A STORY OF THURINGIA.

CHAPTER I.

It was winter time, and the Thuringia-Wald lay still and white under its snowy covering.

The fir trees waved their branches in the frosty air, and a clear moon had risen over the mountains.

All was quiet and deserted, except that a faint sound of music and singing floated on the wind, coming undoubtedly from the comfortable burrow of the Hedgehog family, who lived under one of the largest pine stumps.

Councillor Igel for the father was a member of the Hedgehog Government had consented to allow the young people to have one or two friends to coffee, and they had been dancing with the greatest spirit for the last half hour.

By the porcelain stove stood the Councillor’s only brother, Uncle Columbus, who had devoted himself since childhood to learned pursuits, and was much respected by the rest of the family.

He looked down upon all amusements as frivolous, but then he had been to College, so his superior mind was only what was to be expected.

The Councillor belonged to an ancient Thuringian race who had been settled for centuries in the forest near the little town of Ruhla. They were a proud family, for one of their uncles had, some years before, been called to take up the position of Court Hedgehog at the Royal country Palace, where he moved in the highest society, and occasionally invited his relations to visit him.

“But fifty miles is really almost too far to go with nothing but a cup of coffee at the end,” said the Hedgehog-mother, “and he never invites us to sleep. We don’t, therefore, see so much of him as we otherwise should do.”

“That must be very trying,” replied the Mole-mother, to whom these confidences were being poured out.

“Yes, for of course it would be an inestimable advantage to the children to see a little Court life. However, with the fashions altering so quickly, it would be difficult for me to arrange their dresses in the last mode and I couldn’t have them looked down upon.”

“Of course not,” humbly replied the Mole-mother. She was sitting by the table, with her homespun knitting in her hand; and though she was trying to pay attention to her friend’s words, she was arranging her dinner for the next day at the same time, and wondering whether her eldest child could have one more tuck let out of her frock before Christmas time.

“It’s all very well for the Hedgehog-mother,” she thought. “She comes of a high family, and can live in luxury; but with all my children, and my poor husband working away from morning till night, I’m obliged to plan every coffee bean, or I could never keep the house together!”

The Councillor’s wife, however, talked on without noticing her distraction.

“Do you ever find any inconveniences from living so near the town?” she enquired. “Do the boys ever annoy you? They are sometimes very ill-bred.”

“Our house is in such a retired position, I seldom see anyone,” replied the Mole-mother. “The Forester’s family are our nearest neighbours, and really they are so kind they might almost be Moles themselves.”

“That is very pleasant for you,” said the Frau Councillor. “Our case is quite different. The Rats who keep the inn at the cross roads, are most disagreeable people. We can’t associate with them.”

“Gypsies!” cried Uncle Columbus at this moment. He had an unpleasant habit when he did not like the conversation, of suddenly reminding the family of a tragedy that had happened some sixty years ago, when a promising young Hedgehog had been carried off to captivity by a band of travelling Tinkers, and finally disposed of in a way too terrible to be alluded to.

The Councillor’s wife looked angry, and hastily changed the subject.

“He is quite a trial to us sometimes!” she whispered to the Mole-mother. “Such bad taste to mention Gypsies. It makes me tremble in every quill!”

“I think I must be going now,” said the Mole-mother hurriedly, putting away her knitting into a reticule, and tying a woollen hood over her head for she felt that it would not do for strangers to be mixed up in these family matters.

Calling her children to her, she helped them into their warm galoshes; and lighting a small lantern, they were soon out in the snowy forest.

CHAPTER II.

“Oh, mother, I wish we were rich like the Hedgehogs,” cried the eldest daughter, Emmie; “Wilhelm and Fritz are so fashionable, and on Berta’s birthday they are going to give a grand coffee party, to which the Court Hedgehog is expected!”

“Well, they won’t ask us, so you had better not think too much about it,” said the Mole-mother; “don’t let your mind run on vanities.”

As she spoke they saw the two rats from the Inn coming towards them. The elder the proprietor of the Inn in a peasant’s dress with a pipe in his mouth, dragging a small sledge on which three infant rats were seated, wrapped in a fur rug, while their mother walked beside them, her homespun cloak trailing over the snow.

