Part 1

Transcriber's notes: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed. New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.

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THE

WOLF-SLAYER;

[and]

[MARGARET KAURNER.]

BY THE AUTHOR OF

"BASKET OF FLOWERS."

[Christoph von Schmid]

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AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY 150 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.

CONTENTS.

THE WOLF-SLAYER.

MARGARET KAURNER. A STORY OF GOLD AND COPPER COINS.

INTRODUCTION.

LETTER I. MARGARET TO HER MOTHER.

LETTER II. MARGARET TO HER MOTHER.

LETTER III. MRS. KAURNER TO HER DAUGHTER MARGARET.

LETTER IV. MARGARET TO HER MOTHER.

LETTER V. GEORGE TO MARGARET.

LETTER VI. MARGARET TO HER MOTHER.

LETTER VII. GEORGE TO HIS MOTHER.

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THE WOLF-SLAYER.

——————

IT WAS winter time; cold, bleak, sharp, piercing winds were blowing, scattering the snowflakes as they fell, and making doubly precious the cozy warmth and snug comfort of the fire-side. Through the windows of a pleasant country house, the red glow of fire-light was streaming, and fell in ruddy beauty on the snow-white ground, and while the wind kept howling and sweeping through the forest glades with melancholy music, the sound of pleasant voices and the shout of merry laughter betokened happiness within the house.

Happiness, ay, that there was, and plenty of it, and as the circle gathered round the blazing logs, one might have gone a long, long way to find a sight more cheerful, and without succeeding. There was the old grandfather with his silver locks, and the good grandame, with that high cap of hers which was a perfect marvel to behold, and her gold spectacles resting on her nose. There were the younger couple, a tall, stout, well-built man, with black curly hair, and about six and thirty years of age, and his wife, with a charmingly pretty face, and about three or four years younger, and a group of lighthearted children, some sitting on the ground before the fire, while two or three were climbing upon grandpa's knee and begging him, with all the winsome lovingness of children, to tell them a story.

"And what is there I can tell you, Annie dear," said the old man to a pretty dark-eyed girl who was looking up into his face, "that you have not heard a dozen times before?"

"O we like them all the better, grandpa, because we know them," said the children, "then we can pick and choose, you understand."

"Shall I tell you of little Mabel who was carried away by the gypsies?"

"No, grandpa, we should like something more exciting than that."

"Shall I tell you of Rosa Harebell, who was so good and pure and true, but who died so very young, and heard the voice of him that called to life again poor Jairus' daughter, saying, 'Arise, and live for ever'?"

"No, grandpa, the story is too sad."

And as the child spoke a melancholy expression stole over her countenance, and a tear stood in her beautiful eyes.

"Then," said grandpa, "there is the story of the long-bow archers, who once upon a time took up their abode in our own dear German forests, and played strange tricks with travellers."

"Ah, that will do bravely," said little Henry, "I love to hear of gallant heroes; do tell us all about it, grandpa; you have told us the story before, but I do so long to hear it again, and I feel sure we are all of one mind."

"Not so fast, Henry," returned the old man, "those heroes, as you call them, had but little to recommend them to honest folk and well-meaning people."

"Why, grandpa, were they not brave men?"

"Bravery, child, is a very doubtful word."

"Why doubtful, grandpa? Did they not live happily in the green wood, and did they not take away the money from hard-hearted rich people, and give it to deserving, good sort of people, who wanted it more than they?"

"Yes, Henry, they did all this, but still they are not to be commended."

Now you must know that Henry was a great hand at an argument; he was not more than ten and a half, half-past ten as the children say, rather young for a logician, but he loved to reason out a thing as well as he could.

"Well then," said Henry, "I cannot understand it at all."

"Why not, Henry?" replied grandpa. "The matter is plain enough."

"Is it not right that we should help the poor?" Henry put the question as solemnly as a counsellor in any court of justice.

"Yes."

"Did not these long-bow archers do this?"

"Yes."

"Then," said Henry, "they did right; I am sure they did."

"Not so; the Bible says we must not do evil that good may come; the Bible says 'thou shalt not steal,' they stole; and whatsoever their object, good or bad, no matter, it was a sin, a vice, a crime!"

Henry was silent.

"Shall I tell you of the Wolf-slayer?"

"The Wolf-slayer, O, what is that? We never heard that story yet. Do tell it to us. Is it very amusing, and is it true, quite true?"

"First," said the old man, "do you recollect last summer I showed you the remains of an old chapel all overgrown with ivy and other creeping plants, that is called the chapel of Wolfsbuhl?"

