A tent of grace. By Adelina Cohnfeldt Lust

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CHAPTER I “Sir, have you any kid or goat skins to sell?”

It was early November, but already wintry and cold along the beautiful Rhine. Pastor Feldern, digging up some belated geraniums in the trim parsonage garden, half turned round to look at the speaker through his silver-rimmed spectacles. It was a young girl, probably about thirteen years of age, with the angularity of hobbledehoyhood. Her faded blue print gown, evidently outgrown long ago, reached a little below her knees. She wore the peasant’s wooden shoes, and an old gray shawl was pinned tightly under her chin. <A long crook stick with several small pelts dangling from it swung over her right shoulder.

“Tf thou wilt go round to the kitchen door,” said the pastor, “ Babbett will tell thee.”

She passed him with a curtsy, swinging her petticoats as she went. Yes, Babbett had some skins. She had saved them for some time in the old smoke-house. Now she went to bring them out for the small merchant’s inspection.

“Hm,” said the girl, pouting her lips disdainfully, as she turned over the skins the old peasant woman spread out on the graveled walk. But there was a covetous gleam in the downcast eyes. She slid the stick from her shoulders, the better to inspect her wares.

‘““H’m, indeed,” echoed Babbett wrathfully ; “look at them, wilt thou, before thou mak’st Ly nie

“Tt does not need a magnifying glass to see they are worth next to nothing. How much wilt thou take for them?”

“Tf they are worth nothing, I won’t cheat thee into buying them. Come, hand them back.”

“Yes, take them and put them in brine, and thyself with them. Mayst thou wait for a purchaser as long as thou hast waited for a sweetheart.”

‘Sweethearts thou mayst get in plenty, thou Jewish jade. But none but the executioner will ever marry thee.”

‘““When he cuts off thy head for a foul-mouthed old witch, I’l1 dance at thy funeral in a pair of prand-new clogs.”

“Wilt thou go, or shall I give thee the other end of the broom?”’ Rien |

“Well, for charity’s sake and to relieve thee of them, — here ’s two kreutzer apiece.”

“Two what? Holy Father! Be off, I tell thee; thou and thy Jewish impudence. Dost think I never sold skins before ?”’

“Honestly now, are they worth more? Look at this — and that — and there.”

“This, and that, and there? Thou hast wet the palms of thy hands and crumpled them up like parchment. They are as good and fine and perfect skins as ever were sold between the Neckar and the Rhine.”’

“‘ Three kreutzer apiece, and this one thrown jn. Convince thyself if it is not damaged.”

The old woman spluttered with wrath. ‘Three pig’s feet for a charm and their blood to sprinkle in thy synagogue. Thou shalt not have them, thou skinflint Jewess.”

“Then keep them for a shroud, and mayst thou need it quickly,” retorted the girl, as she shouldered her stick and made a great show to be off. But the skins were in the tail of her eye, and she carelessly jingled the kreutzers in her pocket. The sound decided Babbett. She was as anxious to sell as the other was to buy, and equally as anxious to get the best of the bargain. “Six kreutzer apiece and thou mayst have them,” she said.

‘Now if it were the price of thy friendship, I’d think it cheap and gladly give it thee. But this is business. Therefore, two kreutzer apiece. Here is the money. Take it, and do so quickly, before I repent of the bargain.”

“Thou child of Sodom and Gomorrah! thou saidst three kreutzer just now.”

“Did I? Oh, very well. Here are thy three kreutzer, and this skin thou must throw in.”

“Throw thyself into the Rhine! Now thou shalt not have them at all. I’ll sooner make a present of them to Schmul, who’ll soon be passing this way.”

yy

“Alas, poor Schmul!”’ said the girl, in a tone of deep commiseration; “thou hast not heard, then, what has happened to him?”

Babbett dropped the skins, which she had gathered up in great anger. She was instantly devoured by curiosity.

“ What has happened to him, then? Do open thy mouth and speak.”

“ He has broken his leg.”

Babbett’s jaws parted in a wide sie as she squatted down on her skins.

‘“‘Broken!— the poor child! and he has neither father nor mother.” |

“Well, for that matter, neither have I. Gently, Babbett; let me draw forth the pelts.”

““When did it happen? How did he come to do it? Yes, yes, here they are.”

