In the Yule-Log Glow, Book II | Page 2

and a dear, dimpled little face full of love and mischief. Now, then, fill
up the outline with the details of the nicest and prettiest girl you know,
and you will have a slight idea of her. On second thoughts, I don't
believe you will, for your portrait wouldn't be half good enough;
however, it will be near enough for you.
Well, the baron's daughter, being all your fancy painted her and a trifle
more, was naturally much distressed at the goings-on of her unamiable
parent, and tried her best to make amends for her father's harshness.
She generally managed that a good many pounds of the sausage should
find their way back to the owners of the original pig; and when the
baron tried to squeeze the hand of the pretty parlor-maid, which he
occasionally did after dinner, Bertha had only to say, in a tone of mild
remonstrance, "Pa!" and he dropped the hand instantly and stared very
hard the other way.
Bad as this disreputable old baron was, he had a respect for the
goodness and purity of his child. Like the lion tamed by the charm of
Una's innocence, the rough old rascal seemed to lose in her presence
half his rudeness, and, though he used awful language to her sometimes
(I dare say even Una's lion roared occasionally), he was more tractable
with her than with any other living being. Her presence operated as a
moral restraint upon him, which, possibly, was the reason that he never
stayed down-stairs after dinner, but always retired to a favorite turret,
which, I regret to say, he had got so in the way of doing every
afternoon that I believe he would have felt unwell without it.
The hour of the baron's afternoon symposium was the time selected by
Bertha for her errands of charity. Once he was fairly settled down to his
second bottle, off went Bertha, with her maid beside her carrying a
basket, to bestow a meal on some of the poor tenants, among whom she
was always received with blessings.

At first these excursions had been undertaken principally from
charitable motives, and Bertha thought herself plentifully repaid in the
love and thanks of her grateful pensioners.
Of late, however, another cause had led her to take even stronger
interest in her walks, and occasionally to come in with brighter eyes
and a rosier cheek than the gratitude of the poor tenants had been wont
to produce.
The fact is, some months before the time of our story, Bertha had
noticed in her walks a young artist, who seemed to be fated to be
invariably sketching points of interest in the road she had to take. There
was one particular tree, exactly in the path which led from the
castle-gate, which he had sketched from at least four points of view,
and Bertha began to wonder what there could be so very particular
about it.
At last, just as Carl von Sempach had begun to consider where on earth
he could sketch the tree from next, and to ponder seriously upon the
feasibility of climbing up into it and taking it from that point of view, a
trifling accident occurred which gave him the opportunity of making
Bertha's acquaintance,--which, I don't mind stating confidentially, was
the very thing he had been waiting for.
It so chanced that, on one particular afternoon, the maid, either through
awkwardness, or possibly through looking more at the handsome
painter than the ground she was walking on, stumbled and fell.
Of course, the basket fell, too, and equally of course, Carl, as a
gentleman, could not do less than offer his assistance in picking up the
damsel and the dinner.
The acquaintance thus commenced was not suffered to drop; and
handsome Carl and our good little Bertha were fairly over head and
ears in love, and had begun to have serious thoughts of a cottage in a
wood, et cætera, when their felicity was disturbed by their being
accidentally met, in one of their walks, by the baron.

Of course the baron, being himself so thorough an aristocrat, had higher
views for his daughter than marrying her to a "beggarly artist," and
accordingly he stamped, and swore, and threatened Carl with summary
punishment with all sorts of weapons, from heavy boots to
blunderbusses, if ever he ventured near the premises again.
This was unpleasant; but I fear it did not quite put a stop to the young
people's interviews, though it made them less frequent and more secret
than before.
Now, I am quite aware this was not at all proper, and that no properly
regulated young lady would ever have had meetings with a young man
her papa didn't approve of.
But then it is just possible Bertha might not have