The Bible of Shepherdsdale — Part II

“Let me hear also, Grandmother,” said Greta, who came nearer with her small brother. “How I would like to be able to read the Bible as well as you.”

“You will eventually learn how, my child, and I hope it will be quickly. Since we have no schools as they do in the cities on the other side of the mountains, learning is very slow. This is now a quiet time, and we can both have a lesson together that will quicken our hearts.”

Mother Jasperine stepped into the house, went to her closet, and brought forth a large book with copper clasps and a chamois skin cover. This book did not have outward adornment, but the pages of rough parchment contained the Word of Life. This Word was the light of the Waldensen valleys and the fountain of faith for many martyrs. These pages of the Bible were all the reading matter the inhabitants possessed, and therefore were highly prized by old and young. Mother Jasperine sat in her usual place. Beside her sat Greta, with little Denis, half asleep, on her lap. The other two boys sat at her feet watching their grandmother attentively while the old woman began to teach her granddaughter and read to them the wonderful history of Israel’s patriarch. Thus the old grandmother sat with her grandchildren in front of the family dwelling relating the story of the patriarch who, like their own folks, was a shepherd and an inhabitant of hills and dales.

So interested were the children in the reading and explaining by their grandmother that no one noticed the stranger coming speedily toward the house from the woods until a slight movement by Denis made Greta look up. The stranger drew their attention not only because so few strangers were seen in Shepherdsdale, but also because he looked so queer. He was a tall, thin man dressed in a long, gray coat made of coarse material with a cord tied around his waist. He was barefooted and carried a traveling bag and a string of corals with a crucifix at the end. His beard was long, and on his head he wore a sort of hat. When the wind blew it back a bit, it could be seen that his head was shaven.

Greta and the boys had never seen anyone like him in their lives and looked upon him with surprise. The young girl noticed that as soon as he realized he was seen, his pace slackened. When he approached the house, he leaned on his heavy stick as if he were tired.

“Good afternoon, my children,” he said in the mountain dialect, but with the pronunciation of a country inhabitant. “Will you allow a poor man to rest from the heat of the day and give him a drink to cool his parched lips? While coming over the hills on my way to Mariadale, I became lost and now am nearly faint from heat and thirst.”

“You are quite a way from Mariadale, sir,” said Greta, who had noticed with surprise that her grandmother had gone into the house. Because hospitality among the mountain inhabitants was looked upon as a duty, Greta added, “You are welcome to rest here and to make use of what we have.” Saying this, she led him into the sitting room which had white walls, a stone floor, and plain furnishings made from wood of the forest. She set little Denis in a safe corner and hastily set before the stranger a loaf of barley bread, a piece of cheese, and a pitcher of goat milk. He thanked Greta more heartily than she expected and praised the food, the house, the two boys, little Denis, and herself.

“He does not belong to our people, otherwise he would have asked for a blessing before he began to eat,” thought Greta. “I will go and tell Grandmother.”

At the same time she heard the stranger ask Gaston, who had come inside out of curiosity, “Where are your father and mother, little friend?”

“They and all the others of the village have gone to the higher pastures,” said the boy.

“Have they all gone there, and is there nobody left in the village except old people and children?” asked the stranger in a soft voice.

“Not one,” answered Gaston with his usual freedom.

Just then Mother Jasperine came out of the other room. She greeted the stranger with her usual politeness and stateliness, but Greta noticed that her grandmother had put away the Bible and was somewhat uneasy, although she did not show it.

Grandmother sat down and began to knit. The stranger repeated his thankfulness and praised everything around him. He said once again that he lost his way to Mariadale and suffered much by heat and thirst. He did not ask Gaston any more questions, and after he ate heartily, Mother Jasperine explained to him how he could get back on the right way. Soon he arose to go, although he was urged to rest a while longer.

“The day is so far gone,” he said. “I will barely have time to complete my journey before nightfall.” Grandmother wished him a pleasant trip, and the stranger went his way at a faster gait than could be expected of a tired man. Mother Jasperine watched him through the window, and when she turned about, Greta noticed that she was disturbed.

“Have I done something that makes you sad, Grandmother?” asked Greta. “Was it not good of me to ask the stranger to come inside?”

“You have done well, my child. You have done nothing to make me sad.”

“But Grandmother, what makes you so alarmed?” asked Greta.

“That I cannot say exactly, Greta. Old people at times have such tangled thoughts; they are afraid of everything. But Greta, you are fleeter of foot than I. Will you bring a message for me to Andre du Roche? He is chopping wood today at La Reste. It is about a half hour from here, and before sundown you can easily return home. Tell him that Mother Jasperine would like to speak with him as soon as possible.”

“Do I have to leave you and the children alone? Are you not afraid of anything, Grandmother?” asked Greta, while she made ready to make the trip through the woods.

“He who directs all things is with us; why should we fear?” said Mother Jasperine. The restless look disappeared from her now calm and friendly face. “But go speedily and bring Andre to me. I will take care of little Denis.”

Speedily, Greta wound her way to La Reste, an open plain on the outskirts of the woods. On the highest point of this plain a wooden pole had been set up. Whenever a piece of red cloth was seen waving from this pole by the inhabitants of Shepherdsdale, this was a signal of danger in the village, and they speedily returned home. During the last few years this sign seldom had been given, but the red cloth was still kept in the hollow of an old tree under the supervision of Andre du Roche, an honest and daring woodchopper. This man was proud of the fact that his great-grandfather, who was also a woodchopper, had saved the dale from an invasion by soldiers. When necessary, Andre could make this red cloth be seen beyond the glaciers which never melted in the summertime. Greta found him busily chopping a fallen pine tree and brought him the message from her grandmother.

The Forgiving Mediator

Louis II of France died of vexation, occasioned by the revolt of his son, Louis of Bavaria. The broken-hearted father said, as he expired, “I forgive Louis; but let him know that he has been the cause of my death.”

The sins of God’s elect were the cause of the Messiah’s death; yet in dying, He declared, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Deze tekst is geautomatiseerd gemaakt en kan nog fouten bevatten. Digibron werkt voortdurend aan correctie. Klik voor het origineel door naar de pdf. Voor opmerkingen, vragen, informatie: contact.

Op Digibron -en alle daarin opgenomen content- is het databankrecht van toepassing. Gebruiksvoorwaarden. Data protection law applies to Digibron and the content of this database. Terms of use.

Printen