"O yes, quite well; on the top of a high hill, is it not?"

"It is; well, there is connected with that old chapel, the story of a Wolf-slayer. And it is that which I am about to tell you now. What sort of an animal is a wolf?"

"A cowardly, ferocious beast," said one.

"He is something like a dog, but larger and stronger," said another.

"He is generally of a pale gray color," said a third.

"And do you recollect," said the grandfather, "whether there is any Bible text concerning the wolf?"

Annie slowly repeated the words, "'Benjamin shall ravin as a wolf; in the morning he shall devour the prey, and at night he shall divide the spoil.'"

"Quite right; now for the story."

The whole of the party drew nearer to the fire, another log was cast upon the blazing pile, the children were all attention, and just as there was a temporary lull in the storm without, the old man began:—

"Once upon a time there was a poor widow named Margaret. She lived in a straw-thatched cabin, and a little field, a cow, and a grape vine, were all she was worth in the world. She had one son, and his name was George; he was a promising lad, the comfort and consolation of his mother, as well as her proudest hope. For him she labored from early morn to dewy eve; her spinning wheel was always at work, and with that and the returns of her little field, she was able to buy flour, and thus to use some of her milk and butter.

"In spring and summer time the good woman would direct the attention of her son to the up-springing flowers, and tell him how God cared for them all, and much more for people who called upon his name, and would impress upon him how thankful we ought to be for all that Heaven bestows, and to learn in whatsoever state we are, therewith to be content.

"So George grew up to be a fine, strong lad, and had what was still better than ruddy cheeks and stalwart arms, a good disposition and a pious heart. He was his mother's joy, her household treasure, and it was a comfort for her to think that he would one day be as good a laborer as his father. She was not ambitious, and she thought hard work rather honorable than otherwise.

"Well, she had formerly been at service with a farmer who lived about six miles from the cottage, and when the farmer's son succeeded to the property, she asked him to have George as a servant boy. The farmer very willingly consented, and the mother set about equipping George for his new employment.

"And here, my dear children, let me say a few words about work. It is a good and noble thing to work. Nothing puts more honor upon work than that saying of our Lord Jesus Christ, 'My father worketh hitherto and I work.' God meant us to work. He put Adam in the Garden of Eden to dress it and to keep it; labor did not altogether come in with the curse."

"But grandpa," said Henry, "would it not be better if there was no work to be done; if all our lives could be spent without toil?"

"No."

"Really grandpa, I think it would, I do indeed."

"Why so, dear Henry? Speak frankly, let me know your reason."

"A great many people are over-worked, grandpa, and if there were no necessity for labor, there could be no cause for this, and so one source of evil would be done away. That is what makes me think the world would be happier without work."

"Dear child, there are many people who think with you, but they forget that nearly every good thing under the sun has been abused, and that man has often turned God's best blessing into his worst curse. Work strengthens the body, invigorates the mind, enlivens the feelings, and gives zest to recreation, as long as it is confined within proper limits; when it goes beyond this and becomes a drudgery, the evils that you talk about ensue."

"And what should we do," said Henry's father, "if there were no work done; no sailors to fetch far-off treasures, no herdsmen to take care of our flocks, no farmers to grow corn, no builders to build our houses, no—why I might make a longer catalogue than you would like to read Master Henry, about the good that work has done. The people of Palestine made a rule, and it was a very good rule, that everybody should learn a trade; high and low, rich and poor, wise and simple; and you recollect that the Apostle Paul says about the man who will not work, neither shall he eat; a rule, by the way, the bees observe, the thriving, bustling honey-bees, who tumble out the drones."

"And you remember," said grandpa, "that Jesus was not ashamed to work; people called him not only the carpenter's son, but—what was it, Amy?"

"The carpenter."

"George was glad to be employed, for he would now be able to help his mother; but still it is not to be wondered at that he should shed a tear or two before he left his old home. He went to all his playmates and bid them good-bye. Then he went into the meadow and saw the cow to which he had carried so many bundles of hay. She was lying down on the grass with her soft eyes blinking in the sunshine. The little fellow went up to her and stroked her forehead.

"'Poor cow,' said he; 'you and I have been old friends; you gave me milk many a year. And now I'm going away. I can't feed you any more, but my mother will take care of you.'

"He took an affectionate leave of his mother, who kissed him tenderly and gave him much prudent advice. The poor child stood weeping on the threshold and listened to her words, then bidding her farewell, he brushed away his tears and trudged off like a hero.

