Squib and His Friends

CHAPTER VI.

HERR ADLER

Squib was sitting on his favourite stone in the middle of the brawling stream. He had left Seppi absorbed in one of his most ambitious attempts at sketching – so much absorbed that conversation for the time being was impossible. When that sort of thing happened, Squib generally wandered down to “his island,” as he had come to call it. He liked to sit here in the midst of the tossing and foaming water, and think of all the things that came crowding into his head – that seemed to him often like the talk of the water as it leaped and rushed onward down its rough bed. To-day its voice was softer and quieter than it had been when first he heard it. The fine weather had lasted long now, and the water no longer raved and foamed, and dashed itself about like a wild thing. Where the stones impeded its course it broke into spray and ran foaming in little cascades, or leaped like a live thing into the air; but there were other places where it flowed quietly between its green banks, making a placid murmur of content; and Squib would lean over his rock and listen to the many voices, and dream all sorts of dreams for which he never could have found words.

Czar sat on the bank with his head on his paws, and blinked contentedly at his little master. Czar seldom crossed to the island, unless especially invited. He did not find enough room there to dispose his big limbs in comfort, nor were the slippery stepping-stones or the bed of the stream much to his mind. He preferred to keep a watchful eye upon his charge from the bank, and Squib had ceased to try to tempt him across.

Now all this time Squib had never seen anybody in his quiet valley except Seppi himself. He had come to regard it almost as his own little kingdom, much as he did his favourite haunts at home, where he and Czar reigned supreme. True, there was a rough, overgrown path along the margin of the stream, but he had never seen a living creature treading it, nor had the sound of a human voice ever broken in upon his solitary musings; so that it was with a feeling of great surprise that he suddenly saw Czar rear himself up on his haunches to-day, and give one of those deep bays that he uttered at home when somebody strange passed near his kennel at night. Squib himself sat up to listen, and soon heard the sound of an approaching footstep. The steps seemed to be coming towards him through the little wood opposite. Czar bayed again, and put up the rough all down his back.

“Quiet, Czar, quiet,” said Squib in his commanding way. “This isn’t our wood really. You mustn’t be angry if other people come. We’re not the masters here.”

The hound ceased baying at the word of command, and wagged the tip of his tail as much as to say that he understood and would obey; but he still stood very erect and bristling, his great eyes, with the red gleam in them, fixed intently upon the spot whence the sounds came. The little boy also watched with considerable curiosity, and thought that the traveller, whoever he was, did not seem in any hurry. He must be walking very leisurely.

The steps came nearer and nearer, the brushwood moved and rustled, and then the traveller came into view, and Squib saw him quite clearly. It was a gentleman – not a peasant – as Squib saw at a glance. He wore a long grey coat, and a soft black hat was on his head. His head was bent as though in thought, or in close observation of the things about him, and his hands were loosely clasped behind his back. He must be old, Squib decided at the first glance, for his hair and beard were quite white; but when, at the sound of Czar’s short explosive bark, he suddenly raised his head and Squib saw his face clearly, he never thought again about his being old, for it was such a kind, good face, and the look in the clear blue eyes was so friendly and gentle, that the child’s heart went out to him at once. He knew instantly that here was somebody “nice.”

“Don’t be afraid of my dog, sir,” he called out in German; “he won’t hurt you. It’s only because he’s so surprised to see anybody here. Generally we are all alone all the time. – Be quiet, Czar,” he added sternly to the dog, “I won’t have you make that noise.”

The traveller looked up at the child, perched upon his mimic throne in the midst of the stream, and a smile of amusement and friendly interest dawned slowly over his face.

“And who may you be, my little man?” he asked, speaking in English, although there was something in the accent which told Squib that it was not his native tongue. “Are you a water-sprite? And is this your faithful guardian?” and he held out his hand to Czar, who came slowly up to him, sniffed at his hand and his coat, and then lay down again with his head on his paws, quite content with his investigation.

“He likes you,” cried Squib, skipping across the stones towards the stranger, to whom he felt curiously drawn; “he doesn’t like many people. Generally he’s very suspicious for a long time, but he’s not suspicious of you. Some people think he’s a very fierce dog, and are afraid of him; but you weren’t afraid, were you?”

“I didn’t know he was fierce,” answered the stranger, smiling and patting Czar’s great head, while the dog wagged his tail benevolently. “It is not worth while to be afraid of a danger beforehand. Is your dog very clever as well as very fierce?”

“I don’t know,” answered Squib. “Czar understands me, I think, but I don’t think he’s particularly clever. Ought he to be, do you think?”

