74
The Piggy Bank
The children’s room was filled with toys; on top of the cabinet stood a piggy bank. It was a fat clay pig with a slit in back that had been enlarged with a knife, so that silver crowns could slide through it. Two of those heavy coins had made that journey, besides innumerable pennies. The piggy bank was so filled that it didn’t rattle when you shook it; and higher no piggy bank can rise. He stood on top of the cabinet and looked down upon everything in the room; he knew he could buy it all with the money he had in his stomach, and that was a very comfortable feeling.
Everything else in the room knew it, too, though they didn’t talk about it. One of the drawers in the chest was open; in it lay a doll. She was old and had once broken her neck, but it had been repaired. Now she sat up and suggested, “Let us play human beings, it is amusing.” At once everything started to jump about. The paintings on the wall turned around, in order to show that they had backs as well as fronts. That irritated the doll, who thought they had done it just to be contrary.
It was the middle of the night, but the moon was shining in through the window, giving free illumination. All the toys were invited to join the game, even the old baby carriage, though it didn’t really belong. “Everyone has his own good points,” it said. “We can’t all be aristocrats; some have to work for a living.”
The piggy bank was the only one that had received a written invitation; the others feared that he was so far above them that he couldn’t hear a spoken one, even if they shouted. He didn’t answer. If he were going to watch the game, then he would only do it from his own home. He felt that everyone should comply with his wishes, even when he hadn’t expressed them; and everyone did.
The little doll theater was erected in such a place that the piggy bank could watch the performance. They would start the evening by giving a play; later on there would be tea and intelligent conversation. But the rocking horse began talking immediately about the breeding and the breaking of horses; and the baby carriage talked about railroads and steam engines; they were always so professional. The clock on the wall talked politics; it declared that it knew the time, but the other toys said it was slow. The walking cane just stood about admiring its own silver knob, and the two embroidered pillows on the sofa, who were pretty but stupid, giggled.
Finally the play could begin. Everyone had been told that they could applaud or make any noise they wished, such as banging, rumpling, or whistling. The riding whip said it would “crack” for the young people in the play but not for the old: they were so boring.
“I will bang away for anyone,” said the firecracker.
The spittoon stood humbly in the corner and mumbled, “One has to be somewhere.”
The play was terrible but the acting was marvelous. All the players played in the center of the stage, to make sure their performances were seen.
The doll who once had broken her neck almost lost her head, she was so moved. The piggy bank was touched too, but in his own way; he thought of doing “something” for one of them, such as leaving him a small sum in his will.
All enjoyed themselves so much that they decided to skip the tea and just have the “intelligent conversation.” They all felt “just like human beings,” and that was not meant satirically. All of them thought their own opinions cleverer than their neighbors’, and they all wondered what the piggy bank was thinking about. He was thinking very seriously about wills and funerals: long, slow-moving thoughts. But death and funerals have a habit of coming before one wishes them to come.…
“Crash!” Down fell the piggy bank and broke into hundreds of pieces, while the money rolled all over the floor. One of the silver crowns rolled all the way to the door; it wanted to get out into the world and it did, and so did the pennies. The broken pieces of the piggy bank were thrown in the trash can. It wasn’t the kind of funeral he had expected.
The next day a new piggy bank stood on the cabinet. He looked just like the other one; and he too couldn’t rattle but that was because he was empty. He had just started his career; and with those words we will end our story.
75
Ib and Little Christina
There is a river in Denmark called the River of the Gods, the Gudenaa; and not far from its shores, as it flows through the forest of Silkeborg, rises a ridge, on the west side of which was situated a small farm—in fact, it is still there. Even when the rye and barley stand high in the fields, you can see the sandy soil beneath the grain; and the harvest is always meager. This story takes place some years ago; and the farmer who tilled it then had three sheep, a pig, and two oxen. He could have kept a couple of horses but he felt as most farmers in that area did: “Horses eat up their profits themselves.” Jeppe was the farmer’s name. He farmed in the summer and carved wooden shoes in the winter. He was a skillful carver; but he had a younger helper who was even better than he was, and understood how to make clogs so that they were strong; and yet not heavy and shapeless. They also made other household wares which fetched a good price. Although Jeppe and his family were not rich, no one in that district would have called them poor.
