The Goose Girl, Harold MacGrath [classic books for 12 year olds .txt] 📗

at the sight of this goose-girl. So she had a dowry and was going to be married? He felt of his wallet, and a kindly thought came into being. He counted down the small change for the beer, slid back his chair, and sauntered to the bar. Gretchen recognized him, and the recognition brought a smile to her face.

"Good day to you, Herr," was her greeting.

"When is the wedding?"

Gretchen blushed.

"I should like to come to it."

"You will be welcome, Herr."

"And may I bring along a little present?"

"If it so please you. I must be going," she added to Fräu Bauer.

"May I walk along with you?" asked Hans.

"If you wish," diffidently.

So Grumbach walked with her to the Krumerweg, and he asked her many questions, and some of her answers surprised him.

"Never knew father or mother?"

"No, Herr. I am only a foundling who fell into kind hands. This is where I live."

"And if I should ask to come in?"

"But I shall be too busy to talk. This is bread-day," evasively.

"I promise to sit very quiet in a chair."

Her laughter rippled; she was always close to that expression. "You are a funny man. Come in, then; but mind, you will be dusty with flour when you leave."

"I will undertake that risk," he replied, with a seriousness not in tune with the comedy of the situation.

Into the kitchen she led him. She was moved with curiosity. Why should any man wish to see a woman knead bread?

"Sit there, Herr." And she pointed to a stool at the left of the table. The sunlight came in through the window, and an aureola appeared above her beautiful head. "Have you never seen a woman knead flour?"

"Not for many years," said Hans, thinking of his mother.

Gretchen deliberately rolled up her sleeves and began work.

There are three things which human growth never changes: the lines in the hand, the shape of the ear, and scars. The head grows, and the general features enlarge to their predestined mold, but these three things remain. Upon Gretchen's left arm, otherwise perfection, there was a white scar, rough and uneven, more like an ancient burn than anything else. Grumbach's eyes rested upon the scar and became fixed.

"Where did you get that?" he asked. He spoke with a strange calm.

"The scar? I do not remember. Grandmother says that when I was little I must have been burned."

"Gott!"

"What did you say, Herr?"

"Nothing. You can't remember? Think!" tensely now.

"What's all this nonsense about?" she cried, with a nervous laugh. "It's only a scar."

She went on with the kneading. She patted the dough into four squares. These she placed on the oven-stove. She wiped her hands on a cloth for that purpose, and sighed contentedly.

"There! It's a fine mystery, isn't it?"

"Yes." But Grumbach was shaking as with ague.

"What is the matter, Herr?" with concern.

"I grow dizzy like this sometimes. It doesn't amount to anything."

Gretchen turned down her sleeves. "You must go now, for I have other work."

"And so have I, Gretchen."

He gained the street, but how he never knew. He floated. Objects near at hand were shadowy and unusual. A great calm suddenly winged down upon him, and the world became clear, clear as his purpose, his courage, his duty. They might shoot or hang him, as they saw fit; this would not deter him. It might be truthfully said that he blundered back to the Grand Hotel. He must lay the whole matter before Carmichael. There lay his one hope. Carmichael should be his ambassador. But, God in Heaven, where should he begin? How?

The Gipsy, standing in the center of the walk, did not see Grumbach, for he was looking toward the palaces, a kind of whimsical mockery in his dark eyes. Grumbach, even more oblivious, crashed into him.

Grumbach stammered an apology, and the other replied in his peculiar dialect that no harm had been done. The jar, however, had roused Hans out of his tragic musings. There was a glint of yellow in the Gipsy's eye, a flaw in the iris. Hans gave a cry.

"You? I find you at this moment, of all others?"

The Gipsy retreated. "I do not know you. It is a mistake."

"But I know you," whispered Hans. "And you will know me when I tell you that I am the gardener's boy you ruined some sixteen years ago!"


CHAPTER XIX

DISCLOSURES


The office of the American consulate in the Adlergasse ran from the front to the rear of the building. Carmichael's desk overlooked the street. But whenever a flying dream came to him he was wont to take his pipe to the chair by the rear window, whence he could view the lofty crests of the Jugendheit mountains. Directly below this window and running parallel with it was the Biergarten of the Black Eagle.

It is a quiet tonic to the mind to look off, to gaze at sunlit, cloud-embraced mountain peaks, Walter Pater to the contrary. Carmichael's mind that morning needed quiet, and so he came to this window; and with a smoldering pipe let himself to dreams. He was still in the uniform of the royal hunt, a meet having taken place that morning. He saw darling faces in the rugged outlines of the mountains, in the white clouds billowing across, in the patches of dazzling blue in between. Such is the fancy of a man in love!

