A little Swiss boy

THE June sun shone on the green slope above the village of Leuk and the grass carpeting the heights far beyond with cool green filled the air with fragrance. In front of an isolated house on the road to the baths of Leuk two women engaged in earnest conversation.

"I tell you, Marianne," said the more talkative one, "if you could furnish a couple of rooms as I did, you would find it very profitable. You would soon get boarders, for many of the people coming to the baths do not wish to live there, or they should not, like the three I have. Of course you live rather far down and most people prefer the higher localities. If only you lived over there where those people do! They have the best location on the slope, and own the best meadow land too. But I do not like them," glancing at the house with an unfriendly look. "They are eaten up with pride. The man is not so bad, but you should see the woman!"

"How do they show their pride?" asked Marianne.

"Better ask how they do not show it," quickly replied Magdalen. "They show it in everything—the way they walk, the way they stand, and they dress as though every day were Sunday. The boy's black hair is always curled as though he were going to a church festival, and the little girl sticks her nose up in the air as much as to say, 'Here I come!'"

"The little girl can't help it if her nose turns up, and the boy isn't really to blame for his curly hair," Marianne replied. "Doesn't the woman speak pleasantly when you meet her?"

"Oh, yes, she does that, and I wouldn't advise her to carry her pride that far," said Magdalen in a threatening tone. "But if you think she stops a moment to speak a few words, as our other neighbors do, you are mistaken."

Marianne looked at the house and said in quick surprise, "What has happened? As long as I can remember that house looked old and gray and all the windows were grimy with dust. Now it looks like a different house, so snow white and the windows shine in the sun."

"It is the same house, and the change shows how proud they are," answered Magdalen warmly. "Farmer Lesa lived there more than fifty years with his old housekeeper, and in all those years never drove so much as a nail in the house. What was good enough for father and grandfather before him was good enough for him. When his heir came from over the Gemmi, there started such a tearing down and rebuilding and such a cleaning up one might suppose a count was moving in. Of course the wife was the cause of it all."

"But I should think it would be necessary to clean up and renew things if nothing had been done for fifty years," said Marianne. "The old house was no pretty sight, I must say! But why do you say the heir came from across the Gemmi? Don't the Lesas belong to our section of the country?"

"Yes, you can find Lesas scattered over the valley," answered Magdalen, "but one of them was married the other side of the Gemmi and remained near Berne or Freiburg. I know this only from hearsay, for it happened a hundred or more years ago. When old Lesa died, it was found his nearest relatives were those living over there. So Vinzenz Lesa moved here, bringing his wife and two children; that was a couple of years ago now. It is said they had a fine house and many cattle on the other side, and a capital cattle range. I've heard his brother runs that estate."

"Good gracious, I must be off!" exclaimed Marianne, startled at the striking of the village clock. "What became of Lesa's housekeeper?"

"She died shortly after he did. She was his cousin and had lived with him fully fifty years. She was over seventy, so she could not undertake anything new. Look, look!" continued Magdalen eagerly. "There they come across the meadow! Now you can see the Lesa woman and her dressed-up children too."

Marianne did not need much persuasion to tarry, for she was very curious to see the people they had been talking about. The three came nearer, and the children must have had a great deal to tell their mother for they were so engrossed in conversation they had neither eyes nor ears for anything else.

However, as they approached the house, the mother pleasantly greeted the two women, the lad pulled off his cap and the little girl called out in a clear voice, "Good day to you!" but continued on their way.

"They look nice," remarked Marianne with an approving glance. "I see no pride whatever, Magdalen, but neatness in children as well as in mother. Her clothes fit so well I am wondering how she does it. The boy's cap didn't conceal his handsome black curls and the little girl with her tiptilted little nose and brown braids about her head looks as merry as a little bird."

"Have you anything else to say?" asked Magdalen, plainly annoyed.

"You are right; I would do better to be on my way than to be talking so idly," replied Marianne, and moved on.

In the meanwhile Mrs. Lesa with her two children mounted the hill, the conversation continuing without interruption.

"Can you believe it, mother?" the lad said. "The child isn't much taller than Stefeli. When we passed Mrs. Troll's house last evening, she stood at the front door, and she went inside and suddenly we heard lovely music through the open window. Her brother still sat outside reading a book, so I asked what it was and he said, 'Alida is playing the piano.' Think of it, such a little girl! I would have liked to have listened, but Stefeli said we must go on home for it was getting late."

"And so it was," asserted Stefeli. "I would have been glad to stay too, but we had to get back home. Even then father was already at the table when we arrived. I heard that the boy's name is Hugo, and a crooked lady lives with them, for I heard Alida say to her brother, 'Now I must go in; otherwise the Fraulein will fetch me in herself and everything will be all crooked.'"

"No, no, Stefeli," said her mother. "She meant that everything might go crooked with her if she did not obey. Aren't the children's parents with them?"

"I'm not sure. What do you think, Vinzi?" asked Stefeli, turning toward her brother.

"What are you staring at? And why don't you answer your sister?" asked his mother.

"Listen, mother, listen!" he said softly. "Don't you hear that lovely sound?"

His mother paused. The wind wafted the sound of the evening bell from the valley below and as the echoes died away over the hills new notes rose louder and clearer. The mother's eyes rested on him in mingled anxiety and surprise, as he listened intently in an effort to catch just one more note.

"Vinzi, will you listen now to what I say?" asked Stefeli, who showed no surprise at all at her brother's manner.

"Yes," he answered as though waking out of a dream.

"Is the lady who lives with Alida and Hugo really crooked?" asked Stefeli, anxious to have that question settled.

"Yes, perhaps," said her brother a little absent-mindedly.

But Stefeli could not tolerate such uncertainty and retorted a little angrily, "If she is not crooked, she is straight, and there is no perhaps about it. We will go down to Mrs. Troll's house and see for ourselves what the lady looks like; can't we, mother?"

"No, we cannot go down to the house on that account," replied the mother. "But it is time to turn around or father will be home before we are, and that must not be."

"Perhaps they will be sitting out in front," said Stefeli, holding fast to her purpose, and now as her mother turned back, she ran ahead, to discover as quickly as possible if anyone was in front of the Troll house.

Vinzi wandered along quietly with his mother. He was not talkative now as when they had climbed the hill, but his mother was used to these changes in her boy.

"Tell me, Vinzi," she said, "why did you keep on listening after the sound of the evening bells had died away?"

"Oh, I could still hear them," he replied. "And then suddenly I heard a wonderful song coming down from the hills. The black firs Joined in with a deep bass and through it all the bell sang a wonderful song. Oh, if only I could repeat it!"

"Wasn't it a song you have heard somewhere?" his mother asked sympathetically, seeking to understand. "If you could sing a little of it to me, perhaps I might know what it was and tell you the words."

"No, no," declared Vinzi. "It is no song I ever heard and it has no words."

The mother meditated in silence; she could not understand Vinzi's meaning. She also had always delighted in music and had taught her children to sing as soon as they could talk; her greatest joy had been their daily evening song.

"Come, Vinzi," she now said, "let us sing together. What shall it be?"

"I do not know. If only I could sing the tune that still rings in my ears!"