“I am not sure. Sometimes when dogs are fierce and clever both, they can be very dangerous. Shall I tell you a story I heard not very long ago about a dog that was both, and what he did?”

“Oh, if you please, sir,” answered Squib, who delighted in an animal story whenever he could hear one.

“I am not sure what kind of dog it was, but I think it was a hound of some sort. A farmer had it who lived in a lonely place. He wanted a rather fierce dog to guard his house at night and be about the place by day. He had a daughter who was fond of the creature, and it would obey her, and she looked after it, and called it in when any person came up to the farm and was afraid of the dog. It seemed fond of her, and she was fond of it.

“I don’t quite know how long it was after the dog came, but at any rate by-and-by the shepherd came to tell the farmer that every night a sheep was missing from the flock. He kept a close watch and found out that it was a dog that came every night, ran down and killed a sheep, and ate a part of the carcass. In the dark he was not able to see exactly what kind of dog it was, but he said that it looked to him like the hound the farmer had bought. This, however, seemed impossible, for the hound slept in the kitchen and was locked in there every night, and was always safe there each morning, doors and windows being all locked. But still the sheep were killed night by night, and still the shepherd declared himself more and more certain that the hound was the culprit.”

“Oh, what a wicked dog!” cried Squib, drawing a long breath; “but I think these dogs could be very fierce if once they had begun to do things like that. Please go on, sir.”

“Well, the thing was getting so serious that the farmer said something must be done, and his daughter suggested that she should sleep one night in the kitchen, where the dog stayed, and really see if it was possible that he could get in and out. So that night she made up a bed on the old settle that stood in the kitchen, and when the time came she fastened herself in and went to bed. The dog lay in front of the fire as usual, and looked as if he never meant to move all night. The girl was getting very drowsy, when she fancied she heard the dog move cautiously. There was enough light from the fire for her to be able to see what went on in the kitchen, and very soon she saw that the dog had got up and was looking at her intently. She closed her eyes almost, just peeping out through the lids, and breathed heavily as if she were asleep. The dog came stepping up to her very, very quietly, and she felt his breath on her cheek as he seemed to be actually sniffing at her to make sure she was asleep. She was almost afraid of him then, there seemed something unnatural about him; but she lay perfectly still, and he seemed to be satisfied. Then she felt him move away, and just opening her eyes a little she saw him go across to a window, rather high up in the wall, that was fastened by a little bolt. The dog got upon the window seat, unfastened the bolt with his teeth, pulled the window open by the bolt, and sprang out into the night with a curious whimpering sound like that of a wolf. The girl lay quite still, rather frightened, but resolved to see the thing through, and in about an hour or more, I don’t know how long it might be, the dog came back. He sprang through the window, pushed it to, drew the bolt again with his teeth, and then turned round to look at her, and she saw that there was blood round his mouth.”

“He had killed a sheep!” cried Squib under his breath. “Oh, what a wicked dog!”

“Yes, he had killed a sheep; but he was able to do worse than that. For the girl had been so astonished to see the creature’s cleverness in getting in and fastening up the window, that she was sitting up in bed to watch him, when he turned round and saw her. It seemed then as if he were clever enough to know himself found out, for suddenly his eyes grew fierce and red, and he made a roaring noise like that of a wild beast. The girl sprang from her bed, and had just time to reach the door before he made his spring; she knew that had she been a moment later he would have flown at her throat. She saw by his eyes, and heard in that horrid roaring noise he made, that he would have flown at her and killed her had she not been able to escape.”

“Oh, what a dreadful dog!” cried Squib, his eyes fixed upon the face of the narrator with the gaze of fascination. “What did the farmer do with him then?”

“Of course he was shot in the morning, and no sheep were killed after that. It had been this clever dog that had done it all the time, just as the shepherd believed.”

“Oh, sir, I am glad Czar is not fierce like that. Do you think that is a true story?”

“It was told me as true,” answered the stranger, “and I have heard other stories of hounds that have been known to be terribly fierce and savage when their jealousy has been aroused. And I can quite believe that if a dog once took to killing and eating sheep, the wild beast in him would get the upper hand very quickly, and he would soon be quite unsafe.”

“I suppose that’s what father feels about Czar. I’ve heard him say that if he ever did bite anybody he would have to be shot. That’s why I try so hard to make him kind and good to people. I should be so sorry if he got fierce, he’s such a nice dog to have with one in a lonely place. I think a dog is great company. But Czar doesn’t like my island, it’s too small and slippery for him. Would you like to see my island, sir? It’s such a nice place. Shall I help you across to it? The stones are rather slippery, but there are not many of them.”

