hope God will reward you for that kind act a 
 thousand times." 
 
 " Bid you really do this, my son," cried the 
 overjoyed mother, " and never mentioned it to your 
 sister or myself?" 
 
 " I did not think it worth talking about, mother ; 
 it was no more than any one else would have done," 
 answered Eugene ; and turning once more to the 
 postman, said, "You will have to trust me for a 
 short time, my good man, for I really have not a 
 penny at present. But I will not be long in your 
 debt. I will carry you the money this evening ; 
 and you may tell your boy I am coming to see him. 
 In the meantime, carry him this piece of cake for 
 me. So now, Melanie, you may pour out your- 
 self; fill up a brimming cup for me, for I am too 
 hungry now to care about French fashions, or 
 think much about Mademoiselle Adele." 
 
 The pleased postman closed the door and disap- 
 peared. Lady Von Grosse and her children sat 
 down to their delayed breakfast ; and as they 
 laughed and chatted over their holiday fare, they 
 forgot the letter and its accompanying present for
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 325 
 
 a short space. But when they opened the missive, 
 it was with great surprise they found it from 
 Amade, from whom they never expected to hear. 
 It ran thus : 
 
 " To Lady Von Grosse : Heaven be praised, I 
 found the spot in the wood where I left the casket, 
 and it safely hidden beneath the stones. I am 
 glad to restore what remains of the jewels into the 
 hands of the true owners, whom I am sure will 
 now make a better use of them than I did of those 
 that are gone. The money that lies in the bottom 
 >f the box you may use ; it was fairly gained, and 
 is your own, most of it being the price of the 
 jewels I sold. Think of me as one deeply repent- 
 ant, and forgive the wrong I wrought upon you. 
 May God, who in mercy led me to see my sinful 
 ways, and strengthened me to resist temptation, 
 bless you all. I shall see you no more in this 
 world. The ship is ready to sail, and in another 
 hour I shall be on the way to America. Amade." 
 
 And there, forming a strong contrast to all else 
 in that humble room, and the rude table whereon 
 it lay, the bright gems within that casket of polished 
 steel flashed and glittered in the brilliant sunshine 
 that came dancing through the window. He shone 
 as gaily on those few precious stones, the sole 
 remainder of their once princely possessions, as he 
 had done on the smoking ruins of their lordly 
 castle of Hausdorff: for Nature, in all man's
 
 326 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 changes remains the same. The seasons alter 
 according to the appointment of heaven ; the sun 
 holds on his course, the rains "fall alike on tho 
 just and unjust," and seed-time and harvest come 
 at their times of the Almighty bidding. Yet man 
 and his concerns are not unmarked by the Heavenly 
 Eye the sun in his glory seems to mock the sad, 
 and tempests lower around the gay and the happy. 
 To them is appointed terms which they cannot 
 pass ; but to man, the chosen creature of its mercy, 
 heaven is ever accessible. 
 
 The little group gazed in silence on those glitter- 
 ing gems; the deep emotion and various thoughts 
 that filled the heart of each was too great for 
 words. Eugene was the first to speak. 
 
 "Now, mother," said he, "my way is clear. I 
 can now pay my debt of borrowed money to Ilor- 
 witz, and set up a cabinet-making shop for myself. 
 I am determined never to indulge in a life of idle- 
 ness ; I must have something to do; and with 
 God's help, I will persevere in trying to do good." 
 
 Lady Von Grosse answered not, for she had not 
 heard one word of what her son had spoken. She 
 was lost in deep thought, for she recognised now 
 more plainly than ever the wonder-working Hand 
 of God, which had led them through such deep 
 waters to a secure haven. ^Yhat were they the 
 thoughtless, the deeply sinning that lie should 
 thus seek to reclaim their wanderings by a chastise-
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 327 
 
 meat that had so tended to the healing of their 
 souls ? She felt that it was all of mercy ; and the 
 beautiful passage of Holy Writ occurred to her 
 musing mind : " Can man be profitable to God, as 
 he that is wise may be profitable to himself? Is 
 it any pleasure to the Almighty that thou art 
 righteous ? or is it gain to him that thou makest 
 thy ways perfect ? Will he reprove thee for fear 
 of thee ? will he enter with thee into judgment ? " 
 No, not for this, but because he loves the creatures 
 he has made, and wills not that any should perish. 
 Has he not manifested this love in that he opened 
 a Way to everlasting life ? has he not, in the per- 
 son of the Saviour, exhibited Truth in her loveliest 
 form before him ? Has he not, in his great com- 
 passion, given his Son as a Great High Priest, who, 
 touched with the feelings of man's infirmities, 
 stands forth his "Advocate" and friend? 
 