“Good evening, neighbours!” cried the Mole-mother pleasantly, for though she did not exactly approve of the Rat household, she always treated them with civility. “Where are you out so late? How well the children are looking!”

“Yes, they grow rapidly bless their little tails and whiskers!” said the Rat-mother proudly. “We have just been to my brother’s in the town, taking a cup of coffee with him, and there we heard some news. I can tell you! There’s to be a grand Coffee Party at the Hedgehogs, and though all the guests have been invited, we alone are left out. Most insulting I call it!”

“Well, it is rude,” allowed the Mole-mother, “but they’ve not asked us either. You see the Court Hedgehog is to be there, and so it is very select.”

“Select! I’ll make them select!” growled the proprietor of the Inn with a scowl. “Who are they I should like to know? They may have Gypsies upon them at any moment!”

“Oh, I hope not!” cried the Mole-mother.

“There’s a Tinker’s boy in the town,” said the Innkeeper, darkly, “and he’s always looking out for Hedgehogs I shouldn’t be surprised if he heard where the family live.”

“Good-night!” said the Mole-mother, nervously, and hurried on with her children.

“Some mischief will be done if we don’t watch,” she said to Emmie, who was a mole of unusual intelligence. “I’ll tell your brother to keep his eye on the Rat Inn.”

After about half an hour’s walking, they arrived at home; for their house was in a secluded position in the most unfrequented part of the forest.

Though very simple, it was clean and well kept, and furnished with a large cooking stove, a four-post bedstead, and a few wooden benches.

In the one arm-chair sat the Mole-father, reading the newspaper; while his sister, Aunt Betta, with a cap with long streaming ribbons on her head, was busily stirring something in a saucepan.

As the Mole-mother and her family, descended the stone stairway that led from the upper air, a delicious smell of cooking greeted them. Two large tallow candles were burning brightly, and altogether the house presented a very lively appearance.

“Here you are at last,” cried the Mole-father. “Supper is just ready, and I have sent Karl to the Inn for some lager-beer.”

“I wonder if he will hear anything,” said the Mole-mother taking off her galoshes; and then she related all the news of the evening.

“If there isn’t some mischief brewing, may I be made into waistcoats!” exclaimed the Mole-father, throwing down his newspaper.

It was his favourite expression when much excited, and never failed to give the Mole-mother a shiver all down her back. She called it such very strong language.

At this moment Karl came clattering down the steps.

“Oh, father! mother! I have heard something!” he shouted. “The Rat-father has started off to the Tinker’s to tell the boy where the Hedgehogs are living!”

The Mole-mother sank down on a bench gasping.

“He’s done it then! Oh, the poor Hedgehogs!” she cried wringing her hands, “They’ll be cooked in clay before they can turn round.”

“Don’t be in such a hurry, wife,” said the Mole-father. “I’ve thought of something. We won’t terrify the Hedgehogs What can they do? but we’ll collect all the Moles of the neighbourhood, and make a burrow all round the house; then if the Tinker’s son comes, he’ll fall in, and can’t get any further. What do you think of that, eh?”

“An excellent idea!” said the Mole-mother, recovering. “Send Karl round to-night, and begin the first thing to-morrow morning.”

As soon as daylight dawned in the forest, the Mole-father, accompanied by his wife and children, and all their friends; went out in a long procession, with their shovels and wheelbarrows, and commenced work round the Hedgehogs’ house.

The Councillor’s family were so busily occupied in turning out, and arranging, their rooms for the festivity which was to include a dance in the evening that they had no time to take any notice of the Moles’ digging; in fact they never even observed it. The younger Hedgehogs were roasting coffee. The house-mother sugared the cakes in the back-kitchen, while the Councillor, with a large holland apron, rubbed down the floor, and gave a final dust to the furniture.

As to Uncle Columbus he sat on a sort of island of chairs in one corner, studying a book, and looking on misanthropically at the preparations.

