Fritz and Eric | Page 6

letters."
"I hope not," replied Lorischen sympathisingly. "That would be a bad
look-out, especially at Christmas time! Look, the roof of the Marien
Kirche is covered already: what must it not be in the open country!"
The old town presented a very different aspect now to what it had done
when Madame Dort had walked by Eric's side to the railway station,
for the red tiles of the houses were hidden from view by the white
covering which now covered the face of nature everywhere--the frozen
canal ways and river, with the ice-bound ships along the quays and the
tall poplar trees and willows on the banks, as well as the streets and
market-place, being thickly powdered, like a gigantic wedding-cake,
with snow-dust; while icicles hung pendent, as jewels, from the masts
of the vessels and the boughs of the trees alike, and from the open-work
galleries of the market hall and groined carvings of the archways and
outside staircases that led to the upper storeys of the ancient buildings
around. These latter glittered in every occasional ray of sunshine that
escaped every now and then from the overhanging clouds, flashing out
strange radiant shades of colouring to light up the monotonous tone of
the landscape.
Madame Dort rose from her chair and went to the window where she
remained for some little time watching the fast descending flakes that

came down in never-ceasing succession.
"I'm afraid it is going to be a very heavy fall," said she presently, after
gazing at the scene around in the street below. Then, lifting her eyes,
she noticed that the heavy mass of snow-clouds on the horizon had now
crept up to the zenith, totally obscuring the sun, and that the wind had
shifted to the north-east--a bad quarter from whence to expect a
change at that time of year.
"But, dear me, there is Fritz! I wonder what brings him home so early
to-day?" she exclaimed again after another pause. "See," she added,
"the dear child! He has got something white in his hand, and is waving
it as he comes up the stairway. It's a letter, I'm sure; and it must be
from Eric!"
Old Lorischen bounced out of her chair at this announcement and was
at the door of the room almost as soon as her mistress; but, before
either could touch the handle, it was opened from without, and Fritz
came into the apartment.
"Hurrah, mother!" he shouted out in joyful tones. "Here's news from
Eric at last! A letter in his own dear handwriting. I have not opened it
yet; but it must have been put on board some passing vessel homewards
bound, as it is marked `ship's letter,' and I've had to pay two
silbergroschen for it. Open it and read, mother dear; I'm so anxious to
hear what our boy says."
With trembling hands Madame Dort tore the envelope apart, and soon
made herself mistress of the contents of the letter. It was only a short
scrawl which the sailor lad had written off hurriedly to take advantage
of the opportunity of sending a message home by a passing ship, as his
brother had surmised--Eric not expecting to have been able to forward
any communication until the vessel reached the Cape; and, the
stranger only lying-to for a brief space of time to receive the
despatches of the Gustav Barentz, he could merely send a few hasty
lines, telling them that he was well and happy, although he missed them
all very much, and sending his "dearest love" to his "own little mother"
and "dear brother Fritz," not forgetting "darling, cross old Lorischen,"

and the "cream- stealing Mouser."
"Just hear that, the little fond rascal!" exclaimed the worthy old nurse,
when Madame Dort read out this postscript. "To think of his calling me
cross, and accusing Mouser of stealing; it is just like his impudence,
the rogue! I only wish he were here now, and I would soon tell him a
piece of my mind."
Eric added that they had had a rough passage down the North Sea, his
vessel having to put into Plymouth, in the English Channel, for repairs;
and that, as she was a bad sailer, they expected to be much longer on
the voyage than had been anticipated. He said, too, that if the wind was
fair, the captain did not intend to stop at the Cape, unless compelled to
call in for provisions and water, but to push on to Batavia so as not to
be late for the season's produce. He had overheard him telling the mate
this, and now informed those at home of the fact that they might not be
disappointed at not receiving another letter from him before he reached
the East Indies, which would be a most unlikely