‘“‘And none the better for thy pressing. Listen thou, can I have them?”

“For three kreutzer? No. But go on; tell me how it all came about.”

“He was trying to leap a fence, you understand, — this skin surely is somewhat damaged.”

“Nothing is damaged but thy imagination. Go on, then, do. How long wilt thou keep me in suspense ?”’

“Fle was leaping a fence, when his boot caught on a big rusty nail, — three kreutzer and this one thrown in. Take it, or leave it. My time has been wasted too long already.”

“Four kreutzer and nothing thrown in! What! Thou wilt rob me like this, thou arch jade? Here, then, take them. Now wilt thou at last tell me about Schmul?”

“Thanks, nicely, thou dear Babbett. One, two, three, four, five, six,’”»— she slung the pelts on her stick as she counted; “here, take thy ten kreutzer; my blessing shall surely bring thee a rich percentage. Five skins at two kreutzer apiece and one thrown in. Auf Wiedersehen.”

“Come back, this instant! Three kreutzer apiece, thou saidst, —three kreutzer. Thou forsworn Jewess, dost take me for a fool? And Schmul, — what of him, poor boy?”

“Schmul?” asked the girl, with an indescribably droll air of astonishment, as she shouldered her stick and carefully edged further away from the old woman; “what of him?”’

“His leg, his leg!’ bawled Babbett, goaded beyond endurance in her baffled curiosity.

“His one sound leg and his two sound legs send you their best compliments. When last seen—and that was early this morning — they were taking him across the Nassau frontier as fast as they could travel. You will no doubt see him soon. Remember me most prettily to him, and tell him how nicely I forestalled him.”

She cleverly dodged the broom the enraged Babbett sent flying after her. The pastor, who had been an amused and edified listener, slightly inclined his head as she passed him with another respectful curtsy. Then she blithely swung herself out of the gate into the village street.

Chapter II

ScHOOL was just out. Like a pack of hounds at full ery the village youth came trooping down the High Street. As they saw the girl with the crook stick dangling from her shoulder, they gave a shout of recognition and immediately surrounded her.

“See there, if this isn’t Jette. How do, Skinnymelink ?”’

“Skingirl, where hast been all this time?”

‘In her own skin, of course.”

“Tet her alone, thou tow-headed Hans. She is a wild goat and butts like fury.”

““Holy Moses, Jewess! Thou hast made a good trade somewhere. ‘Thy stick can hardly hold all the pelts.”

** Look, thou Skinnymelink, hast any marbles?”

“Hast thou?’ she asked suspiciously.

~“T asked if thou hadst any,” persisted Hans, the tow-headed. :

‘“‘First show me thine,” she retorted.

“Well, here are mine.” “And mine.” “And mine.”

She looked at the well-filled bag each boy dangled in her face. Deep into her own pocket she dived. Her hand came out empty as she said, “That thieving Schmul won all mine. But if each of you will lend me one, I’ll give it back if I come out winners.”

The yokels scratched their heads under their caps and looked foolishly at each other. Said Hans sagely, “And if thou dost not come out winners?”

**But she will,” said his sister Gretel, who had a strong cast in her eye; “she “ll cheat thee out of every one.”’

“Perhaps I would,” said Jette, “if I looked like thee, both ways at once.”

The boys laughed derisively. Gretel, who was tall and strong, made a furious grab at her. But Jette, during her one year of vagabond life, had graduated in all the tricks of the most accomplished gamin, and could writhe and twist 0 turn like the cleverest of them.

“Go home,” she said, with a mocking sweep of her hand; “go straighten thy conscience with thy vision before thou wouldst set others’ straight. And now stand aside, if thou canst. We have no further use for thee.”

Gretel glowered angrily upon her, but she remained, jealously watchful of her brother’s interest. A ring was quickly formed. The boys put their books upon the ground. But Jette retained firm hold of her stick. It dangled from her shoulder with its suspended load, as she knelt down and knocked out the marbles one after the other, with an accuracy of aim which first astonished, then chagrined the boys. As with each dexterous shot their stock diminished, they set up a protesting howl. There were perhaps a dozen of them, ranging all the way from seven to fifteen. Big, brawny fellows some of them were, who did a man’s work in the harvest field, and had all the muscle and traditional feeding capacity of the model ploughboy; broad in the girth and long of limb, as stupid, thick-headed, and numskulled as rustics remote from travel and all intercourse with the outside world possibly could be. Fed upon superstition, local influence, and family traditions, they were ready, like their elders, to let prejudice run riot, at any and every provocation.