Little Ib was seven years old. He was an only child, and he liked to sit by his father and watch him carve. The boy whittled sticks and sometimes he cut his fingers. One day he did manage to carve two little objects that looked like a pair of tiny wooden shoes. These he wanted to give to Christina, the daughter of the bargeman, who lived in a cottage on the heath. The little girl was very beautiful, and so delicate that she did not look at all like a bargeman’s daughter. Had she had clothes to match the loveliness that God had given her, then no one would have guessed that she had been born in a poor cottage on the lonely heath. Her father was a widower who made his living by transporting lumber from the woods down to the locks at Silkeborg. Sometimes he would even sail as far as Randers with his barge. As there was no one at home to take care of little Christina—she was a year younger than Ib—she was always with her father, except on his journeys to Randers. Then her father would bring her to Jeppe’s house to stay.
Ib and little Christina never fought, neither when they played nor at table. They would play in the sand, pretend they were making a little garden, or just tumble about. One day they ventured as far as the top of the ridge beyond which was the forest. They found the nest of a snipe with eggs in it; that had been a very exciting adventure.
Ib had never been on the heath, nor had he ever sailed with a barge down the river and through the lakes. But one day Christina’s father invited him on a trip, and his parents gave their consent. The evening before they were to set out, the bargeman came to fetch him, and he spent the night in the little cottage on the heath.
Early the next morning the children were sitting on top of the woodpile, in the barge, eating bread and raspberries. Christina’s father and his helper were poling the barge down the river; they were following the current, so they sailed along at a good speed. One after another they sailed through the lakes. Every time they entered one, Ib was sure that the river had ended, for bulrushes, reeds, and trees seemed to enclose the lake; but finally a narrow opening would appear that they could sail through. Sometimes the trees leaning out over the narrow river would almost hinder their passing, but always the barge sailed on. Some of the oak trees had naked branches that had lost all their bark and looked as if they had rolled up their sleeves to show their withered old arms. Many of the old alder trees had loosened themselves from the banks and now stood like little islets in the river. White and yellow water lilies floated amid their big green leaves. It certainly was a lovely trip. At last they came to the locks where eels were caught and shipped as far away as Copenhagen. The water rushed over the lock and fell as a waterfall on the other side; and that was something for Ib and little Christina to look at.
At that time no factory or town had been built there yet; there was only the old farm on which not many people lived. The water rushing over the lock and the cry of the wild ducks were the only sounds to be hear
d. The lumber was loaded onto a bigger barge; and Christina’s father bought a little newly slaughtered pig and some eels. Then they were ready for the homeward journey. The pig and the eels were put into a basket. Now they had the current against them, but not the wind; so they hoisted a sail and that was as good as having two horses pull the barge.
When they reached the part of the forest where the bargeman’s helper lived, they moored the barge at the bank. Christina’s father told the children to stay on board and not to touch anything, while he accompanied his young helper to his home. The bargeman said that he would be back very soon.
The children obeyed him at first, but not for long. They had to peep into the basket that contained the eels and the pig. They took the little pig out; and when they both tried to hold it at once, it fell overboard; and the little dead animal floated away with the current.
It was a terrible calamity! Ib leaped to the shore and soon Christina followed him. “Take me with you!” she cried. They ran in among the trees; and within a few minutes the barge and the river disappeared from their view. Christina fell and began to cry, but Ib calmed her.
“The house is right over there. Come along,” he said; but the house was not “right over there,” and soon the two children were lost. They walked on and on; the dried leaves rustled and dead branches broke with cracking sound as they stepped on them.
