When these facts were made known in the village, everybody was very much interested and excited, for nothing of the kind had happened before in that small place. In the school, particularly, every thing was topsy-turvy, for the children were as much excited as their elders. Otto scarcely stopped to take breath all day long, for he ran from one place to another, hoping to hear the latest news at each. He came to the house, on the third evening, in such a state, that his mother told him that he must sit perfectly quiet and silent for a little while before he communicated the piece of news with which he was bursting.

At last he was calm enough to tell them that they wanted to set Joggi free, for he had been shut up all this time; but the poor fellow was so convinced that they only wanted to take him out to cut off his head, that he fought against being removed with all his might. So they decided to take him out by force, and two men dragged him into the open air. He fought and screamed so violently, that a crowd soon a.s.sembled; and the poor, foolish fellow, becoming more and more alarmed, had darted away like an arrow to the nearest barn, where he took refuge from his imaginary danger in a stall, cowering down in a heap in one corner, and would not let anybody approach him. His countenance showed his terrible fear. He had been there all day and night; and now the peasant to whom the barn belonged said if he did not move soon, he would use the pitchfork to him.

"It is a sad, sad story, my children," said their mother, when Otto had finished. "Poor Joggi! how terribly he must suffer from his fear, that n.o.body can relieve him of, because he cannot understand what is said; and yet he is perfectly innocent of any evil deed or wish. Oh, if you had only told me what had happened that evening on the coast! Your keeping that a secret has had very, very sad consequences. Cannot we do something to comfort and rea.s.sure him again?"

p.u.s.s.y was almost crying. "I will give him my red candy c.o.c.k," she said, tearfully.

Otto was much disturbed, but he said, scornfully,--

"Yes; a nice present for a grown up man,--a sugar c.o.c.k! You had better keep it for yourself."

After a moment he asked his mother, however, to allow p.u.s.s.y to carry some food to Joggi in the barn: he had not eaten any thing for nearly two days.

His mother was more than willing, and had a basket filled at once with bread and sausage and cheese for the children, and sent them off without delay. Poor Joggi! there he was cowering in the stall, white as a sheet, and dared not stir. The children gradually drew near, and presently Otto held out his basket and showed the food, hoping to tempt Joggi.

"Come out, Joggi. See, all this is for you to eat."

There was no sign of movement.

"Do come out, or the peasant will stick his pitchfork into you."

The poor fellow gave a piteous moan, but still did not stir.

Now p.u.s.s.y went quite close to him, put her mouth to his ear, and said, gently, "Do not be frightened, Joggi; they won't cut off your head. My papa will help you, and will not let anybody harm you. And see, Joggi; here is a candy c.o.c.k, all red. Santa Claus sent you this on the Christmas-tree." And the little girl took the c.o.c.k very carefully from her pocket, and held it out to Joggi.

This little gift had a wonderful effect. Joggi looked at his friend without fear, then at the candy c.o.c.k, and presently began to laugh. It was many days since he had laughed. He rose slowly from his corner, and followed Otto out of the barn behind p.u.s.s.y. When they got well out of the yard, Otto said,--

"You can take this basket, Joggi; we are going up there to our house.

Your way is down yonder."

But Joggi shook his head, and followed close to p.u.s.s.y's heels. They all went up the hill. Their mother watched the little procession coming, and her heart began to feel lighter; and she also noticed how the poor, foolish Joggi held his sugar c.o.c.k in his hand, and laughed at it with childish satisfaction.

They all three entered the house and went into the sitting-room, where p.u.s.s.y fetched a chair, and, taking the basket in her hand, beckoned Joggi to come to her; and when he was seated at the table, she spread out the bread and cheese and sausage before him, saying, very gently, "Now do eat,--eat up every bit, Joggi, and be happy again."

The poor fellow obeyed, and left no crumbs. He never relinquished his hold of the red c.o.c.k, however. He held it in his left hand, and nodded and smiled at it from time to time. For bread and cheese and sausage he had often received, but a red candy c.o.c.k never before.

At last he went down the hill to his cottage. With very happy looks Mrs.

Ritter and Otto and p.u.s.s.y followed his retreating form, and noticed that he changed the red c.o.c.k from one hand to another, and had evidently forgotten his fears. Mrs. Ritter had not visited Andrew during three days. There was so much going on all the time, that she had not perceived how the time pa.s.sed; and then she no longer felt the least anxiety about him. He was well cared for,--of that she was certain,--and was on the best road towards health and strength.

As soon as Colonel Ritter could go, he took the news of the arrest and imprisonment of Andrew's brother to the good carpenter, who listened to the story quietly, and said, after a while,--

"It was his will. It would have been far better for him to have asked me for a little money. I should have given it to him, but his way was ever a blow rather than a kind word."

Mrs. Ritter went down the mountain one cold, frosty morning, and went smiling to herself all the way; for she had pleasant plans and projects in her heart. Just as she opened the door of Andrew's cottage, Wiseli came out of the sitting-room. Her eyes were swollen and red. She had been crying. She gave Mrs. Ritter her hand very shyly, and ran into the kitchen, and shut the door. Mrs. Ritter had never seen Wiseli look in this way. What could have happened? She went into the sitting-room.