"After his departure his mother worked harder than ever, and lived more frugally than before. She seldom boiled anything for her dinner or supper, and the neighbors noticed that the smoke did not come out of the chimney as it was wont to do. She was anxious to lay by a little money in order that when George came home he might be able to enjoy himself. So she seldom took anything but bread and milk. But though she was frugal, she was not mean. Some people mistake niggardliness for domestic economy; the widow Margaret never did. She was still generous. She often gave her neighbors' children a bowl of milk, and if she saw the little ones eating dry bread, she would call them in and give them butter, and sometimes honey. But the good advice she used to give them was better than milk or honey.

"Alas! A sad reverse of fortune awaited her. It was a cold, bleak night; the valleys were clothed with deep snow, and the cold north wind was blowing fiercely. Widow Margaret was driving her cow to the stream which flowed at the base of the mountain. As the poor animal was drinking at the stream, a frightful howl was heard, and suddenly an enormous wolf sprang out of the forest and tore the cow before the widow's eyes. Margaret fled. The snow was red with the blood of the cow. The poor widow wept bitterly. Not only for the loss was her grief so great, but because she pitied the defenceless animal.

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"The report of the disaster soon spread. The wolf committed other depredations. Now a lamb was torn from the fold, now a horse was left dead upon the road; people were afraid to stir out of their homes, so terrible were the ravages of the monster.

"Of all gallant sportsmen there were none more fond of the chase than knight Ulrich of Wildburg. To him it was the breath of his nostrils. His whole being appeared made up of intense love for the chase, and when the bugle horn was ringing in the sharp, clear morning air, none were so happy as the gallant Ulrich. His son Conrad, a lad about fourteen, shared his father's admiration for the chase, and a great delight it was to him to ride into the forest depths when one was at hand.

"It was determined to make a regular foray on the wolf. To hunt him would be fine sport, to kill him would be a public benefit; Knight Ulrich sallied forth. A gallant train attended him, all armed with swords and javelins, and bows and arrows, and accompanied by a fine pack of wolf-hounds.

"Slowly and cautiously they entered the forest, the huntsmen keeping within call of each other, that they might be able to help one another, should the necessity of the case require it. Conrad soon grew tired of this slow work, and hoping that he might be fortunate enough to kill the wolf single-handed, quietly slipped away from his father's side, and pushed into the heart of the forest. Cautiously removing the stems and branches in his way, so that he might not disturb the wolf too quickly, he advanced with bended bow into an open space in the wood, and then he discovered the wolf issuing from a thicket.

"The twang of his bow-string was heard, and the arrow shot through the air, and struck the shaggy monster on the chest; but the distance was too great to allow the arrow to do its work, and the animal was only slightly wounded. With a ferocious howl, he sprang forward, smarting from the wound.

"Conrad saw his danger, and endeavored to escape by climbing a tree. He stood on one of the boughs, and supported himself by resting his body against the trunk. The wolf retreated a few paces, and then sprang forward, his wide gaping jaws, bristling with frightful teeth, almost touched the trembling boy, but did not actually reach him. Again and again with new fury, the wolf repeated the attempt, but in vain. At last he lay down under the tree, whining and howling, and glaring upon his destined victim. Conrad was almost dead with fear—a cold perspiration stood upon his brow; he shouted for help, but no help came, and the sun began to sink, and twilight to deepen into night.

"Suddenly, as hope was nearly gone, the distant bay of the hounds was heard. They had come upon the scent of the wolf, and were drawing nearer every moment. Then came the loud clear sound of the bugle, and the shouts of men. The wolf heard the cry of the dogs, and the sound of the approaching hunters, and arising, took precipitately to flight.

"The moon had just arisen. Conrad's father and the rest of the party approached the tree. With shame, Conrad descended, and acknowledged how foolishly he had acted. The old huntsman gave his young master a sharp rebuke—'Young folks always imagine they understand everything better than old ones; but the egg can't be wiser than the hen. May this adventure be a warning to you.'

"Meanwhile George served his master very faithfully. He set manfully about his work, was never lazy and indolent, but was indefatigable in his exertions till the work was done. And work did not make him sad or heavyhearted; he was always merry, kind, and obliging to every one. And this sort of conduct is sure to make friends. The farmer and his wife loved the boy as their own child, and the children loved him as if he had been their own brother.

"One evening, while he was busily engaged, tying up pine branches into bundles for fire-wood, a man came from his native place and told him the misfortune that had happened at home. George began to weep very bitterly, and the children wept with him for company. The good farmer and his wife came out to see what was the matter.

