THE PORCELAIN STOVE.
Adapted From Ouida.
"The story-teller must take life into himself in its wholeness, must letit live and work whole and free within him. He must give it out freeand unabbreviated, and yet STAND ABOVE THE LIFE which actuallyis."--Froebel.
In a little brown house, far, far away in Germany, there lived a fatherand his children. There were ever so many of them,--let me see,--Hilda,the dear eldest sister, and Hans, the big, strong brother; then Karl andAugust, and the baby Marta. Just enough for the fingers of one hand. Howmany is that? But it is Karl that I am going to tell you about. He wasnine years old, a rosy little fellow, with big bright eyes and a curlyhead as brown as a ripe nut. The dear mother was dead, and the fatherwas very poor, so that Karl and his brothers and sisters sometimes knewwhat it was to be hungry; but they were happy, for they loved each othervery dearly, and ate their brown bread and milk without wishing it weresomething nicer. One afternoon Karl had been sent on a long journey. Itwas winter time, and he had to run fast over the frozen fields of whitesnow. The night was coming on, and he was hurrying home with a great jugof milk, feeling cold and tired. The mountains looked high and whiteand still in the cold moonlight, and the stars seemed to say, whenthey twinkled, "Hurry, Karl! the children are hungry." At last he sawa little brown cottage, with a snow-laden roof and a shining window,through which he could see the bright firelight dancing merrily,--forHilda never closed the shutters till all the boys were safely inside thehouse. When he saw the dear home-light he ran as fast as his feet couldcarry him, burst in at the low front door, kissed Hilda, and shouted:&&
"Oh! dear, dear Hirschvogel! I am so glad to get back to you again; youare every bit as good as the summer time."
Now, Hirschvogel was not one of the family, as you might think, noreven a splendid dog, nor a pony, but it was a large, beautiful porcelainstove, so tall that it quite touched the ceiling. It stood at the end ofthe room, shining with all the hues of a peacock's tail, bright and warmand beautiful; its great golden feet were shaped like the claws of alion, and there was a golden crown on the very top of all. You neverhave seen a stove like it, for it was white where our stoves are black,and it had flowers and birds and beautiful ladies and grand gentlemenpainted all over it, and everywhere it was brilliant with gold andbright colors. It was a very old stove, for sixty years before, Karl'sgrandfather had dug it up out of some broken-down buildings where he wasworking, and, finding it strong and whole, had taken it home; and eversince then it had stood in the big room, warming the children, whotumbled like little flowers around its shining feet. The grandfatherdid not know it, but it was a wonderful stove, for it had been made by agreat potter named Hirschvogel.
A potter, you know, children, is a man who makes all sorts of things,dishes and tiles and vases, out of china and porcelain and clay. So thefamily had always called the stove Hirschvogel, after the potter, justas if it were alive.
To the children the stove was very dear indeed. In summer they laid amat of fresh moss all around it, and dressed it up with green boughs andbeautiful wild flowers. In winter, scampering home from school over theice and snow, they were always happy, knowing that they would soon becracking nuts or roasting chestnuts in the heat and light of the dearold stove. All the children loved it, but Karl even more than the rest,and he used to say to himself, "When I grow up I will make just suchthings too, and then I will set Hirschvogel up in a beautiful room thatI will build myself. That's what I will do when I'm a man."
After Karl had eaten his supper, this cold night, he lay down on thefloor by the stove, the children all around him, on the big wolf-skinrug. With some sticks of charcoal he was drawing pictures for them ofwhat he had seen all day. When the children had looked enough at onepicture, he would sweep it out with his elbow and make another--faces,and dogs' heads, and men on sleds, and old women in their furs, andpine-trees, and all sorts of animals. When they had been playing in thisway for some time, Hilda, the eldest sister, said:&&
"It is time for you all to go to bed, children. Father is very lateto-night; you must not sit up for him."