There sat Andrew by the window. He, too, looked as if a bad piece of news had been brought to him.

"What has happened?" asked Mrs. Ritter; and forgot to say "good-morning," in her anxiety.

"Oh, oh!" sighed Andrew. "I wish that the child had never entered my house."

"Wiseli!" exclaimed his visitor. "Is it possible that Wiseli can have displeased you in any way?"

"Not that, by any means, good lady," Andrew hastened to answer. "No; she has made my home a paradise for me, and now she is going away; and it will seem so empty and lonely without her, I cannot bear it. You never could think, Mrs. Ritter, how I love that child. I cannot bear it, if they take her away. And the cousin Gotti has sent his boy twice to say that she is wanted at his house; and, since then, Wiseli has been so quiet, and cries in secret. It breaks my heart; for I see that she does not want to go there, though she says nothing, and to-morrow is the last day. I do not exaggerate, Mrs. Ritter; but I a.s.sure you I would prefer to give all that I have earned and saved for thirty years to her cousin Gotti, than have him take the child away."

"I would not think of doing that. In your place, Andrew, I would go to work another way," said Mrs. Ritter, when Andrew had finished his excited talk.

He questioned her with his eyes in silence.

"I mean in this way. All your worldly goods you will leave to some one who is very dear to you. You will take Wiseli as your adopted child; will be a father to her; she shall henceforth live in your house as your own daughter. You would like that, Andrew, would you not?"

He had listened with all his might, and his eyes grew bigger and bigger.

Presently he grasped Mrs. Ritter's hand, and pressed it almost painfully. He leaned forward.

"Can that be done? Can I obtain the right to say that Wiseli is really my own child,--all my own, so that n.o.body will be able to take her from me again?"

"You can do all that, Andrew. And, once Wiseli is recognized as your child, no one will have the least right to her. You will be her father.

And, to tell the truth, Andrew, I hoped that you might wish to do this; and therefore have kept my husband at home, in case you want to go into the city to take the necessary steps towards the adoption. You know you cannot walk, Andrew."

Andrew fairly lost his head over all this. He ran this way and that, looking for his Sunday coat; and kept asking all the time,

"Can it be true? Is it possible? To-day, did you say? May I go to-day?"

"At once," she said; and gave her hand to Andrew as she left him, to tell the colonel that all was ready for the visit to the town. "It will be better not to tell Wiseli until the evening, when every thing is settled, and you are quietly together here," she said, as she stepped out of the door. "Do not you agree with me?"

"Yes, certainly," was the answer. "I could not tell her now."

While Andrew was waiting until Colonel Ritter came for him to drive to the town, he sat trembling in every limb, and thought he could scarcely stand up, he was so happy and so excited. In about half an hour Wiseli saw, to her great surprise, the colonel's wagon drive up, stop at Andrew's door, the servant get down, come to the steps, take Andrew under the arm, and help him to get into the carriage. The child looked at it, as it pa.s.sed away from the house down the road, and could not understand it at all; for the carpenter had not said any thing to her,--not even that he was going to drive. He had remained seated where he was, after Mrs. Ritter's departure, until the colonel's servant came for him; and the child had kept herself hidden all the time.

After his departure, she went into the sitting-room, and looked out of the window where Andrew always sat, and kept saying to herself, "To-day is the last day. To-morrow I must go to cousin Gotti."

Towards noon the child went into the kitchen, put every thing in order, and arranged Andrew's dinner; but he did not come, and she did not like to remove the things until he did. So she went back into the sitting-room; but the sad thought of the coming separation made her almost ill, and she said to herself, over and over, "To-morrow I must go to cousin Gotti;" and did not see, in her sadness, that the sunset was very beautiful, and betokened a still more beautiful morrow.

The child sprang to her feet when presently she heard the door opened. Andrew the carpenter stood before her with happy eyes, and with a look that Wiseli had never seen on his face. He sunk into a chair. He was overcome, but not with fatigue. At last he cried out, in a triumphant tone,--

"It is true, Wiseli! It is all really true! All the gentlemen said 'Yes,'--every one. You belong to me. I am your father. Call me 'father,' Wiseli."

Wiseli became white as a sheet. She stood staring at Andrew, but did not speak nor move.

"Oh! of course, of course," said the carpenter. "You can't understand me, I tell you all so confusedly. Now I will begin at the beginning.

I have just written in the record book in the town, and you are my child now, and I am your father; and you will always stay here with me, and not go back to your cousin Gotti again. This is your home,--here with me."

Wiseli understood now. She sprang into Andrew's arms, clung round his neck, and cried, "Father, father!" They neither could speak a word after this for a long time,--too many things were crowding upon them. After a little, Wiseli felt a sudden light that seemed to break in upon her thoughts; and she exclaimed, looking up at Andrew,--

"O father! I know how it has all happened, and who has helped us."

"Who may it be, Wiseli?" asked Andrew.

"My mother."