Squib received a friendly smile and nod in reply, and found that the stranger was quite able to make his way over the stepping-stones without assistance. The little boy showed all the wonders and beauties of his mimic kingdom with great pride: the little delicate flowers shooting up from the crevices filled with earth, the willow tree growing out of the solid stone, as it appeared, and the beautiful green moss which clothed the sides of the boulder. The traveller was such a nice person to show things to and to tell things to! He was interested in everything, and had a hundred wonderful things to say about the island – things which Squib himself had hardly observed, and which had never struck him as they did now. Very soon Squib found that it was he who was listening and his new friend who was talking, telling him about the wonderful way in which the rocks were made, what sand was, what chalk was, how the world had come to be the wonderful and beautiful place it was. Squib listened as he listened to Lisa’s tales of fairies and goblins, and found it just as interesting. No matter whether they spoke of rocks or flowers or trees, or the rushing, tumbling water, there was always something wonderful to be learned, and presently Squib drew a long breath and said, —

“Oh, sir, I never knew before what a wonderful place my island was really!”

A very kind smile shone in the stranger’s eyes as he answered, —

“And you will find more and more wonders there every day of your life, my child; and if you go through the world with open eyes, you will find that it is full, crowded, with the most wonderful things, of which you will be able to learn only a little here and a little there. But the wonder and the beauty will fill your heart, and make you very happy in the thought that some day it will be given to us, we hope and believe, to understand much, much more of all these wonders than we can ever hope to do now.”

Squib looked up at him quickly, not quite certain of his meaning. He hardly knew whether the next words were an answer to his unspoken question.

“You know, my child, that the world is full of the wonders of God. Everything speaks of Him to those who have ears to hear. That is why I think we can never know more than just a very little of all these wonders till we know Him in His glory.”

Squib looked up into the kind face, and saw there a look which drew him like a magnet, he could not have said why. He instinctively slipped his hand within that of his new friend, and said with sudden conviction, —

“I think you must be Herr Adler.”

The stranger put his head on one side and looked at the child smilingly.

“Now what fairy or little bird has whispered that to you?”

“Neither,” answered Squib laughing; “it came into my head from something that Seppi said. He told me about Herr Adler. He called him a man of God. I didn’t know what he meant. And then he said that everybody in the valley felt better and happier when he had been there. I think I understand now. I am sure you must be Herr Adler.”

A hand was laid for a moment on Squib’s head in a touch that felt in some way like a blessing. Then Herr Adler said, —

“So you know my little friend Seppi, do you? I was on my way to find him when I fell in with another little boy friend.”

Squib looked up brightly.

“I should like to be your friend. I didn’t know little boys could count as friends with grown-up people. Seppi and I are great friends. I go and see him almost every day. He draws all sorts of things. He is very clever, and he teaches me to carve animals and things for the children at home. Will you come and see him now? He will be so pleased!”

“Yes, I should like to go if you will take me. And you shall show me your carving and Seppi’s drawings. But you must tell me your name if we are to be friends, for I am not such a clever guesser as you.”

“Oh, as for that, they just call me Squib at home.”

“Squib! Why, isn’t that a sort of firework? Now, didn’t I say you were a sprite? I suppose when you get tired of being here you just set yourself alight and go fizzling back into elf-land.”

Squib laughed delightedly.

“I wish I could! It would be jolly to go fizzling through the air and get somewhere you don’t know how! I should like that awfully! But you see I can’t. People can’t do that, can they?”

“I only heard of one man who did it and lived to tell the tale. It was at that wonderful siege of Antwerp, of which you will read when you grow up, when the citizens tried to blow up the bridge the Spaniards had thrown across the mouth of the Scheldt. In that terrific explosion there was one man lifted up off his feet, and taken right across that wide river and set down on the opposite side without being hurt, and he told his friend afterwards that all the while he believed himself a sky-rocket going off, and felt no fear, having no time or breath to think of anything as he was hurled through the air. Many people have been blown into the air, but very few have lived to say what it feels like afterwards.”

Squib listened with the concentrated attention which was one of his characteristics, and asked some questions about the bridge and the explosion, which led to a story from Herr Adler of such thrilling interest that they had almost reached Seppi’s knoll before the little boy realized it. What brought him back out of the past to the present was the sound of a joyful cry and as joyful a bark. Moor came bounding down the slope and made such a jump at Herr Adler that he was almost able to lick his face, whilst Seppi was scrambling down the greensward with a rapidity Squib had never seen in his movements before.

“Well, good creature! well, good creature!” said Herr Adler, caressing the eager and delighted dog.

