"Poor child! poor child! he shall be welcome. A sorry Christmas it is
for him."
"Not when he fell into your hands, good mother," said Franz, ladling out
the soup.
"No indeed--no indeed," said one and all.
But the mother's words seemed to be the truth, for though the child
revived, and was able to take nourishment, a fever set in, from which he
did not rally. Day by day he lay in the little curtained recess where he
could see them all with his great wondering eyes, watching them carve
their beautiful toys--for this was their winter work--but saying
nothing, for he knew not their language, and only one word had he
uttered which they could understand.
This word was simply "Edelweiss." "Edelweiss," he muttered, when the
fever was at its height, and "Edelweiss" he softly whispered when
dreaming.
The children called him "Little Edelweiss," and fed his fox, which
lapped their hands and brought a sweet smile to the face of the little
sufferer.
Christmas-eve would be on the morrow, and all were busy dressing the
room with boughs of evergreen. The tree stood in the corner, waiting
for its glittering fruit. Outside the sheaf of grain had been tied to a
pole for the snow-birds. All had some trifling gifts prepared for a
joyful keeping of the day, Franz only seemed to be uneasy. He would
glance at the pale face of his little foundling, and then he would look
out to see if the weather was fine, and at last he reached up for his
thickest wrap and staff, and away he went up the mountain-side.
Pages:
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176