 She who once had been the owner of a lordly 
 castle, and was now the inmate of a low-ceiled 
 garret room, acknowledged this present time to be 
 the happiest portion of her life, inasmuch as she 
 now knew what a great treasure she possessed in 
 her children. But would they have proved such a 
 blessing to her old age as they promised to be, had 
 they not been taught in the school of Adversity ? 
 And as she thought over the bitter sorrow caused 
 through the wrong done her by her faithless 
 servant, Amade', she felt that from her heart ahe 
 40*
 
 328 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 could forgive him ; no bitterness filled her soul 
 against one, whose sin against herself had been 
 the means of bringing forth an end so desirable. 
 
 Eugene did not on this holiday go out to seek 
 the revel, nor the companionship of his fellow-work- 
 men. He thought over what was now his duty : 
 and sitting down at the table, he wrote several 
 letters. The Srst was to Horwitz, to whom he en- 
 closed money to the amount of his debt, and 
 another very long one to Felix, in which he 
 detailed all his adventures since the time of their 
 separation, his present abode and prospects, and 
 the repentance and fate of Amade and the villain- 
 ous old Simon, who, we before forgot to say, had 
 met the punishment he so well merited, being con- 
 demned to the galleys for life. 
 
 Melanie, too, in her present improved condition 
 did not forget those who had befriended her in her 
 days of darkness ; she busied herself in preparing 
 some useful presents for the collier's family ; and 
 as each one was remembered, she made up quite a 
 large packet, which she afterwards heard had 
 reached them in safety. 
 
 Eugene's letter found its way to Steinrode, 
 where it was received with real joy. Baron Linden- 
 burg, not having heard of the Count's death, 
 had written twice, and the new forest warden had 
 answered the last one. After stating that his 
 predecessor had died away from home, and his
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 329 
 
 own appointment to the place, he coldly mentioned 
 that the widow and her daughter had left the 
 forest lodge to make room for his family, and were 
 gone he knew not where. It is astonishing that 
 human beings, liable to meet the same misfortunes, 
 sympathize so little with each other; but so it is; 
 we see or feel it every day. 
 
 The interest, however, of"this Christian family 
 was not diminished in the fate of those whose 
 affairs were, for a time, so strangely blended up 
 with their own ; and when Felix answered Eugene's 
 letter, the Baron bade him say he thought the^F 
 had better remove to the neighborhood of Steinrode, 
 which, in a short time afterwards, they really did. 
 
 Again they were entertained for a time beneath 
 its hospitable roof; but not again was their sojourn 
 productive of pain to their kind host. The spirit 
 of grace had so changed their hearts, that they 
 could not have been recognised by any one as the 
 arrogant, overbearing children of other days, who 
 had been wont to compare the now graceful Linden- 
 burgs to dancing bears. 
 
 Eugene purchased a small piece of ground, on 
 which he built a neat house and work-shop, carry- 
 ing on his business with all industry and diligence. 
 Baron Lindendurg sustained him both by counsel 
 and pecuniary aid, witnessing with great delight, 
 from day to day, the wonderful transformation 
 made in his character.
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 Lady Von Grosse now lived contented and in 
 great comfort with her children ; differently, indeed, 
 from the manner in which she had done at the time 
 we first introduced her to our readers ; but happier 
 by far in her humbler life, than she had ever been 
 in her days of luxury. Eugene was affectionate 
 and kind ; Melanie everything that her mother 
 could wish ; and a pleasant day was always antici- 
 pated at Steinrode when they made a weekly visit 
 there, a rule which they regularly observed. 
 
 Eugene succeeded well in his undertaking. He 
 purchased his materials with great foresight, 
 managed his affairs with the caution that belonged 
 to more experienced years ; and the consequences 
 of his thrift were soon visible in his increasing pros- 
 perity. He soon ceased to work himself, for his 
 business, ere long, became so large that he had 
 enough to do to keep his books, and conduct the 
 arrangements of his buying and selling. And 
 right happy was he, that once idle, self-willed 
 Eugene, in the knowledge that his industry had 
 prepared so pleasant a home for his mother in her 
 old age, and that he could furnish Melanie with 
 not only necessary comforts, but many things 
 which she once did not think of enjoying, and now 
 considered luxuries. 
 