"Oh, just five minutes more, dear Hilda," they begged. "Hirschvogel isso warm; the beds are never so warm as he is."
In the midst of their chatter and laughter the door opened, and in blewthe cold wind and snow from outside. Their father had come home. Heseemed very tired, and came slowly to his chair. At last he said, "Takethe children to bed, daughter."
Karl stayed, curled up before the stove. When Hilda came back, thefather said sadly:
"Hilda, I have sold Hirschvogel! I have sold it to a traveling peddler,for I need money very much; the winter is so cold and the children areso hungry. The man will take it away to-morrow."
Hilda gave a cry. "Oh, father! the children, in the middle of winter!"and she turned as white as the snow outside.
Karl lay half blind with sleep, staring at his father. "It can't betrue, it can't be true!" he cried. "You are making fun, father." Itseemed to him that the skies must fall if Hirschvogel were taken away.
"Yes," said the father, "you will find it true enough. The peddler haspaid half the money to-night, and will pay me the other half to-morrowwhen he packs up the stove and takes it away."
"Oh, father! dear father!" cried poor little Karl, "you cannot mean whatyou say. Send our stove away? We shall all die in the dark and cold.Listen! I will go and try to get work to-morrow. I will ask them to letme cut ice or make the paths through the snow. There must be something Ican do, and I will beg the people we owe money to, to wait. They are allneighbors; they will be patient. But sell Hirschvogel! Oh, never, never,never! Give the money back to the man."
The father was so sorry for his little boy that he could not speak. Helooked sadly at him; then took the lamp that stood on the table, andleft the room.
Hilda knelt down and tried to comfort Karl, but he was too unhappy tolisten. "I shall stay here," was all he said, and he lay there all thenight long. The lamp went out; the rats came and ran across the room;the room grew colder and colder. Karl did not move, but lay with hisface down on the floor by the lovely rainbow-colored stove. When it grewlight, his sister came down with a lamp in her hand to begin her morningwork. She crept up to him, and laid her cheek on his softly, and said:&&
"Dear Karl, you must be frozen. Karl! do look up; do speak."
"Ah!" said poor Karl, "it will never be warm again."
Soon after some one knocked at the door. A strange voice called throughthe keyhole,&&
"Let me in! quick! there is no time to lose. More snow like this and theroads will all be blocked. Let me in! Do you hear? I am come to take thegreat stove."
Hilda unfastened the door. The man came in at once, and began to wrapthe stove in a great many wrappings, and carried it out into the snow,where an ox-cart stood in waiting. In another moment it was gone; goneforever!
Karl leaned against the wall, his tears falling like rain down his palecheeks.
An old neighbor came by just then, and, seeing the boy, said to him:"Child, is it true your father is selling that big painted stove?"
Karl nodded his head, and began to sob again. "I love it! I love it!" hesaid.
"Well, if I were you I would do better than cry. I would go after itwhen I grew bigger," said the neighbor, trying to cheer him up a little."Don't cry so loud; you will see your stove again some day," and the oldman went away, leaving a new idea in Karl's head.
"Go after it," the old man had said. Karl thought, "Why not go with it?"He loved it better than anything else in the world, even better thanHilda. He ran off quickly after the cart which was carrying the dearHirschvogel to the station. How he managed it he never knew very wellhimself, but it was certain that when the freight train moved away fromthe station Karl was hidden behind the stove. It was very dark, but hewasn't frightened. He was close beside Hirschvogel, but he wanted to becloser still; he meant to get inside the stove. He set to work like alittle mouse to make a hole in the straw and hay. He gnawed and nibbl
ed,and pushed and pulled, making a hole where he guessed that the doormight be. At last he found it; he slipped through it, as he had so oftendone at home for fun, and curled himself up. He drew the hay and strawtogether carefully, and fixed the ropes, so that no one could havedreamed that a little mouse had been at them. Safe inside his dearHirschvogel, he went as fast asleep as if he were in his own little bedat home. The train rumbled on in its heavy, slow way, and Karl sleptsoundly for a long time. When he awoke the darkness frightened him, buthe felt the cold sides of Hirschvogel, and said softly, "Take care ofme, dear Hirschvogel, oh, please take care of me!"