“Come, Jewess, thou ’rt not playing fair,” said a big hulking fellow, as again her accurate shot sent the ring of marbles flying in all directions.

She jumped to her feet, flushed and disheveled, the pelts dangling from the stick, bobbing up and down in her excitement.

‘““What!” she screamed, “thou darest say that? Have n’t I knocked out each game fair and square? Say, thou, haven’t I, now?” She thumped each boy on the chest, as she went the rounds asking this question.

“T’ve lost all my marbles,” whined a little flaxen-haired fellow, as he prodded his knuckles in his eyes.

“So have i1,7).0/S And I". “Andel hea aineenee are all gone, too,’’ chorused the rest.

“T told you so,” said Gretel, who now saw a way of getting her innings. “I said she’d cheat you all out of every-one.”

She advanced upon Jette, who, flushed and elated, was slipping her winnings into a stout leather bag already well filled.

“‘Give him back his marbles,’”’ she commanded, pointing to the little whiner. For answer the girl drew the mouth of the bag well together and tightly wound round the string several times. Then with a thud she dropped it into her pocket.

‘*He can win them back next time I come,” she said, balancing her stick. They were on the outskirts of the village. On one side stretched the dusty chaussée, down which the post-chaise occasionally rattled on its way to Cologne, or when guests visited the village. On the other stretched a beautiful woods, through which a footpath conducted to the pastor’s orchard and vegetable garden. A stream clear as crystal, one of the numerous tributaries of the Rhine, wound in and out among the trees lifting their bare branches to the sky. In the spring the whole village turned out to wash their linen in this pure and limpid water, and the children came to bathe in the hot days of summer. The girl turned towards the chaussée, but Gretel struck her a sounding blow in the face.

“Thou dost not stir from this spot until thou givest him back his marbles,” she said.

The Jewess spat in her face. “Thou cat! not one shall he have, not one.”

Then they all fell upon her. She kicked and struggled and scratched, and every muscle in her body worked in vigorous resistance. She made a little run backward, doubled herself up, ducked down, and with a sudden lurch butted the biggest bully full in the stomach, so that he fell sprawling upon the ground, howling with pain. She was as fleet as a roe, and had she been willing to abandon the miserable crook stick, she might have escaped. But before she had fairly time to turn around, they had seized hold of it. They caught her by her long black braids and swung her round till she could hear each individual hair crack. The palms of her hands were gashed before the stick was torn from her despairing clutch. They brought it down upon her shoulders and limbs till it clung there, slippery with blood. The girl she had spat at clawed her face till the eyes shone out of a raw and shapeless mass. They trampled upon, they kicked her, they scattered her clothing in a thou-— sand shreds to the wind. ‘They seized upon the skins, and tearing them apart with their teeth, sent them flying after her clothing. One last wail she gave when she saw this. Maybe the mother’s spirit hovering near her forsaken child caught it and wafted it to the living; for while the tiger crew bent over her with the blood instinct rampant beyond control, a lusty thud came with a vigorous thwack upon their backs and limbs. A howl, a startled ery, “His reverence, the Herr Pastor,” a hurried shambling of feet, and the trees with their gaunt bare branches crackled in the wind above the pastor, where he knelt beside the bleeding form of the maltreated child.