The Moles, therefore, were quite uninterrupted, and burrowed away vigorously, until the earth all round the house was mined to a depth of several feet; and they returned home to dinner in high spirits.

“If that boy dares to venture, may I be made into waistcoats, if he doesn’t fall in!” cried the Mole-father, wiping his face with a red cotton pocket-handkerchief for though the snow was on the ground the work was exhausting.

CHAPTER III.

The Tinker’s family sat round a fire, in one of the tumble-down wooden cottages that dotted the outskirts of the little town of Ruhla.

A small stove scarcely warmed the one room, for great cracks appeared in the walls in every direction.

“We’ve got no dinner to-day; are you going after those Hedgehogs?” said the Tinker to his son Otto. “Now you know where they are, it will be an easy thing to get hold of them.”

“Yes; we’ll have a fine supper to-night,” said Otto, stamping his feet to get them warm. “Come with me, Johann, and we’ll take the old sack over our shoulders to bring them back in.”

They started off over the crisp snow sparkling in the early sunshine, away to the forest; and straight towards the great pine tree, which sheltered the underground home of Councillor Igel.

“Come, Johann!” cried Otto, bounding along over the slippery pathway; but Johann was small and fat, and his little legs could not keep pace with Otto’s long ones. He soon fell behind, and Otto raced on by himself.

“Do be careful, Otto! There’s lots of Moles here,” cried little Johann, but Otto did not stop to listen. On he ran almost up to the pine tree; when Johann saw him suddenly jump into the air, and disappear through the snow with a loud shriek.

CHAPTER IV.

At the sound of the fall, the Councillor ran up the steps to his front door, and put out his head cautiously to see what was the matter.

“Gypsies!” said Uncle Columbus without raising his eyes from his book; and for the first time in his life he was right!

Gypsies it certainly was, as the Councillor soon determined; and he hastily scratched some snow over the door, and retired to the back kitchen with his whole family, in a terrible state of fright and excitement.

“What can the boy have fallen into?” he enquired vainly of the Hedgehog-mother, and of Uncle Columbus, in turn. “There are no houses there that I know of. We have been saved by almost a miracle!”

As they remained shuddering in a little frightened knot only Uncle Columbus maintaining his philosophical calm the air filled with the odour of burnt sugar; a faint knocking was heard against the side of the stove pipe, and in another minute the Mole-father’s red nightcap appeared through a hole, and his kind face shortly followed.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said reassuringly. “I have made a little tunnel and come through merely to explain things. I thought perhaps you might be a little alarmed.”

“Alarmed!” cried the Hedgehog-mother. “It doesn’t describe it! Terrified, and distracted, is nearer to the real thing. The sugar biscuits are all spoilt, for I forgot them in the oven; and my daughter Berta fainted on the top of the stove, and is so seriously singed, she will be unable to appear at the party. Not that we shall be able to have a party now,” continued the Hedgehog-mother, weeping, “for Uncle Columbus sat down on the plum cake in mistake for a foot-stool, and Fritz has trodden on the punch bottles. Oh, what a series of misfortunes!”

“Cheer up, my good neighbour, all will come right in time,” said the Mole-father encouragingly.

“As long as the Court Hedgehog doesn’t appear in the middle,” wailed the Councillor. “It makes me shudder in every quill to think of it. Not even a front door to receive him at!”

“Oh, as to that, let him come to us, and we will give him the best we have,” replied the Mole-father. “Our place is homely, but I daresay he will condescend to put up with it till your house is in order again. I sent Karl on to intercept him, and explain just how it is. He will take him straight to our house till you are ready for him.”

“Well, I must say you have been exceedingly thoughtful,” said the Councillor, pompously, “and I feel sincerely grateful to you; but now, will you kindly explain to me the cause of this severe disturbance?”

“I think I’ll come into the room first, if you’ll allow me,” said the Mole-father. “I am getting rather a crick in the neck from sticking my head through here.”

“Come in by all means,” said the Hedgehog-mother, graciously. “I am sorry to be obliged to receive you in this humble apartment.”

