Soon it was known at all three sheepfolds that Madame Slavkovsky had bought Lord Gemer's estate and that she would deed it to Ondrejko if Lord Gemer would give up her son to her. No one doubted that he would do this, and since the present manager gave notice to leave, because he had been called to manage a different estate, the lady hoped that she would find some other responsible man. She promised everyone a raise in wages as soon as the change of ownership of the estate was recorded and improvements made. Everybody rejoiced. It almost seemed that even the sheep knew that Ondrejko had become their master. It was lovely how they rang their bells.

Over the sheepcotes every once in a while sounded the song which they called the lady's: "My faith looks up to Thee, Thou Lamb of Calvary."

The boys taught it to everybody who wanted to learn it, and what Slovak would not like to learn a new song? When Aunty Moravec noticed how they all liked it, she confided to Palko that she still had a whole book of such songs from America. Thereupon, Ondrejko begged his mother to sing one of them once in a while. She made no excuses. Every day she taught them a new one, each more beautiful than those before.

They did not realize that she taught them the very songs from which she ran away in the home of her parents, and which she would neither hear nor sing there. Bacha permitted the herders from the other sheepcotes to come over to his hut. They loved to come for those songs. They had good voices, clear as the evening bells. The lady even taught them to sing one in four parts. When Sunday came, they practised the whole afternoon, and sang in the evening, so that it sounded over the mountains like a beautiful melody.

That Sunday Palko read and explained how the Lord came from Nazareth to live in Capernaum, since they did not want Him in Nazareth, and that even today the Lord Jesus did not want to compel anybody, even as He had not compelled those in Nazareth, but went away and left them forever. Then he begged everybody not to send the Lord Jesus away, but permit Him to live with them. "It would be very sad if our sheepcotes would be like those of Nazareth, and if He had to forsake us and go farther on to Capernaum. Where He is, there is heaven and there is life. He heals every sickness. Just notice how many people He healed in Capernaum. But where He is not, there is darkness, just as in that song it says: 'Oh, there is no more salvation.'"

With serious thoughts they all departed to their rest. Ondrejko slept very soundly, but in spite of that it seemed to him that he heard his mother crying. In the morning he saw from her eyes that she had not slept very much. He dared not wake her up. So he stole out on tiptoe with his suit and dressed outside.

Once when Joe brought things from the city and Aunty Moravec gave him a good meal, he began to praise his new lady and asked sincerely, "But why did Lord de Gemer part with her? He will not find another like her in the world."

"He did not part with her, but she parted with him," said the old nurse with clouded face. "He is a bad, unfaithful man. The poor woman loved him so much and believed everything. When she took him, she had much money; and he just lived on her money and wasted it. He played cards and did all kinds of evil things. By the time we came to Budapest she was robbed of everything. He wanted her to continue to sing there. She had beautiful jewels; he told her he would deposit them in a bank, but he p.a.w.ned them, because at the horse-races he had lost a big bet and needed much money. When he said that I warned her not to let everything go out of her power, through false accusation he separated me from her, accusing me of causing trouble between them.

When there was no one else to defend her and she was robbed of everything, they began to look down upon her--his mother, his sisters, and he himself. She was born in America; there they treat women differently. In spite of it she suffered a whole year because she loved him very much. Once she saw her jewelry on another lady, and asked where she had bought them. Thus she found out that they were p.a.w.ned and had been sold for the charges on them. There were many evil-minded people around her; they opened her eyes after that to what kind of a husband she had, how he fooled and robbed her, that he loved only her money. That was most insulting to her. Not an hour more would she stay with him under the same roof. She got together the last things she had--above all her little son--and went to Vienna. There I found her dangerously sick. She asked her husband to send her her things, for she was sick. He again asked for the boy but she would not give him up. In order that they might not take him away, I, myself, took him to northern Bohemia, to my own family, where it was well with him. In the meantime the lawsuit ended, and they took him away from her because he was a.s.signed to his father. Because she did not give the boy up at once, he sent her, from her clothing and laundry, only what was old and shabby. His relatives divided her beautiful, valuable garments among themselves. Thus they dealt with her because n.o.body would protect her. In those hard days, her uncle from America, who had arranged for her training in singing, helped her. Thus she could pay for the upkeep of the boy, and we went first to Berlin, then to Rome and Paris. She sang to make her living, but also that she might regain the honor of which Lord Gemer wanted to rob her, when he had parted with her and had told all kinds of evil about her, which he could not prove. Later we went to England, and finally to Russia. There she fared the best. There she might have become a rich princess, but she would not look at any man again. How glad the gentlemen there would have been if she would have spoken to them as kindly as she speaks here with you. But the purer the life she led, the more they bothered her, and the more she did not want to live. She said she wanted to see her boy once more before she died. For a long time we could not find out where the boy was. Finally, she got sick on the railroad, and by G.o.d's direction Dr. H. helped her. From him she learned all the truth, and after that he brought her here. And now you know why she left the Lord de Gemer."

"That robber, that gypsy, that deceiver, how he fooled and robbed her!