Chapter III

THe Frau Pastorin sat in the south window stitching. Pure white bands they were, of finest linen. Every thread in that precious linen had passed through the Frau Pastorin’s own soft, dimpled hands. The flax was grown in her own fields. She had carded and spun it in the long winter evenings. Then she had it woven into the finest of weaves by the village loom. Babbett, the old peasant servant, who had accompanied her to the parsonage from her father’s rich homestead in far-away Pomerania, washed it in the clear, limpid woodland stream, and laid it to bleach in the parsonage orchard, where the perfume of the white clover refreshed the weary senses of the traveler, as the mail coach rattled by. Whiter or finer stitched bands than adorned the shirts of the Herr Pastor and the Herr and Frau Pastorin’s son, Herr Friedrich Feldern, familiarly called Fritz, now cramming for his doctor’s examination at the University of Bonn, were not to be found in the whole Rhine province. The Frau Pastorin was justly proud of her stock of fine white linen. Some of it came from her great-grandmother, and but for its pious associations, was as good for use as when that now peacefully reposing dame had laid it out to bleach, her own self. The Frau Pastorin’s linen closet was catalogued in strict regard to social etiquette. On the topmost shelves, as befitted their quality, the embroidered, rosemary-perfumed company linen, distinguished by different colored satin ribbon, tied in neat rosettes, reposed in aristocratic exclusiveness. Then came the middling class, which was only for occasional use, distinguished by less elaborate ribbon. Finally came the every-day wear-and-tear stock, which was not ornamented at all, except for the exquisite neatness of grouping, and marked in the red linen sampler stitch, dear to the hearts of our grandmothers. Babbett’s kitchen and glass towels piled up the lowest shelves, each article tabbed with a neat loop of linen tape, and marked the same as the rest. This closet, with its exquisite array of rosemary-scented linen, was the Frau Pastorin’s jewel casket, the heirloom which was to descend to Fritz, as in part it had descended to her. It was the monument which every good German housewife of those times — fifty odd years ago—reared to her memory, by which her habits and housewifely qualities were judged.

As the Frau Pastorin sat complacently stitching in the resplendent afterglow of the departing sun, she was a tonic for the weary soul to look upon. Time certainly had been a-nodding since she was young. Her cheeks were as rounded, as rosy, and as smooth as a baby’s. ‘The dimple in her chin came and went with the calm placidity of her thoughts. A white mull cap, adorned with broad lilae satin ribbons, sat lightly upon her thick ash-blond hair, parted Madonna fashion in the middle, from which it rippled behind her rosy ears into broad plaits, wound around the back of her head. <A young girl may be beautiful by virtue of her grace, her youth, her vitality. The

_. Frau Pastorin’s beauty was the matronly queenliness of middle age, with the frolics of young girlhood still lurking in her dimples; the gayety of a heart which had never come into contact with anything unclean, and a purity of habit which shone on her brow and beamed from her wellopened gray eyes. The impression she made was that of immaculate purity. If ever in God’s world there lived a being who practiced “cleanliness next to godliness,” in the very spirit of the letter, it was the Frau Pastorin, not alone in her own personal habits, but in all her surroundings. Everything in the parsonage, from attic to cellar, smelled sweet and shone resplendent with purity ; and the Frau Pastorin’s mind was as clean as her body. Filth, whether mental or physical, was abhorrent to her. She held that all vice had its stronghold in dirt. There would be no need of doctors or hospitals, if only every one would be clean. ‘“ We cannot all be princes in station or wealth,” she was wont to say, “but every one may be a prince in cleanliness and behavior.”” When a beggar came to her door, she first gave him a piece of soap and a towel. When he had made lavish use of both at the yard pump, he got his fill of bread and meat and wine. If the women stood gossiping at their doors and the Frau Pastorin was spied coming down the street, they would make a hasty dash for their young, and immediately their howls of protest made music in the distance, as their faces were scrubbed and they were quickly hustled into clean pinafores. For the prevention of every ill flesh is heir to, the Frau Pastorin had but one universal remedy, — it was cleanliness.

The pleasing twilight was fast fading into dusk. The Frau Pastorin, mindful of her eyesight, folded up her work and put it into her large wicker work-basket. The broad window-sill was filled with myrtle, rosemary, and jasmine, and monthly roses. Since Fritz was grown up, and no longer in need of her motherly care, these flowers were the Frau Pastorin’s children. Strong, sturdy, and healthy they were, perfuming the whole house with their fragrant blossoms. For miles around, the myrtle in the Frau Pastorin’s window furnished the wedding crowns for the peasant maidens. It was considered to bring luck to the wearer. Everything that came from the parsonage savored of a benediction.

