it was one night after they had been to visit the kind old german lady, their mother’s friend, that this wonderful wish came into berty’s heart.
madame hansmann, as this old lady was called by the people of biddy’s house, was not yet weaned from the dear vaterland, as she called her native country, and liked nothing so well as talking of its kindly ways and pleasant customs to any one who would listen. she knew no english; but the homely german, which, i dare say, sounds harsh and unpleasant enough to you, was music in bertha’s ears; for it was the language in which she had always heard her mother speak. berty had, too, or fancied she had, a dim remembrance of some of the scenes which the good old lady described, especially of the christmas trees, and birthday feasts, and[pg 15] the concerts in the volksgarten, or public park, of the city where her parents had lived.
it was, as i said, one night after a visit to old madame hansmann that berty’s wish came into her heart. she was sitting in her attic, striving patiently, by the light of a candle-end which biddy had given her, to fashion a frock for little fritz from an old one of her own. she was not a very skilful seamstress, and her materials were none of the best; so, as you may imagine, she was much too busy at first to pay much attention to the children’s chatter, as they frolicked and tumbled upon the old straw bed in the corner. presently, however, having planned out her work to her mind, her attention was attracted by their talk.
“wasn’t it nice,” said lina, “what she told about the christmas trees? and berty’s seen one; but we never did.”
“poh!” cried gottlieb, turning a very contemptuous somerset; “poh! i have: but i never told though before. it was last christmas,—that night, you know, i ran away from bert. we went to the avenue, martin fischer[pg 16] and me, and we saw one. it was in that big stone house where the dutchman lives—herr westermann. it was very cold, and we stood upon the sidewalk, and the wind blew so hard; but the blinds were open just a bit, and we saw it! o my!—but wasn’t it jolly! the great green tree most up to the top of the wall; and the lights blazing on every limb; and the gold and silver nuts shining; and the apples and oranges and candy!—and o, flowers, too! and hobby-horses! and dolls!—and all the children dancing round and laughing! i tell you, you never saw anything so fine,—never! never!”
“did you see the christ-child, lieb?” asked little rosa, in a tone of awe.
“i saw a little blue angel with gold wings, quite up in the top of the tree,” answered gottlieb; “only its face was turned the other way.”
“that was he!” cried rosa, clapping her hands joyfully. “that was he! o how i wish i could see him! mina schaeffer says it is he brings all the things,—only she says he will never come to us, because we are[pg 17] poor,—and it is only the rich ones he takes them to.”
“fie, rosa,” said lina, reprovingly; “don’t you remember what die liebe mutter said, how jesus (he’s the christ-child, you know) was very poor, and how the holy virgin laid him in a manger when he was born. i don’t believe he would forget us because we are poor.”
“will he come, then, do you think?” asked rosa, eagerly. “will he come this christmas, if we are very good? perhaps we were naughty last year,—i don’t remember,—and die mutter said he don’t love us but when we are good. let’s be very good now, and see if he will come.”
“i don’t believe it is the christ-child does it,” said gottlieb, who had been lying quite still, thinking, for some time. “i don’t believe it is the christ-child does it at all. mina schaeffer knows nothing, and the little blue angel looked just like a doll. i’ll bet you it was herr westermann bought all those things, and frau westermann put them on the tree;—only she’s a little woman, i know, and the tree was very high. but, any way,[pg 18] i don’t believe it’s the christ-child does it. martin says it isn’t. they had a tree to martin’s house once, and he peeped, and he thought he saw his mother; but then their tree was little, and herr westermann’s was ever so big.”
“perhaps frau westermann had a ladder,” said lina, coming to her brother’s assistance in his puzzle.
“a ladder! to be sure, so she must!” cried gottlieb, much relieved. “yes, you may be certain she had a ladder.”
“but the tree,” put in little city-bred rosa; “where would he get the tree?”
“pshaw, stupid!” answered her brother, impatiently; “don’t the trees grow, and couldn’t he cut one and bring it home on a dray?”
“but wouldn’t the policeman catch him then?” asked poor puzzled rosa, whose only idea of trees was of those in the city parks.
“but, rosa, there are woods,” explained lina,—“great fields full of nothing but trees,—that’s in the country. mina schaeffer went there once to visit her cousin, and she told me. people may cut them if they like, and there are no policemen; only i don’t[pg 19] think herr westermann could bring one on a dray because it is so far, lieb. i’ll tell you, though: i think they bring them on the railroad to the markets, and then the people can buy them. i saw some once—very tall and full of green prickles, and biddy said they were for christmas trees. i guess herr westermann bought his, lieb.”
“well, perhaps he did,” answered lieb, sleepily; “and a ladder,—o yes, a ladder! you may be sure it’s the father and mother do it, lina.”
“and we have no father—no mother,” said rosa, with a sigh. “we have nobody,—at least we have only bert.”
“and bert could not make a christmas tree,” added lina, sadly.
“yes, bert tould!” cried little fritz, giving lina a vigorous punch with his stout little fist. fritz had been lying broad awake listening to all this wonderful talk without understanding it in the least; but he firmly believed that his berty could do anything, and so he felt bound to defend her from lina’s assertions. “i tell ’ou,” said he, “bert tould,—bert tould had a laddy and[pg 20] make a kissmas tee for fitzy, and the bu andel tould hep her.”
it was just here, at these words of little fritz’s, that the wonderful wish came into bertha’s heart, and set it throbbing, so that the poor child forgot all about her troublesome work,—noticed no longer the children’s talk, or the waning candle; but just sat with her hands clasped in her lap, till the children were fast asleep and the candle quite burnt out, thinking and thinking; then crept away to her place by fritzy’s side, and lay awake far into the night, thinking and thinking still.
perhaps you can guess now what was bertha’s wish; at least, if you cannot, you must be almost as stupid as was gottlieb with his ladder.