His letter of resignation was on its way, but it would be in November before he heard definitely from the department. By that time the great snows would have blanketed the earth, and the nadir of his discontent would be reached. But what to do till that time? He could ride for some weeks, but riding without companionship was rather a lonesome affair. His own defiance of the chancellor had erected an impassable barrier between her highness and himself. They would watch him now, evade him, put small obstacles in his path, obstacles against which he could enter no reasonable complaint. A withered leaf, a glove, and a fan; these represented the sum of his romance.

Two figures moved in the garden beneath. At first he gave no attention to them. But when the two heads came together swiftly, and then separated, both smiling, he realized that he had witnessed a kiss. Ah, here was the opportunity; and, by the Lord Harry, he would not let it slip. If this fellow meant wrongly toward Gretchen-and how could he mean else?-he, Carmichael, would take the matter boldly in his hands to do some caning. He laughed. Here would be another souvenir; to have caned-

He jumped to his feet, dropped his pipe on the sill of the window, and made for his hat and sword-cane. The clerk went on with his writing. Nothing the consul did these days either alarmed or distracted him.

To gain the garden Carmichael would have to pass through the tavern. The first person he encountered was Colonel von Wallenstein. The sight of this gentleman changed his plans for the moment. He had a presentiment that this would became rather a complicated affair. He waited. Wallenstein spoke to Fräu Bauer, who answered him with cold civility. She heartily despised this fine officer. Wallenstein twirled his mustache, laughed and went into the garden. Carmichael was in a quandary. What should he do?

Neither Gretchen nor the vintner saw Wallenstein, who remained quietly by the door. He watched them with an evil smile. He would teach this pretty fellow a lesson. After some deliberation he walked lightly toward the lovers. They did not hear him till he was almost upon them.

"A pretty picture!"

Gretchen colored and the vintner flushed, the one with dismay and the other with anger.

"A charming idyl!"

"Leave us, Gretchen," said the vintner, with a deceiving gentleness.

Gretchen started reluctantly down the path, her glance bravely before her. She knew that Wallenstein would not move; so she determined to go round him. She was not afraid to leave her vintner alone with this officer. But she miscalculated the colonel's reckless audacity. As she stepped off the path to go round him he grasped her rudely and kissed her on the cheek. She screamed as much in surprise as in anger.

And this scream brought Carmichael upon the scene. He was witness to the second kiss. He saw the vintner run forward and dash his fist into the soldier's face. Wallenstein, to whom such an assault was unexpected, fell back, hurt and blinded. The vintner, active as a cat, saw Carmichael coming on a run. He darted toward him, and before Carmichael could prevent him, dragged the sword-cane away. The blade, thin and pliant, flashed. And none too soon. The colonel had already drawn his saber.

"Save him!" Gretchen wrung her hands.

The two blades met spitefully, and there were method and science on both sides. But the sword-cane was no match for the broad, heavy saber. Half a dozen thrusts and parries convinced the colonel that the raging youth knew what he was doing. Down swooped the saber cuttingly. The blade of the sword-cane snapped like a pipe-stem. The vintner flung the broken part at the colonel's head. The latter dodged it and came on, and there was death's intent.

Meantime Carmichael had found a short hop-pole, and with this he took a hand in the contest. The pole was clumsy, but the tough wood was stronger than steel. He hit the saber with good-will. Back came the steel. The colonel did not care whom or what he struck at now. When Carmichael returned the compliment he swung his hop-pole as the old crusaders did their broadswords. And this made short work of the duel. The saber dropped uninjured, but the colonel's arm dangled at his side. He leaned back against the arbor, his teeth set in his lip, for he was in agony. Carmichael flung aside his primitive weapon, his anger abated none.

"You're a fine example of a soldier! Are you mad to attack a man this way? They will break you for this, or my name's not Carmichael. You couldn't leave her in peace, could you? Well, those two kisses will prove expensive."

"I shall kill you for this!"

"Bah! I have fought more times than you have years to your counting," with good Yankee spirit. "But if you think I'll waste my time in fighting a duel with you, you're up the wrong tree."

"Go to the devil!"

"Not just at present; there's too much for me to do. But this is my advice to you: apply for a leave of absence and take the waters of Wiesbaden. They are good for choleric dispositions. Now, I return the compliment: go to the devil yourself, only choose a route that will not cross mine. That's all!"

Gretchen and the vintner had vanished. Carmichael agreed that it was the best thing for them to do. The vintner was no coward, but he was discreet. Somebody might ask questions. So Carmichael returned to the consulate, equally indifferent what the colonel did or where he went. Of the vintner he thought: "The hot-headed young fool, to risk his life like that!" He would see later what he meant in regard to Gretchen. Poor little goose-girl! They would find that there was one man interested enough in her welfare to stand by her. His hands yet stung from