The Frau Pastorin plucked a leaf here and a leaf there, then looked out of the window into the gathering darkness. The Herr Pastor had slipped out, as was his wont, after drinking his afternoon coffee and eating his cake. He had lounged forth in his down-at-heel slippers and his “Schlafrock,” with his shabby black velvet skull-cap, which he always wore in the house in cold weather, pushed back on his scant gray hairs. It was growing cold. He should have been home long ago in his warm, comfortable Stube, where a roaring fire leaped in the large Herrenhuter stove, and the fine silver sand on the snow-white floor glistened like flecks of stray moonbeams. The Herr Pastor’s chess-table, with the red and black chessmen, stood just as he had left it in front of the cushioned settle in the warm ingle-nook. Surely it was more inviting within than without. The Frau Pastorin wondered what could keep him.

As she continued to peer into the darkness, she saw him staggering along, bearing a heavy burden in his arms. Another rescued sheep, she thought, with commiseration. They often tumbled down from the hill where they were browsing into the stream below. Many a four-footed patient had the Herr Pastor nursed back to health and restored to its owner, a rich cattle-dealer in the village, who received back his property as a matter of course. This sheep must be terribly heavy, she thought. The Herr Pastor could hardly stagger along. She hastily called to Babbett, and flinging her shawl across her shoulders, went to meet him. It was time. Unable to proceed further, panting, he had braced himself against a stout tree, for the houses were sparingly scattered. No one had seen him. Lights were lit and curtains drawn long ago. The villagers were at their Abendbrod-supper. Babbett came clattering behind her mistress in her wooden shoes.

“Help thy master,” said the Frau Pastorin, “quickly. He has rescued another sheep, and the weight is more than he can bear.”

Babbett gave an amazed cry. “’Tis a twolegged one this time,” she said; “the same as you and I, mistress.”

The Herr Pastor held Jette in his arms. Alone and unassisted he had carried her from the woods. Her hair, matted with blood, had coiled itself like a cobra around his throat. Great streaks of blood smeared his face and hands. He motioned Babbett to take hold of the child’s limbs. He was too exhausted to speak. The Frau Pastorin, greatly troubled, led the way to the back entrance into the kitchen. They laid the unconscious child on the wooden settle. The light from the lamp fell upon her battered face, closed eyes, and bruised limbs.

“Holy Jesus,” cried Babbett, “’tis Jette, the skin girl.” ;

The Frau Pastorin sickened with horror. “Is —is she dead?” she faltered.

“She may be saved, I think, if something is done for her, and quickly,” said the Herr Pastor; “the village youth fell upon and maltreated her. As you see her now, I found her in the woods. They were beating her to death. I could not leave her there alone, and there was no one to help me. So I carried her home the best way I could.” |

While he spoke, the Frau Pastorin had been busy tearing up strips of fine old linen. Babbett placed a soft sponge, some towels, and a pot of ointment on the kitchen table, taking care first to spread papers over its immaculate surface. Then she lugged in a big tub. She knew as well as if her mistress had spoken what would be the first preliminary. The huge copper boiler stood on the stove, filled to the brim with hot water. It was always there, summer and winter, ready for use at a moment’s notice.

The Frau Pastorin took down a large pair of shears. ‘‘Papachen,” she said cheerfully, “do thou go and change thy linen and clothing. Thou art sadly in need of it, I assure thee. Go to the cupboard and refresh thyself. Zhis sheep thou mayst leave to me.”

The Herr Pastor was tall and gaunt, with something of a stoop in his angular shoulders. He bent down to kiss his wife on the forehead. Usually he kissed her on the lips. But in his present state he knew she would not have liked it. He went, and left the two women to their task.

Chapter IV

JETTE got over her hurts in gallant style. The Frau Pastorin’s skillful treatment and her own hardy constitution battled successfully against what at first seemed to be a very hopeless case indeed. ‘True, it would take some time before the swollen and disfigured features would resume their natural shape, or the discolored skin its usual fairness. And worst of all, the shock to her nervous system remained. The horrors she had passed through became a perpetual nightmare. Towards dawn she would start up, screaming in terror. The whole scene of murderous attack was acted over again. She fancied they had her by the throat, and were choking her to death. It was a very trying time indeed to the household at the parsonage. The healthy glow in the Frau Pastorin’s cheek paled to sallowness, and the stoop in the Herr Pastor’s shoulders intensified. Time and the security of a permanent home would, they knew, remedy this evil. The Herr Pastor, with his head sunk on his breast, moved his chessmen ‘mechanically. He was thinking long and deeply. The child was convalescing rapidly; but she refused to get up. She clung, screaming, to the bedclothes, imploring them not to thrust her out to be torn to pieces. The Herr Pastor pushed the chessboard from him. The red and black factions which had just stood pitted against each other in fiercest hostility tumbled to the sanded floor. The Herr Pastor had made up his mind.