“How well he knows you! How he remembers you!” cried Squib, looking on with a beaming smile. “Seppi, I have found Herr Adler! Here he is. He was coming to look for you, and I showed him the way.”

Then he stood aside and watched the meeting, noting the rapture of welcome in Seppi’s face which he could not put into words, but which brought the tears into his eyes, and thinking what a beautiful, kind face Herr Adler had as he stood talking to the little boy, holding his thin hands all the while, and asking him of his mother, his family and home, and how things had gone with them during the past winter.

Herr Adler spoke Seppi’s country patois as easily as he spoke English, and whilst he talked to Seppi, Moor kept putting up his paws and stuffing his nose into his hand to try to attract attention, and win one of those quiet caresses and kind words of which Herr Adler had many to give him.

After a little while they all moved up again towards the knoll in the pleasant shade of the pine trees, and Squib set himself to gather together Seppi’s chalks and papers, which, in his delight at seeing Herr Adler, he had cast hither and thither in unceremonious fashion.

“Do look at Seppi’s drawings, Herr Adler!” cried the little boy, as he took the sketch-book to his new friend; “doesn’t he draw beautifully? Hasn’t he got on well?” and he turned the leaves with pride, whilst Seppi sat with crimson cheeks, as though almost afraid to draw breath till he heard what the Herr thought of his work.

Herr Adler looked through the book very carefully, and said many kind things about the progress Seppi had made. But he also pointed out many faults in his work, and generally showed him how to avoid that fault another time. He also told Seppi that he did better when he took easy subjects, such as a goat, or a few ferns growing out of some stones, or a single clump of flowers, and advised him to give up for a time trying to make pictures of the great mountains and valleys, because he had not sufficient knowledge for that yet, but to content himself with progressing a step at a time, and then he would gradually find himself farther and farther along the road, and be able to succeed with larger things as his skill increased. But he said it all so kindly, and with so many illustrations and stories interspersed, that Seppi was not one whit discouraged, laughed quite merrily over some of his own obvious failures with difficult subjects, and agreed that it was far better to succeed with some study than to make a grand-looking daub which had so many glaring faults in it.

Squib thought it was very good and humble of Seppi to be willing to set aside the sort of drawing he loved so much.

“I think it was my fault that he stopped doing goats and things and did the mountains,” he remarked. “I wanted him to get on, and to be a great artist and make grand pictures. It seems tiresome always doing easy little things, and I thought his pictures were so very good.”

“I knew they weren’t,” said Seppi softly. “I liked doing them; it gave me such nice thoughts about what I should like them to be. But now when I look at them I can see they are frightful. I will go back to my goats!”

Herr Adler looked at Squib with one of his kind smiles, and said, —

“What do you think it is to be a great artist, my little firework friend?”

“Oh, why, to paint great big pictures that everybody looks at and talks about, isn’t it, sir?”

An amused look crept into Herr Adler’s eyes.

“That would be a very easy way of getting to be a great artist. I think even you or I could paint a great monster picture that everybody would stare at who saw it, because it would be so bad.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” answered Squib laughing; then he paused, looked into Herr Adler’s face, and said, “Tell me what you call a great picture, please.”

Then Herr Adler’s blue eyes seemed to look out beyond the faces of his listeners in a way Squib quickly came to know well, and he answered, —

“I think that a great picture is one into which the painter has put something of his own self – his own soul – as well as that thing which he has tried to draw; something which lifts us up above just the thing itself, and makes us feel a breath from the world of nature, or draws our hearts and thoughts upwards towards the Maker of the world. It need not be a large, grand, ambitious work to do that; but it must be the best that the painter has to offer – and it must breathe the spirit of truth.”

Seppi’s face suddenly kindled and glowed.

“Oh, I think I know what you mean!” he cried. “Oh, how I wish that you painted pictures!”

Squib was not sure that he did quite understand, but he liked to hear Seppi and Herr Adler talk, and meantime he busied himself in unpacking the luncheon and in spreading it invitingly upon green leaves on their stone table. Lisa had given him a generous supply of provisions that day, and there was enough and to spare for all. Herr Adler told them many stories as they sat and ate; and then Squib rose and said good-bye for that day, as he thought that Seppi might have things to say to Herr Adler that he would not care for anybody else to hear.

“If I had anything troubling me, I’m sure I should like to tell Herr Adler about it,” he said to himself as he fastened up his satchel. “I think perhaps Seppi would like to talk to him alone. I’ll go home now; but I hope I shall see Herr Adler again.”

“Are you going to shoot yourself off, my little friend?” said Herr Adler, as Squib came up with outstretched hand.