 Felix assisted his father in the farming and 
 management of the broad lands of Steinrode, and 
 bid fair to make quite as good a landlord when he
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 331 
 
 should be called on to fill his place. The tenants 
 loved him, the poor blessed him, and to his family 
 he was a treasure. The blemish of impatience, 
 which had once marred his character, became 
 entirely obliterated ; and the thoughtlessness that 
 had more than once led to such sad consequences, 
 was carefully guarded against. Not but that 
 natural propensities sometimes rose up to tempt 
 him in his steady purposes, but Adversity had 
 taught him to resist their influence, and Grace 
 strengthened him to overcome. 
 
 Herman, according to his wish ever from boy- 
 hood, prosecuted his studies as a physician, for 
 which his cairn, steady disposition well fitted him. 
 He settled in the capital, and in time rose to emi- 
 nence and distinction ; and until he had an estab- 
 lishment of his own, and had chosen a helpmate 
 for life, aunt Angela conducted the affairs of his 
 household. There, then, under his roof the Linden- 
 burg family passed a month every winter ; yet 
 always returning with joyful longing to Steinrode, 
 that dear old home of which they never tired. 
 
 The best of news reached them from time to 
 time from that distant land whither Ehrenfried and 
 his patron had gone. Many letters were inter- 
 changed between Felix and his friend ; and many 
 beautiful specimens of entomology and botany were 
 sent by the latter, to increase the collection at 
 Steinrode ; for the former, in becoming a farmer,
 
 332 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 
 
 had lost none of his love for Natural History, but 
 studied the science, and made discoveries in it, 
 that gave him a name conspicuous among accom- 
 plished Naturalists. 
 
 years passed over, and it seemed as if Time in 
 his flight still increased -.their happiness and their 
 blessings. Piety was the foundation of their joy ; 
 why should it not be lasting ? They knew that all 
 things on earth are subject to change ; but theirs 
 was the faith that bade them look further than this 
 world, whose fashion is soon to pass away. They 
 knew, too, that when the " house of the earthly 
 tabernacle" was destroyed, they were told of hope 
 for " one not made with hands, eternal in the 
 heavens," and although " on earth there is no con- 
 tinuing city," they could confidently look forward 
 to "one whose builder and whose maker is God." 
 
 At length a letter came from Mr. Norman to 
 the Baron. He wrote that having sojourned in the 
 New World until he was weary of hot suns, orange 
 groves, reptiles, and fevers, he intended returning 
 in the course of a few months with Ehrenfried, 
 whom he had formally adopted as his son. He 
 bade him apprize the young man's mother, who 
 was still living, and through the joint care of the 
 good old Englishman and the Baron, in great 
 comfort, in a cottage of her own, that they would 
 proceed immediately to Steinrode, "where," said 
 the old man in his letter, "according to our agree-
 
 THE NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN. 333 
 
 ment, I wish to make a long visit in your happy 
 family. 
 
 The tidings were received joyfully by all. 
 Ehrenfried's mother folded her hands in acknowledg- 
 ment to heaven, while tears flowed down her aged 
 cheeks. The Lindenburg children (for we still will 
 call them so,) hastened to tell Eugene and Melanie 
 the news. A deep blush dyed the cheeks of the 
 latter, as she heard the name of Ehrenfried she 
 had not forgotten the affair of the bracelet, and 
 her heart was pained at the idea of meeting one 
 whom she had once used so ill. 
 
 " I will try by every means in my power to 
 make him forget it," said she to Felix. 
 
 Eugene was overwhelmed with shame, as he re- 
 called his own arrogant behaviour to the gentle 
 peasant boy. 
 
 "But his is a noble spirit," said he, "and he 
 will forgive us, I am sure. Felix, I will make him 
 love me ; I will leave no means untried to win his 
 confidence ; and then, once more united in the 
 social circle, there shall not be found, neither far 
 nor near, better friends than the 'NEIGHBORS* 
 CHILDREN.' " 
 
 THE END.
 
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