If one of us steals a chicken or the like he is put at once behind the bars. Such a gentleman can do everything, but if she would just go to law he would have to return her everything," said Joe angrily.

"Yes, he would have to, but she doesn't want to. She is not concerned about mammon. All she wants is to have peace from him forever. But that he should not make any trouble about the child, I wrote to our lawyer who was to make the arrangements for her, to threaten him with a lawsuit for the jewelry and money if he would not give up the boy willingly. My lady will never know what I did. Our lawyer is a good friend, and a decent and honest man, not such an one as we had before."

That Joe did not keep this news to himself is true. Thus Filina's helpers found out what kind of a master they had only after he ceased to be their lord. To the last one all took the lady's part. All were sorry for her and wished her to have the record very soon in black and white, that the boy was hers only, and the father had no more claims on him. Everyone greeted her very respectfully wherever they met her.

She walked sadly and in deep contemplation. Only among the boys was she cheerful.

In the sheepcotes also they were once in a while in sad contemplation.

They counted the days before Lesina would come for Palko and take him away. When Ondrejko with tears in his eyes confided this to his mother, her cheeks turned pale with fright. It had never occurred to her that Palko would leave, and she could not even imagine those surroundings without him. One day he accompanied her to the cottage.

She had promised him a nice song; he had come in to get it.

"Palko, do you want to go away from us?" she began suddenly, and took the boy by the hand.

"Verily, even next week my father is coming," he said seriously. "Then we will have about five days' more work with the timber, and then we shall leave."

"But you will be glad to go home; will you not?"

"Really very glad," he confessed sincerely. "Since I have not seen my mother for weeks, nor grandfather nor grandmother and all, nor have they seen me. They will be glad when I come, and I more than they all, because we all will be together again."

"And will you not be sorry for your comrades? They will miss you sadly."

"Yes, indeed; I will be very lonesome without them and Uncle Filina.

I love him very much, like my old pastor Malina. I am thankful to the Lord Jesus that Uncle is healthy and will not yet die, but will tell his helpers about the Lord Jesus, and everybody else. Only one thing worries me; it is that when I go away, I shall not find out what you, lady, will do with the Lord Jesus. You taught us such beautiful songs; till my death I shall be thankful to you for them. You have sung so beautifully for us, like an angel from heaven; but you do not believe what you have been singing. I am sorry for that, and the Lord Jesus is sorry also. Yesterday you taught us the song:

"Safe in the arms of Jesus, Safe on His gentle breast, There by His love o'ershadowed, Safely my soul shall rest."

"It would fit you so beautifully if you would give yourself in His hands just as the shepherd carries the lost sheep. It would be so good for you in His arms; I know that best of all. While here among you, more than once homesickness for my mother threatened to overcome me; but when I considered that He is with me, it was well with me at once, and I was right at home. You have met already much evil in the world and more than once you were sad, were you not? But He would console you. However, if you would let Him go away like the people of Nazareth, He will go on, but you would remain alone. Ondrejko told me that you have a very good father, that your father already belongs to the Lord Jesus. Ondrejko belongs to Him also; sometime they both will go to Him, and you will be left alone," and Palko broke out crying.

"Do not cry," said the lady in a peculiar voice. "I don't want to be like the people at Nazareth. I would like to go on that narrow path, but I cannot find it. I am too full of sin for G.o.d to receive me. So long as my earthly father does not forgive me, I cannot seek the face of G.o.d."

Their talk was broken off when they came to the bench, because Aunty Moravec came to meet them, all pale, "A special messenger brought a telegram. Please sign here."

The lady's knees began to tremble. She sat on the bench, signed the paper, and handed it to Aunty, then quickly she opened the telegram and read. Dark spots formed before her eyes. Unable to see, she handed the telegram to the boy. "Palko, read me that," and Palko read:

"New York. I am embarking. Coming to see you. Your loving father."

"Is it really so, Palko?"

"It is."

"Oh, my father, my father! He is coming to us. He still loves and forgives. Palko, pray for me, for something will happen to me,"

bitterly crying, the lady fell on her knees.

Palko prayed, "Thank Thee, Lord Jesus, that her father is coming, that he has forgiven her, though he is still far away, yet Thou art here.

If she will just ask Thee, Thou wilt forgive her, because Thou dost love her so much, I know. Amen."

Life and death is in the power of the tongue. In the words of Palko there was life. The lady believed that the Good Shepherd was really there, that He came to meet her. Once she had run away from Him; today she did not want to run away. Today she confessed her transgressions to Him. She knew well that it was against Him she had sinned most, that she had gone from Him, to her own destruction. She had despised Him when He had stretched out His pierced hands to her, though they had been nailed on the cross for her sake. She had not wanted to sing to His honor and glory; and had hated the songs of the Lamb. She had wanted to sing for the people and had--but they had repaid her by breaking her heart. But He, whom she despised, had followed her here.

She had not wanted to hear famous preachers; but He had sent a child along her path that he might lead her to the feet of the Good Shepherd. The Good Shepherd did not despise her; at last He had received her. Palko did not understand what the lady prayed, for she prayed in English, but he understood the tone. The Lord Jesus was with her and she knew it and talked with Him. Palko rose silently and respectfully, and left the place which now belonged to the lady and the Good Shepherd.