Every time the train stopped, and he heard the banging, stamping, andshouting, his heart seemed to jump up into his mouth. When the peoplecame to lift the stove out, would they find him? and if they did findhim, would they kill him? The thought, too, of Hilda, kept tuggingat his heart now and then, but he said to himself, "If I can takeHirschvogel back to her, how pleased she will be, and how she will clapher hands!" He was not at all selfish in his love for Hirschvogel; hewanted it for them at home quite as much as for himself. That was whathe kept thinking of all the way in the darkness and stillness whichlasted so long. At last the train stopped, and awoke him from a halfsleep. Karl felt the stove lifted by some men, who carried it to a cart,and then they started again on the journey, up hill and down, for whatseemed miles and miles. Where they were going Karl had no idea. Finallythe cart stopped; then it seemed as though they were carrying the stoveup some stairs. The men rested sometimes, and then moved on again,and their feet went so softly he thought they must be walking on thickcarpets. By and by the stove was set down again, happily for Karl, forhe felt as though he should scream, or do something to make known thathe was there. Then the wrappings were taken off, and he heard a voicesay, "What a beautiful, beautiful stove!"
{Illustration: "Oh let me stay please let me stay"}
Next some one turned the round handle of the brass door, and poor littleKarl's heart stood still.
"What is this?" said the man. "A live child!"
Then Karl sprang out of the stove and fell at the feet of the man whohad spoken.
"Oh, let me stay, please let me stay!" he said. "I have come all the waywith my darling Hirschvogel!"
The man answered kindly, "Poor little child! tell me how you came tohide in the stove. Do not be afraid. I am the king."
Karl was too much in earnest to be afraid; he was so glad, so glad itwas the king, for kings must be always kind, he thought.
"Oh, dear king!" he said with a trembling voice, "Hirschvogel was ours,and we have loved it all our lives, and father sold it, and when I sawthat it really did go from us I said to myself that I would go with it;and I do beg you to let me live with it, and I will go out every morningand cut wood for it and for all your other stoves, if only you will letme stay beside it. No one has ever fed it with wood but me since I grewbig enough, and it loves me; it does indeed!" And then he lifted uphis little pale face to the young king, who saw that great tears wererunning down his cheeks.
"Can't I stay with Hirschvogel?" he pleaded.
"Wait a little," said the king. "What do you want to be when you are aman? Do you want to be a wood-chopper?"
"I want to be a painter," cried Karl. "I want to be what Hirschvogelwas. I mean the potter that made my Hirschvogel."
"I understand," answered the king, and he looked down at the child, andsmiled. "Get up, my little man," he said in a kind voice; "I will letyou stay with your Hirschvogel. You shall stay here, and you shall betaught to be a painter, but you must grow up very good, and when you aretwenty-one years old, if you have done well, then I will give you backyour beautiful stove." Then he smiled again and stretched out his hand.Karl threw his two arms about the king's knees and kissed his feet, andthen all at once he was so tired and so glad and hungry and happy, thathe fainted quite away on the floor.
Then the king had a letter written to Karl's father, telling him thatKarl had drawn him some beautiful charcoal pictures, and that he likedthem so much he was going to take care of him until he was old enough topaint wonderful stoves like Hirschvogel. And he did take care of him fora long time, and when Karl grew older, he often went for a few days tohis old home, where his father still lives.
In the little brown house stands Hirschvogel, tall and splendid, withits peacock colors as beautiful as ever,--the king's present to Hilda;and Karl never goes home without going into the great church and givinghis thanks to God, who blessed his strange winter's journey in the greatporcelain stove.
The Story Hour: A Book for the Home and the Kindergarten Page 8