"'O, my dear mother!' said George. 'What will become of her now? She will be sadly cast down at the loss of the poor beast. Poor old Mayflower, she was the prettiest cow in the whole village. She was a beautiful brown, with a light white stain on her forehead, and was so sleek and glossy that a drop of water would not remain upon her hide. She was all my poor mother had. She yielded six or eight measures of milk a day. Alas! Alas! My poor mother,—now she will be poor indeed. The milk was her best, almost her only support, and she was not able to buy another cow. Alas! Alas!'

"The farmer and his wife tried to comfort the child as well as they could, who soon afterwards went to his bed-room, crying very bitterly. There he prayed, and then began to think what he could do to render help to his poor mother. Now George had a favorite scheme. When he went to service, he was warmly, but not smartly clothed, and he had made up his mind to purchase a new hat, and a scarlet jacket. He had not as yet received his wages, and with his mother's consent, he had determined to appropriate those wages to that purpose. A black hat and a red jacket were brave things in his eyes. All the boys of the village wore them. But this favorite project was now entirely forgotten.

"'No,' said he, 'when I take my wages, I will buy a goat, and bring it home to my mother; that will be some comfort to her under her misfortune. I can live well enough without the new jacket, or the new hat, but my mother cannot live well without a goat. Farmer Buhel has two fine goats, and I will buy one of them.'

"When he made known his intention to his master, the farmer paid the wages, and applauded his filial piety; but—alas! the goats were not for sale, their owner said, but still if a good price were paid, he might be willing to part with one. A good price was what George could not give, and sad at heart he returned to his master. His joy was gone. He was pondering some new way of helping his mother. We have said before that the children loved George as a brother, and so when they found him in distress, they began to plan, in order to devise some means to make up the money.

"Lizzy, the eldest, suggested that they should raise the sum out of their pocket-money. To this the others readily assented. Their mother highly approved the plan, but when their money was counted out, it was still found deficient. The children then wanted to give away their gifts, but this their mother would not allow.

"'No,' said she, 'you must not give away your gifts. I will complete the sum out of my own private purse.'

"So the money was made up. George, accompanied by the children, and shedding tears of gratitude, went to bring home the goat. And when they had obtained her, what a triumphal procession it was. How handsome she was—with her white skin, and coal-black spots, and her long soft hair, and curling horns, her bright glowing eyes, and her long flowing beard! How all the children patted, and extolled the purchase, and brought together more hay and grass, than the goat could eat in a week!

"Having obtained the permission of the farmer to visit his mother on the following day, and having been assured by several of the peasantry that there was no fear of the wolf, as he had kept aloof from the neighborhood since Baron Ulrich's hunt—the poor child made all his preparations. He was overjoyed at the thought of again seeing his mother, and being able to surprise her with so valuable a present. He scarcely slept a wink that night.

"Early next morning George set out on the road home. He hail a nice piece of bacon, a fair white loaf, and some flax for his mother, all wrapped up in a bundle at his back. He tied a cord round the goat's neck, and drove her before him. It was a sharp cold morning. The ground was hard with frost, and covered lightly with snow, and the hoar frost hung on every leaf and branch.

"As the little boy passed over the hill toward the village of Wolfsbuhl, he came to the ruined chapel. The door was open, and tying the goat to the iron handle of the door, he entered. Within, seated on a stone bench, he found a gray-haired and decrepid old man, with a large bundle of wood lying at his feet. He was weeping, and regarding the goat with a fixed attention.

"'Why do you weep, good father?' said George.

"'Alas!' said the old man. 'My heart is sorrowful, and the sight of the goat awakened the memory of my grief.'

"'How so?'

"'Ah!' said the old man, 'I had one of the kind, whose milk was my best nourishment, but the wolf killed her. Now I have nothing but bread and water, and my strength is fast failing. I am not even able to carry this bundle of sticks to my cottage, which lies at the bottom of the hill.'

"George remembered that his mother had always taught him to do good to those who needed his help, so telling the story of his own sorrow, he offered to carry the old man's bundle to his door. The old man declined the offer.

"'Indeed,' George said, 'it is no trouble to me. God has given me health and strength. I will early your bundle to your cottage, and the goat can meanwhile stay with you.'

"Said the old man, 'There is no danger of the goat, the people about here are honest folk, and I pledge my word that she will not be stolen.'

"So George took up the bundle, placed it on his shoulders, and at a rapid pace, now running, now bounding, began the descent of the hill. The old man leisurely followed, heartily thanking the poor boy for his kindness and charity.

"'God will reward,' he said, 'a hundred thousand fold this act of kind courtesy to a poor stranger.'