He went upstairs to the whitewashed attic room. A small stove stood in the middle of the snow-white boards, diffusing a grateful warmth. Upon the feather bed lay Jette. The bandages had been removed from the raw surface of her face. The new skin was forming nicely in patches here and there. At one time it was feared she would be scarred for life, the sharp nails had so cruelly lacerated the flesh. This had been happily averted by the Frau Pastorin’s healing salves and ointments. She predicted confidently that, given a reasonable time for the swelling and discoloration to subside, no disfigurement would mar the child’s natural appearance. If the Almighty so willed, she might thrive in perfect health and beauty.

Jette reclined on her pillow, gently stroking Minka, the great parsonage cat, who lay on a rush-bottomed chair near the bed. Minka, who followed the Frau Pastorin all over the house like a dog, had gravely shared her duties during the girl’s illness. She was left in charge when her mistress was called downstairs, or during the intervals the patient slept. As soon as she stirred, Minka tiptoed to the partially open door and meowed lustily till some one came running up. She would sit at the foot of the bed, gravely eyeing the patient, and when she moaned, sympathetically lick her feet. Minka seemed to have a proprietary right in the girl, and except for her meals, spent all her spare time in the sick-room. When the Herr Pastor entered, she jumped down, rubbed herself against his legs, and politely surrendered her seat to him. He sat down, looking at the child with his near-sighted brown eyes. His clear-cut Roman features were softened by the frame of finest gray hair, which, brushed straight from his high, broad forehead, fell behind his ears and touched his shoulders.

“Thou art better,” he said, in his strong, resonant voice.

‘““Not well enough to get up,” she said distrustfully.

“Thou wilt not get strong as long as thou liest there,” he said. “See how beautifully the sun shines. And the ponds are covered with ice. Canst thou skate?”

She nodded. “I ‘don’t want to go out,” she said.

“Ts there no one belonging to thee who will be uneasy at thy absence?” he asked.

She shook her head. ‘‘No one. My father is dead. My stepfather turned me out of doors to get my own living. He took everything belonging to my mother and went no one knows where. Ali but this,” she added, drawing a small bag, suspended round her neck by a ribbon, from underneath her night-jacket; “my mother gave it to me secretly on her death-bed, charging me never to part with it.”

The Herr Pastor opened the small chamois bag and drew forth a seal emblazoned with a coat of arms. There was an inscription in Latin, which he could not very well decipher.

“Whose was this?” he asked.

““My father’s. It came to him from his father, who got it from my great-grandfather, and so on, from one generation to the other, my mother said. My father’s people were Spanish, hundreds of years ago. They were rich and powerful in their own country. Then avery wicked king and queen, who wanted them to change their religion, took all their land and riches from them and drove them from the country.”

“Where did thy father live? ”

She jerked her thumb over her shoulders. “Over yonder in Nassau. He was rabbi there. He died when I was eight years old. Then my mother married my stepfather. He was very different from my father. He was a very common man, a Pollack,” she said disdainfully.

“Thou shouldst not scorn a man because of his country,” said the pastor, who knew nothing of the prejudice the Jews have against those of their own faith born on the frontier between Germany and Poland, who are generally stigmatized by the name of “ Pollack;” “the disdain of the conqueror always clings to an oppressed race. Since when is it thy mother died?”

“A year ago. I was just twelve, and getting on famously at school. My mother was hardly buried when my stepfather told me to go and take service somewhere, as I was big and strong enough to earn my own living. Then he sold the house, took everything he could lay his hands upon, and went away.” |

“What didst thou do?”

“There was a poor boy my mother had befriended, Schmul Itzig by name. He supported himself buying and selling small pelts. He took me into partnership. At first I was very timid and afraid. My mother had always kept me at home, and said I should go away to boardingschool, so that by the time I was grown up, I could be a governess. Schmul said it was better tramping the highway one’s own master than working one’s self crooked in some big family for one’s board, and getting ill-treated besides. So I soon got used to it. Then I found out that Schmul cheated me, and having saved a little money, set up on my own account.”