THE GIRL WHO TROD ON THE LOAF [1]
spirit soon took possession of Inge, and carried her to
a still worse place, in which she saw crowds of unhappy people,
waiting in a state of agony for the gates of mercy to be opened to
them, and in every heart was a miserable and eternal feeling of
unrest. It would take too much time to describe the various tortures
these people suffered, but Inge's punishment consisted in standing
there as a statue, with her foot fastened to the loaf. She could
move her eyes about, and see all the misery around her, but she
could not turn her head; and when she saw the people looking at her
she thought they were admiring her pretty face and fine clothes, for
she was still vain and proud. But she had forgotten how soiled her
clothes had become while in the Marsh Woman's brewery, and that they
were covered with mud; a snake had also fastened itself in her hair,
and hung down her back, while from each fold in her dress a great toad
peeped out and croaked like an asthmatic poodle. Worse than all was
the terrible hunger that tormented her, and she could not stoop to
break off a piece of the loaf on which she stood. No; her back was too
stiff, and her whole body like a pillar of stone. And then came
creeping over her face and eyes flies without wings; she winked and
blinked, but they could not fly away, for their wings had been
pulled off; this, added to the hunger she felt, was horrible torture.
"If this lasts much longer," she said, "I shall not be able to
bear it." But it did last, and she had to bear it, without being
able to help herself.
A tear, followed by many scalding tears, fell upon her head, and
rolled over her face and neck, down to the loaf on which she stood.
Who could be weeping for Inge? She had a mother in the world still,
and the tears of sorrow which a mother sheds for her child will always
find their way to the child's heart, but they often increase the
torment instead of being a relief. And Inge could hear all that was
said about her in the world she had left, and every one seemed cruel
to her. The sin she had committed in treading on the loaf was known on
earth, for she had been seen by the cowherd from the hill, when she
was crossing the marsh and had disappeared.
When her mother wept and exclaimed, "Ah, Inge! what grief thou
hast caused thy mother" she would say, "Oh that I had never been born!
My mother's tears are useless now."
And then the words of the kind people who had adopted her came
to her ears, when they said, "Inge was a sinful girl, who did not
value the gifts of God, but trampled them under her feet."
"Ah," thought Inge, "they should have punished me, and driven
all my naughty tempers out of me."
A song was made about "The girl who trod on a loaf to keep her
shoes from being soiled," and this song was sung everywhere. The story
of her sin was also told to the little children, and they called her
"wicked Inge," and said she was so naughty that she ought to be
punished. Inge heard all this, and her heart became hardened and
full of bitterness.
But one day, while hunger and grief were gnawing in her hollow
frame, she heard a little, innocent child, while listening to the tale
of the vain, haughty Inge, burst into tears and exclaim, "But will she
never come up again?"
And she heard the reply, "No, she will never come up again."
"But if she were to say she was sorry, and ask pardon, and promise
never to do so again?" asked the little one.
"Yes, then she might come; but she will not beg pardon," was the
answer.
"Oh, I wish she would!" said the child, who was quite unhappy
about it. "I should be so glad. I would give up my doll and all my
playthings, if she could only come here again. Poor Inge! it is so
dreadful for her."
These pitying words penetrated to Inge's inmost heart, and
seemed to do her good. It was the first time any one had said, "Poor
Inge!" without saying something about her faults. A little innocent
child was weeping, and
a still worse place, in which she saw crowds of unhappy people,
waiting in a state of agony for the gates of mercy to be opened to
them, and in every heart was a miserable and eternal feeling of
unrest. It would take too much time to describe the various tortures
these people suffered, but Inge's punishment consisted in standing
there as a statue, with her foot fastened to the loaf. She could
move her eyes about, and see all the misery around her, but she
could not turn her head; and when she saw the people looking at her
she thought they were admiring her pretty face and fine clothes, for
she was still vain and proud. But she had forgotten how soiled her
clothes had become while in the Marsh Woman's brewery, and that they
were covered with mud; a snake had also fastened itself in her hair,
and hung down her back, while from each fold in her dress a great toad
peeped out and croaked like an asthmatic poodle. Worse than all was
the terrible hunger that tormented her, and she could not stoop to
break off a piece of the loaf on which she stood. No; her back was too
stiff, and her whole body like a pillar of stone. And then came
creeping over her face and eyes flies without wings; she winked and
blinked, but they could not fly away, for their wings had been
pulled off; this, added to the hunger she felt, was horrible torture.
"If this lasts much longer," she said, "I shall not be able to
bear it." But it did last, and she had to bear it, without being
able to help herself.
A tear, followed by many scalding tears, fell upon her head, and
rolled over her face and neck, down to the loaf on which she stood.
Who could be weeping for Inge? She had a mother in the world still,
and the tears of sorrow which a mother sheds for her child will always
find their way to the child's heart, but they often increase the
torment instead of being a relief. And Inge could hear all that was
said about her in the world she had left, and every one seemed cruel
to her. The sin she had committed in treading on the loaf was known on
earth, for she had been seen by the cowherd from the hill, when she
was crossing the marsh and had disappeared.
When her mother wept and exclaimed, "Ah, Inge! what grief thou
hast caused thy mother" she would say, "Oh that I had never been born!
My mother's tears are useless now."
And then the words of the kind people who had adopted her came
to her ears, when they said, "Inge was a sinful girl, who did not
value the gifts of God, but trampled them under her feet."
"Ah," thought Inge, "they should have punished me, and driven
all my naughty tempers out of me."
A song was made about "The girl who trod on a loaf to keep her
shoes from being soiled," and this song was sung everywhere. The story
of her sin was also told to the little children, and they called her
"wicked Inge," and said she was so naughty that she ought to be
punished. Inge heard all this, and her heart became hardened and
full of bitterness.
But one day, while hunger and grief were gnawing in her hollow
frame, she heard a little, innocent child, while listening to the tale
of the vain, haughty Inge, burst into tears and exclaim, "But will she
never come up again?"
And she heard the reply, "No, she will never come up again."
"But if she were to say she was sorry, and ask pardon, and promise
never to do so again?" asked the little one.
"Yes, then she might come; but she will not beg pardon," was the
answer.
"Oh, I wish she would!" said the child, who was quite unhappy
about it. "I should be so glad. I would give up my doll and all my
playthings, if she could only come here again. Poor Inge! it is so
dreadful for her."
These pitying words penetrated to Inge's inmost heart, and
seemed to do her good. It was the first time any one had said, "Poor
Inge!" without saying something about her faults. A little innocent
child was weeping, and