Walda

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Walda
A Novel
By Mary Holland Kinkaid

NEW YORK AND LONDON HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS-MCMIII

Copyright, 1903, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
All rights reserved.
Published March, 1903.

PUBLISHERS NOTE
For obvious reasons, the real name of the community described herein is withheld; but the scenes are pictured with almost photographic fidelity, and the life portrayed is the life actually led to-day by a religious co-operative community in a Western State.

"SO that is Zanah there at the foot of the hill? It is a pretty village, Hans Peter. Step more quickly with my bag. You are slow, my boy. Re member there is a quarter of a dollar for you in my pocket."
The tall, broad-shouldered man who spoke took a few strides along the plank walk that led from the railway station to the village of Zanah, half a mile away. Then he stopped to light a cigar while he waited for the fat, short-legged figure that was bend ing under the weight of a large valise to overtake him. The man was in the early prime of life. When he took off the soft felt travelling-hat he wore, a strongly modelled head was silhouetted against the sky. He looked across the field of purple cabbages to the village that lay in the hush of the summer evening. The gabled roofs of the houses were half hidden by trees, but on a rise of ground the porch and belfry of a little church were plainly visible.
Hans Peter dropped his burden and, imitating the stranger, removed from a shock of straw-colored hair a cap mended with red yarn. The boy wore baggy trousers of blue denim buttoned to a blouse of the same material. The man smiled as he looked at the odd figure.
"Do you hear me, Hans Peter? There is a quarter in my pocket for you. I will find two quarters if you walk faster. Do you know what I say to you?"
The boy replaced his cap, nodded his head, and answered, with a German accent:
"Thou art talking to the simple one, the village fool, sir. But Hans Peter knows thou wouldst give him silver."
It was the first time that the boy had spoken since the station agent had called him by name and told him to show the stranger to the inn in the village of Zanah, just across the hill. The man gave his guide a sharp look. Hans Peter had a round face that was as blank as if no human emotion had ever been written upon it. His pale eyes had a sleepy look, and yet there was nothing in their expression to indicate lack of intelligence.
"The village fool nonsense," said the stranger. "Here is one piece of silver. See if it can't loosen your tongue."
"Thy money belongs to Zanah, where no man is richer than another," said Hans Peter. "I will give it to the Herr Doktor."
"For a fool you speak well," said the stranger, casting a glance of curiosity at the boy. "Why are you called the simple one?"
Hans Peter put his hands in his pockets and answered:
"It may be because I talk too much to strangers."
The man laughed. He had a clear-cut, clean shaven face, which was almost stern in repose, but when he smiled it was plain that the spirit of youth still dwelt in him.
"Well, Hans Peter, we shall continue our march to Zanah," he said. "One, two, three. There! We are off at a better pace."
He took the valise from Hans Peter, who began to trot along at his side. The lad was not taller than a twelve-year old boy, but there was something so strange about him that the man asked him his age.
"One-and-twenty," replied Hans Peter. "If the Lord had not made me a fool, thou wouldst know that I have a man's years."
There was a little quiver in the voice of the village fool, and it touched the heart of the stranger. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder and said, gently:
"Of course, I knew you were not a child. You seemed small beside me; but I should have noticed that you are a man. I am glad to know you first of all in Zanah, for I want you to be my guide while I am among the people, who are said to be different from those I know out there in the world."
The boy raised his eyes to the western bluffs, which seemed to touch the crimson sky. Then he nodded his head.
"Hans Peter will do what he can," he promised, "but the colony elders forbid us to talk to those who come from the wicked cities, where people live not according to the ways of God."
They moved on through the cabbage-field, and the board walk presently led to a grass-grown lane that widened into the village street. The street wavered uncertainly