Veronica And Other Friends

And Other Friends, by Johanna
(Heusser) Spyri

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Title: Veronica And Other Friends Two Stories For Children
Author: Johanna (Heusser) Spyri
Release Date: January 7, 2005 [EBook #14627]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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VERONICA AND OTHER FRIENDS ***

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VERONICA And Other Friends
TWO STORIES FOR CHILDREN

BY THE AUTHOR OF "HEIDI"
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF JOHANNA SPYRI, BY
LOUISE BROOKS
BOSTON DE WOLFE, FISKE & CO. 361 AND 365 WASHINGTON
STREET
[Illustration]
Copyright 1886, BY LOUISE BROOKS. All Rights Reserved.

CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I.
A VISIT TO THE DOCTOR
II. WITH FRESH COURAGE
III. NINE YEARS LATER
IV. ALL AT HOME
V. UPON UNSAFE PATHS
VI. LAME SABINA GIVES GOOD ADVICE
VII. A THUNDER-CLAP
VIII. EACH ONE ACCORDING TO HIS KIND
IX. MOTHER GERTRUDE GIVES GOOD ADVICE
X. MAN PROPOSES, BUT GOD DISPOSES

XI. THE MOTTO PROVES TRUE

VERONICA.
CHAPTER I.
A VISIT TO THE DOCTOR.
It was early in the month of March. The dark blue vault of heaven lay
over mountain and valley, swept free from clouds by the keen northern
blast as it blew across the hills, swaying the big trees hither and thither
as if they were bulrushes, and now and then tearing off huge branches
which fell crashing to the ground. Other and sadder victims were
sacrificed to this fierce north wind. Human beings as well as inanimate
objects fell before him. He struck down with his mighty arm, not only
the old and feeble, but the young and strong; just as he swept away the
clouds, hurrying them across the skies, beyond the horizon line, away
out of sight. Sometimes in one day, a cruel malady would seize one
occupant out of each one of the three or four little villages clustered on
the hillside. A sharp pain attacked the lungs, and after a brief illness the
resistless disease bore away the sufferer to the silent grave.
At the very moment of which we write, a group of black-clad mourners
were standing near one of the pleasantest houses in the isolated village
of Tannenegg, waiting for the sound of the church bell, as the signal to
lift the covered bier on which was stretched the body of a young
woman, the last victim to the north wind's cruel stroke, and to bear her
to her final resting place. In the quiet room within, two children were
seated on a bench, which ran along the wall. They formed a striking
contrast to each other. The girl, a little black-eyed frowning thing,
dressed in some mourning stuff, followed with fierce looks the rapid
movements of a woman who, standing before an open cup-board, was
moving its contents over and about, as if in search of something that
did not come to hand. The boy was also watching her, but his dancing
blue eyes had in them a merry look of pleased expectation.

"I want to go out, Cousin Judith," said the girl, and her tones were half
angry, half anxious, "Where can my mother be?"
"Be still, be still," said the woman, still tumbling the contents of the
cup-board about nervously. "I shall find something pretty for you
presently; then you must sit down quietly and play with it, and not go
outside, not one step, do you hear? Pshaw! there is nothing but rubbish
here!"
"Well, then give us the rose," said the little girl, still scowling.
The woman looked about the room.
"There are no roses here," she said. "How should there be, in March?"
she added, half vexed at having looked for them. "There," said the child,
pointing towards a book that the woman had but a moment before
replaced in the cup-board.
"Ah! now I know what you mean. So your mother always kept the rose,
the "Fortune rose?" I often envied her when she used to show it to us in
her hymn-book;" and as she spoke, she turned the leaves of the old
hymnal, until she found the rose and handed it to the child.
"Take it," she said, "be quiet, and do not get up from your seats till I
come back;" and she hurried from the room.
The little girl took the prettily-painted rose, in her hand; it was an old
acquaintance, her favorite Sunday plaything.
When her mother wanted to secure a quiet hour for herself on Sundays,
she used to give