THE GOLDEN TREASURE [2]
But the mother dreamt that she had
gone into the church, and had seen the painted pictures and the carved
angels with the gilded hair, and her own dear boy, the golden treasure
of her heart, who was standing among the angels in white robes,
singing so sweetly, as surely only the angels can sing; and that he
had soared up with them into the sunshine, and nodded so kindly at his
mother.
"My golden treasure!" she cried out; and she awoke. "Now the
good God has taken him to Himself!" She folded her hands, and hid
her face in the cotton curtains of the bed, and wept. "Where does he
rest now? among the many in the big grave that they have dug for the
dead? Perhaps he's in the water in the marsh! Nobody knows his
grave; no holy words have been read over it!" And the Lord's Prayer
went inaudibly over her lips; she bowed her head, and was so weary
that she went to sleep.
And the days went by, in life as in dreams!
It was evening. Over the battle-field a rainbow spread, which
touched the forest and the deep marsh.
It has been said, and is preserved in popular belief, that where
the rainbow touches the earth a treasure lies buried, a golden
treasure; and here there was one. No one but his mother thought of the
little drummer, and therefore she dreamt of him.
And the days went by, in life as in dreams!
Not a hair of his head had been hurt, not a golden hair.
"Drum-ma-rum! drum-ma-rum! there he is!" the Drum might have said,
and his mother might have sung, if she had seen or dreamt it.
With hurrah and song, adorned with green wreaths of victory,
they came home, as the war was at an end, and peace had been signed.
The dog of the regiment sprang on in front with large bounds, and made
the way three times as long for himself as it really was.
And days and weeks went by, and Peter came into his parents' room.
He was as brown as a wild man, and his eyes were bright, and his
face beamed like sunshine. And his mother held him in her arms; she
kissed his lips, his forehead, and his red hair. She had her boy
back again; he had not a silver cross on his breast, as his father had
dreamt, but he had sound limbs, a thing the mother had not dreamt. And
what a rejoicing was there! They laughed and they wept; and Peter
embraced the old Fire-drum.
"There stands the old skeleton still!" he said.
And the father beat a roll upon it.
"One would think that a great fire had broken out here," said
the Fire-drum. "Bright day! fire in the heart! golden treasure! skrat!
skr-r-at! skr-r-r-r-at!"
And what then? What then!- Ask the town musician.
"Peter's far outgrowing the drum," he said. "Peter will be greater
than I."
And yet he was the son of a royal plate-washer; but all that he
had learned in half a lifetime, Peter learned in half a year.
There was something so merry about him, something so truly
kind-hearted. His eyes gleamed, and his hair gleamed too- there was no
denying that!
"He ought to have his hair dyed," said the neighbor's wife.
"That answered capitally with the policeman's daughter, and she got
a husband."
"But her hair turned as green as duckweed, and was always having
to be colored up."
"She knows how to manage for herself," said the neighbors, "and so
can Peter. He comes to the most genteel houses, even to the
burgomaster's where he gives Miss Charlotte piano-forte lessons."
He could play! He could play, fresh out of his heart, the most
charming pieces, that had never been put upon music-paper. He played
in the bright nights, and in the dark nights, too. The neighbors
declared it was unbearable, and the Fire-drum was of the same opinion.
He played until his thoughts soared up, and burst forth in great
plans for the future:
"To be famous!"
And burgomaster's Charlotte sat at the piano. Her delicate fingers
danced over the keys, and made them ring into Peter's heart. It seemed
too much for him to bear; and this happened
gone into the church, and had seen the painted pictures and the carved
angels with the gilded hair, and her own dear boy, the golden treasure
of her heart, who was standing among the angels in white robes,
singing so sweetly, as surely only the angels can sing; and that he
had soared up with them into the sunshine, and nodded so kindly at his
mother.
"My golden treasure!" she cried out; and she awoke. "Now the
good God has taken him to Himself!" She folded her hands, and hid
her face in the cotton curtains of the bed, and wept. "Where does he
rest now? among the many in the big grave that they have dug for the
dead? Perhaps he's in the water in the marsh! Nobody knows his
grave; no holy words have been read over it!" And the Lord's Prayer
went inaudibly over her lips; she bowed her head, and was so weary
that she went to sleep.
And the days went by, in life as in dreams!
It was evening. Over the battle-field a rainbow spread, which
touched the forest and the deep marsh.
It has been said, and is preserved in popular belief, that where
the rainbow touches the earth a treasure lies buried, a golden
treasure; and here there was one. No one but his mother thought of the
little drummer, and therefore she dreamt of him.
And the days went by, in life as in dreams!
Not a hair of his head had been hurt, not a golden hair.
"Drum-ma-rum! drum-ma-rum! there he is!" the Drum might have said,
and his mother might have sung, if she had seen or dreamt it.
With hurrah and song, adorned with green wreaths of victory,
they came home, as the war was at an end, and peace had been signed.
The dog of the regiment sprang on in front with large bounds, and made
the way three times as long for himself as it really was.
And days and weeks went by, and Peter came into his parents' room.
He was as brown as a wild man, and his eyes were bright, and his
face beamed like sunshine. And his mother held him in her arms; she
kissed his lips, his forehead, and his red hair. She had her boy
back again; he had not a silver cross on his breast, as his father had
dreamt, but he had sound limbs, a thing the mother had not dreamt. And
what a rejoicing was there! They laughed and they wept; and Peter
embraced the old Fire-drum.
"There stands the old skeleton still!" he said.
And the father beat a roll upon it.
"One would think that a great fire had broken out here," said
the Fire-drum. "Bright day! fire in the heart! golden treasure! skrat!
skr-r-at! skr-r-r-r-at!"
And what then? What then!- Ask the town musician.
"Peter's far outgrowing the drum," he said. "Peter will be greater
than I."
And yet he was the son of a royal plate-washer; but all that he
had learned in half a lifetime, Peter learned in half a year.
There was something so merry about him, something so truly
kind-hearted. His eyes gleamed, and his hair gleamed too- there was no
denying that!
"He ought to have his hair dyed," said the neighbor's wife.
"That answered capitally with the policeman's daughter, and she got
a husband."
"But her hair turned as green as duckweed, and was always having
to be colored up."
"She knows how to manage for herself," said the neighbors, "and so
can Peter. He comes to the most genteel houses, even to the
burgomaster's where he gives Miss Charlotte piano-forte lessons."
He could play! He could play, fresh out of his heart, the most
charming pieces, that had never been put upon music-paper. He played
in the bright nights, and in the dark nights, too. The neighbors
declared it was unbearable, and the Fire-drum was of the same opinion.
He played until his thoughts soared up, and burst forth in great
plans for the future:
"To be famous!"
And burgomaster's Charlotte sat at the piano. Her delicate fingers
danced over the keys, and made them ring into Peter's heart. It seemed
too much for him to bear; and this happened