The Home in the Valley | Page 2

fields and meadows, interspersed with barren hillocks and thrifty potato
patches. In the fields could be heard the tinkling of the cow-bells, the
bleating of lambs, and the barking of a dog as he gathered together his
little flock. Carlo was a fortunate dog, for the farm was so small that he
could keep his entire charge within sight at all times.
Near the centre of the valley stood a large tree, the widely spread
branches of which shaded a spring, which gushed forth from beneath a
huge moss-covered stone. This was the favorite place of resort of a
beautiful maiden, who might be seen almost every summer evening
reclining upon the moss that bordered the verge of the spring.
"There stands our heroine, as lovely as the valley, her home, and as
virtuous and good as her mother, who has devoted a lifetime to the
education of her daughter."
But many years before the date of our story, Nanna had lost the
protection of her beloved mother; yet the loss had been partially
supplied by her sister-in-law, who occupied the places of a kind mother,
a gentle sister, and a faithful friend.
Nanna was now in her sixteenth year; but to all appearances she was
much younger. Unlike others of her years, her cheeks did not display
the bloom of maidenhood, and her countenance lacked the vivacity
natural to her age. Her features wore an expression of melancholy,
which was perfectly in keeping with the pallor of her cheeks, the pearly
whiteness of which vied in brilliancy with the hue of a lily.

Nanna was the child of poverty, and belonged to that class of beings,
who, situated between riches and nobility on the one hand, and poverty
on the other, are considered as upstarts by the wealthy as well as the
poor.
Nanna's father, when young, was placed in an entirely different position
of life than that in which we now find him. An illegitimate son, he
entered the world with a borrowed title, but with fair prospects for the
future; for his father, a man of consequence and wealth, intended to
marry his mother, and thus the son would bear no longer the stigma of
his father's crime. But death, who in this case had been forgotten,
suddenly cut the thread of his father's life, and the mother and son were
driven forth from the house of their protector, deprived of honor,
wealth, and station.
This is an old, very old and thread-bare story, and not more novel is
that which generally follows. First comes melancholy, then great
exertions on the part of the injured party; next dashed hope, and finally
gloomy resignation.
The mother died, the son lived to pass through the life we have above
described, but which was ended, however, by matrimony. He married
after he had passed his fortieth year.
Before his marriage, Carl Lonner passed through the various gradations
in society, from the nobleman to the simple gentleman. He supported
himself by revenues he derived from a small business, and by drawing
up legal papers for the surrounding peasantry and fishermen. For a wife
he had chosen the daughter of a half pay sergeant, and in this case his
fortunate star was in the ascendant, for she not only brought him a
loving heart, but also the little farm on which he resided at the date of
our story.
We will now, however, turn our attentions to Nanna, who is sitting
beneath the tree near the spring, in which she has been bathing her feet.
* * * * *

As Nanna glanced into the clear water of the spring, she shuddered
convulsively, although the air was warm, for it was a June evening, but
it was a shudder from within that shook her slight form. Nanna had
lately perceived that her dear sister-in-law, Magde, when she thought
herself unseen, had shed tears, and the poor girl's heart beat with a
sensation of undefined fear, for when Magde weeps, thought she, there
must have been a great cause.
"Why is the world so formed as it is? Some flowers are so modest and
little that they would be trodden under foot unless great care is taken,
while others elevate their great and gaudy heads above the grass. The
latter are the rich, while the little down-trodden blossoms are the poor.
And so it is with even the birds! one is greater than the other, and
mankind is not behind them. We belong to the poor; there," she
continued, turning her deep eyes towards a distant point in the horizon,
on the other side of the lake, "there lives the rich; they take no notice of
us. Even the poor fishermen and peasants say, 'Our children cannot be
the play-fellows of Mademoiselle Nanna.' Mademoiselle,
Mademoiselle,"