IF our poultry yard was not large it was well stocked. Mother took a real pleasure, perhaps not unmixed with pride, in feeding and rearing the broods of soft, downy chickens and ducklings that were the special pets of my brother and myself. From the time I was old enough to trot about after mother, I had helped to feed the fowls; but for the last year or two I had been trusted to supply their wants entirely alone. It could not have been more than two or three days after the coming of our neighbors that, early one morning, as I stood surrounded by a numerous and hungry family of ducks and chickens, all picking up the corn I threw to them by handfuls, as if fattening was the one business of all sensible, well-behaved ducks and chickens, while a pair of tame doves perched on my shoulder and fed from my hand, I heard my name called, and looking up, saw Greta leaning over the garden wall. "Oh, Christine!" she exclaimed, "I have been watching you for at least five minutes, and now I am longing to come and help you; do let me, it looks so delightful. I really must come." In another moment she had climbed the low wall and was by my side.
SHE WAS A BRIGHT, LIVELY GIRL,
and I felt pleased and flattered by her friendliness, who had never had a girl friend. I took her to see Casper's rabbits, and pointed out my white hen, a gentle, pretty bird, that always came at my call, and would follow me about the house and garden: while Greta, in return, told me about her town life; she was charmed with "Verney," for though it was not so grand as their house in Prague, it had the charm of novelty, and she was ready to enjoy to the full the greater freedom of country life.
“Here," she said, "I can run about the garden in my morning wrapper and straw hat; in Prague I could not stir half-a-dozen steps without having Julie, our French maid, running after me with some such speech as: My young lady must permit me to change her dress; she cannot go out without her gloves; Madame would be shocked were she to hear of such a thing.' I was just getting sick of it all, when my father bought ‘Verney.' I mean having a good time here, and the children will never tire of running up and down stairs, and playing hide and seek in the cupboards; they have a play-room at home, and lovely French and German toys, but they seem to think chasing each other along that winding passage at the foot of the stairs far greater fun.
“But, Christine, "she continued in a more earnest tone," I want you to do something for me. I want you to be my friend, I shall tell you all my secrets, and you must tell me all yours. I have been so lonely at times ever since Lucilla went away to school at the convent.
I LOST MY SISTER THEN;
for though she will for the next two years spend her holidays with us, she has set her heart upon being a nun, so the convent will always be her home. Editha is a dear little thing, but she has been so often ill, that we have all petted and made a baby of her; so that I do not find a companion in her. My mother has promised me that she will ask yours to allow you to visit us very often, perhaps to-day, and you must come. Of course I know you are a little heretic, mother told me that, but I am going to convert you. Father Jacques says it will be a good work, but you need not say a word about this to your mother, or she might not let you come, and that would spoil all and be too tiresome, just as I have made up my mind that we are going to be such friends and so happy together.”
Later in the day a servant brought a note for my mother. It was from Madame, who asked as a favor to herself, that Casper and I might be allowed to spend the afternoon at "Verney.”
The troubled look I had noticed before came back into her face, and she sat for a few minutes in silent thought. At last she said, "Christine, your father and I have foreseen this, and talked and prayed about it. We feel we cannot prevent all intercourse between our neighbors and ourselves, to do so would only hasten the day of trouble which we believe is not far off, and yet to allow you to cross the threshold of ‘Verney,' seems almost like casting my children into a den of lions. I must give you one word of warning; no, it is more, it is a command: do not talk about our little gatherings for prayer and Bible reading; and if you are asked the names of those who share our faith, have the courage to tell the truth, and say you are forbidden by your parents to give them. Young as Greta is, she has begun to go to confession; anything you say to her may, and most likely will, be repeated to Father Jacques, and he will use all the information he can get to injure our brethren and sisters. And be sure, Christine," she added in a low, pleading voice, "that you have no secrets from me. Tell me everything.”
A strange feeling of uneasiness came over me, as I remembered how Greta had spoken of her desire to convert me. Ought I to tell mother of our talk in the poultry yard? The voice of conscience whispered loudly, "Yes;" but I only held down my head, and was silent. If I told mother perhaps she would not let me go to "Verney," and I wanted so much to see Greta's home, and to be her friend; and how could I be so unkind to her as to tell the first and only secret she had ever asked me to keep.
Going to "Verney" need not, should not, make me a Roman Catholic. And so my first wrong step was taken. How bitterly I had cause to regret it in after years, and how those dearest to me had to suffer for my sin, I must reserve for a later chapter.
We went in the early afternoon. Mother stood in the porch, shading her eyes with her hand, and watching us with such a tender, wistful gaze, as we went up the freshly graveled garden path. Greta, all smiles, and wearing such a pretty dress of white muslin, with bows of blue ribbon, met us at the front door, and took us at once to her mother's private room, turning a deaf ear to Julie's whisper that her lady was resting, and ought not to be disturbed. Madame received us most kindly, and said, "I was afraid Greta would be lonely here, and after the first few days say Verney' was too dull, but you will try to make her happy, will you not, Christine?”
“I will if I can, Madame," was my answer; but I wondered how I, poor little girl, the daughter of a village doctor, who had very few possessions of my own, could add to the happiness of the young lady of "Verney," who seemed surrounded by all that money could buy. The room in which we were looked almost like a fairy-land. Pretty things of which I hardly knew even the names met my eyes on every side. I noticed the tall silver crucifix of which my mother had spoken, and longed to ask why, as the sun was shining brightly, two large wax candles were burning before it.
But Greta was impatient to have me all to herself, and soon took me away to her room; Casper being claimed by Editha and Carl, went off with them to inspect some small gardening tools just arrived from Prague, and afterward to be shown their toys.
Greta's room looked out upon the front garden, and was furnished with great taste. A beautiful painting attracted my attention; it was that of a sweet-faced woman, who held a lovely little boy of about a year old in her arms; the child seemed to be fondling a dove. It was a very pretty picture; but I could not understand why, on entering the room, Greta should kneel for a moment and cross herself before it.
She noticed my look of surprise, and said playfully, "Ah! I see I shall have a great deal to teach you, so I will give you your first lesson now. That is a picture of the Virgin Mary and Child, the infant Jesus, you know. It is a very valuable painting, an exact copy of one at Rome, said to have been painted by one of the great masters. Father paid a high price for it, and gave it to me a year ago, on the day when I made my first communion. I know a great deal about you heretics. Julie told me, for once when she was quite a little girl, she lived with some relations who were heretics; they tried to make one of her, but it was too ‘triste,' no music, no flowers, no pictures, no sweet-smelling incense, no anything bright and beautiful.”
“But we have the Bible," I found courage to say. "Yes," Greta replied, "And I heard Father Jacques telling my father that is just the reason why so many heretics will not enter the true fold. You will read for yourselves a Book which was only intended for priests to read. The Holy Catholic Church explains to her children all it is good for them to know. But we will not talk any more about these things. Come, I have so many things to show you.”