CHAPTER TEN

"Boast not thyself of tomorrow for thou knowest not what the day may bring forth," says the Word of G.o.d, and that truly. Even at the sheepfolds they did not dream what the next day would bring to them, the serious illness of Ondrejko's mother. The doctor, very much worried, said that the unexpected message about the arrival of her beloved father, whom she had not seen for years, shocked her so much, that she fell into a nervous illness, which he had wanted to prevent by bringing her here to the mountains. Only Palko and Bacha Filina knew that there was something more which overcame her. They spoke about it only between themselves and prayed for the lady very much.

She seemed to recognize no one. She lay in her bed like a beautiful flower broken from its stem. In vain did Ondrejko whisper to her, and stroke and kiss her. She looked at him but did not answer. Only one thing consoled her poor child, that she had an expression, whether she slept or not, as though she were very happy. At times she sang beautiful songs to the honor of the Lamb; other times again, a sea ballad, and after that always the song, "My faith looks up to Thee."

Thus two weeks pa.s.sed by without any change.

In the meantime Lesina came; he finished what was necessary and went away, but did not take Palko with him. He could not do that to Ondrejko, who nestled to his comrade like a little bird driven out of its nest. The doctor said Ondrejko would surely be sick if his comrade left him just at this time. Bacha promised Lesina that he himself would take Palko home when the lady got better, because he believed that the lady would get well, although the doctor gave no hope that she would not die or that she would not lose her mind. For this reason also, Lesina could not take Palko away, for it seemed that the sick lady knew him. When he read in his Book she looked at him as if she listened, and though she did not say anything, she was always so quiet and happy.

In the meantime the answer came from Paris, and the unfortunate lady did not know that the boy who sat beside her bed so pale, now belonged only to her, and that no one else had any right to him. Neither did she know about another message--yes, even two; one coming from Hamburg in which her father announced that he had arrived safely; the other announcing his coming on Sat.u.r.day evening to the nearest railway station. The Bacha very sadly stood at the foot of the lady's bed with both messages in his hands, and Aunty Moravec cried bitterly.

"What shall we do, Bacha Filina? He is coming from such a distance and knows nothing. How will he take it, when he finds her thus, and will hear that because of his telegram this sickness overcame her?

Previously, in Russia, the doctors had told her that some day her nerves might give way. Oh, what will the poor father say? He wanted to give her joy, and it has turned out like this."

"What G.o.d does and permits, is always good," Filina said, nodding his head. "Do not worry; I am going for her father, and on the way will prepare him for what he will find here."

"Bacha Filina, take me along to meet Grandfather," begged Ondrejko, when Bacha was getting ready in the afternoon.

"I am going on foot; that would be too far for you, my boy," said Bacha, stroking the boy's head. "You just remain with your mother and wait for your grandfather here. At the station I shall take a carriage; I think that in the evening, about eight o'clock, we shall be here."

Bacha kissed the boy, though he usually did not do so, and in a moment his giant-like figure disappeared in the thicket by the clearing. He picked the shortest way over paths well-known to him, but still it took about two hours before he reached the main road leading to J----.

There he suddenly stopped. He turned to the east, where on a steep rock stood an old, recently repaired cross. Oh, human memory, how strange thou art! Bacha needed only to look at the cross, and at once, as if the years flew back, it seemed to him as if he was standing there like a nineteen-year-old youth. A desire overtook him to go up to the cross, bend over its side and look again on the path on which, on that summer morning, his brother, Stephen, had left, never to return again. He went on that "breaking" ship to a "cold grave." Bacha Filina could not resist that desire. For about a quarter of an hour he kneeled at the cross, and rested his forehead on the stone step.

Inexpressible sorrow shook him. It wanted to rob him of his a.s.surance of forgiveness, but in and around him it was suddenly as if somebody sang:

"My faith looks up to Thee, Thou Lamb of Calvary, Saviour Divine!

Now hear me while I pray, Take all my guilt away; Oh, let me from this day, Be wholly Thine!"

His heavy load of sin had been cleansed by that precious blood! The Lord Jesus took his guilt with Him on the cross and the Holy G.o.d had forgiven him! But what was he doing here now? What had he come here for? What did he waste the time here for? Yonder in the cottage, Ondrejko's mother was half-alive and half-dead, and from afar her father from beyond the ocean was coming to his child. If he, Filina, would delay here, they might miss each other at the station.

Bacha stood up, dusted off his Sunday clothes, put his firm arm around the cross and bent over, as once many years ago! It was good that the cross was firm and also the arm that clung to it. Bacha saw on the sloping path a man of slim figure, in a gentleman's suit, drawing near. Just then he stopped. He turned round; he took his hat from his head and looked in the direction where once stood Filina's hut. All that marked the place were a few half-burned timbers, now overgrown with weeds. Oh, that face! There was only one like it, never forgotten, younger--but nevertheless!