“Gypsies!” growled Uncle Columbus, who was brushing the currants and crumbs off his coat with a duster.

The Mole-father had by this time worked himself into the kitchen, dragging his spade after him; and seated on a bench by the stove, he related the whole story to the Councillor, but carefully omitted to give the name of the person who had betrayed the Hedgehogs to the Tinker’s family; and notwithstanding the requests of the whole family, he firmly refused to do so.

“All’s well that ends well,” he said cheerfully, “and as I heard the Tinker forbidding his sons ever to come near the place again, you will be quite safe in the future.”

“What has happened to that dreadful boy? Is he still in the hole, or have they got him out?” enquired the Hedgehog-mother anxiously.

“Got him out some time ago,” said the Mole-father, “and carried him off to the hospital. Broke his leg, I am sorry to say, though it’s nothing very bad. He will be all right in six weeks or so. I don’t think much of those human fractures.”

“Serves him right,” said the Councillor viciously. “And now, my good preserver, in what way can we show our gratitude to you? I shall send Fritz and Wilhelm into the town for more provisions, and we might have our Coffee Party after all. What do you say to that, my children?”

The family clapped their hands joyfully.

“I trust you and your family will grace the party?” said the Hedgehog-mother to the old Mole.

“On one condition,” he replied, “I shall be delighted to do so; and that is that you will allow me to ask the Rats from the Inn. They are touchy people, and do not readily forgive an injury.”

“What I said all along,” muttered Uncle Columbus, lifting his eyes from his dusting. “I said ‘away with pride,’ but I wasn’t listened to.”

“You will be now,” said the Councillor in a soothing and dignified manner. “Certainly; send an invitation to the Inn if you wish it. Just write, ‘To meet the Court Hedgehog,’ at the top, Wilhelm; it will make it more gratifying.”

CHAPTER V.

The Court Hedgehog, with an escort of six guards, had meanwhile arrived at the Mole’s house, and was being entertained by the Mole-mother and her children, who were all in a state of great nervousness.

The Court Hedgehog, however, appeared to be more condescending than could have been expected from his position. He accepted some refreshment, and a pipe of the Mole-father’s tobacco, and then reclining in the one easy chair, he awaited the course of events with calmness.

Here the Councillor found him some hours later, when the confusion in the Hedgehog household having been smoothed over a deputation of the father and sons started to bring the distinguished guest home in triumph.

The rooms in the Councillor’s house had all been gaily decorated with pine branches; the stove sent out a pleasant glow; and the Hedgehog-mother, in her best cap and a stiff black silk dress, stood waiting to welcome her guests in the ante-room.

By her side sat Berta, who had fortunately recovered sufficiently to be present at the entertainment; though still suffering from the effects of the shock, and with her head tied up in a silk handkerchief.

As the Court Hedgehog appeared in the doorway, three of the younger children, concealed in a bower of branches, commenced to sing an ode composed by Uncle Columbus for the occasion, beginning “Welcome to our honoured guest,” while a fiddler hired for the occasion accompanied it upon the violin, behind a red curtain.

The first visitors to arrive were the Moles; followed by the Rat family, who were filled with remorse when they received the invitation, at the thought of their treacherous behaviour.

“I declare, mother,” said the Innkeeper to his wife in a whisper, “the Mole-father is such a good creature, I shall be ashamed to quarrel with any of his friends for the future. ‘Live and let live,’ ought to be our motto.”

Uncle Columbus did not appear till late in the evening, when he entered the room dressed in an antiquated blue coat with brass buttons, finished off by a high stand-up white collar.

He staggered in, carrying a large plum cake about twice the size of the one he had unfortunately sat down upon; which he placed upon the coffee table, where the Hedgehog-mother was presiding over a large collection of various cups, mugs, and saucers.

“I have only just come back from town, where I went to procure a cake fit for this happy occasion,” he whispered. “It does my heart good to see this neighbourly gathering, and I have made up my mind to promise you something in memory of the event. I will from this day, give up for ever a habit which I know has been objectionable to you the word ‘Gypsies’ shall never again be mentioned in the family.”