Someone was shouting far away. The children stopped to listen, but then they heard the hoarse frightening cry of an eagle; and they ran. A little while later they came upon a blueberry patch covered with the most delicious large, ripe berries. They were so tempting that they had to sit down and eat them. Their cheeks and lips were stained deep blue. Again they heard someone shouting.
“We will get spanked because of the pig,” observed little Christina.
“Let us go home to my parents,” said Ib, who was certain that Christina was right. “It is not far from here.” The children walked on and finally they came to a road, but it did not lead home. It began to grow dark, and they were very frightened. The terrible stillness of the forest was broken by the terrifying hooting of owls and the cries of other birds that they did not know. Christina cried and Ib cried. They wept for an hour or more before they both lay down under some bushes and fell asleep.
The sun was already high in the sky when they awoke, but they were very cold. They could see the sun shining on top of a nearby hill. Up there they would be able to get warm, and Ib hoped that he would be able to see his home. But they were in another part of the forest, far away from the little farm. When they climbed the hill they found a little pool, and where the sun’s rays fell on the water, they could see the fishes swimming. Such a sight they had never seen before. A few minutes later they found some hazelnut bushes and their fears were forgotten. They cracked the nuts and ate them. Although they were far from ripe, they already had little kernels. Then something terribly frightening happened!
A tall woman stepped out from behind the bushes. Her face was brown and her hair was black. She carried a bundle on her back and a big strong cane in her hands; she was a gypsy. At first the children could not understand what she said. She took three nuts out of her apron pocket and told them that they were “wishing nuts,” and that each of them contained something marvelous.
Ib looked at the woman for a long time; her expression seemed kind. He asked her if he could have her “wishing nuts,” and she gave them to him. Then she picked a whole pocketful of nuts from the bushes for herself.
The two children stared wide-eyed at the “wishing nuts.”
“Is there a carriage and horses in one of them?” asked Ib.
“In that one there is a golden carriage with golden horses,” answered the woman, and pointed to one of the nuts in the boy’s hand.
“Give it to me then,” begged little Christina; and Ib gave it to her.
“Is there a pretty little necklace like the one Christina is wearing in this one?” demanded Ib.
“There are ten necklaces,” said the woman, “and dresses, stockings, and hats.”
“Then I want that one too,” shouted little Christina, and Ib gave it to her. The third nut was a little black one. “That one you can keep,” said Christina. “It is a pretty one, too.”
“And what is in that?” asked Ib.
“What is best for you,” said the gypsy.
Ib kept the nut. The gypsy woman said that she would show them the way home; but she led them astray, sending them in the opposite direction from the one they should have gone. But one cannot accuse her of trying to steal the children, and she might have acted in good faith.
In the middle of the forest they met Chris the forester. He knew Ib and he took the children home. Both the bargeman and Ib’s parents had been so upset that the children were forgiven, though they deserved a spanking, not only for having let the pig fall in the water but also for running away.
That evening after Christina and her father had returned to their home on the heath, Ib took out the nut that contained what was “best for him.” He placed it between the door and its casing and cracked it by closing the door. There was no kernel in it, just some black dirt; it was worm-eaten.
“I thought so!” Ib was not surprised. “How could there be room in a little nut for what was ‘best’? Christina will get no carriage or dresses out of her nuts either,” Ib muttered.
Winter came; and the years passed by. Finally Ib was old enough to be confirmed. Every Sunday that spring he walked the many miles to the church to receive religious instruction. One day the bargeman came by. He had news to tell: little Christina was old enough to earn her own keep and he had found her a good position in the family of a wealthy innkeeper near Herning. She was to help in the house and they would see to it that she was confirmed.
Ib and little Christina said good-by to each other. “The little sweethearts,” they were called. Christina showed Ib the two little “wishing nuts” he had given her, and which he had received from the gypsy that day in the forest; and she told him that the little pair of wooden shoes that he had cut for her were in the bottom of the chest in which she had packed her clothes. Then they parted.
Ib was confirmed but continued living at home, for his father had died and he had to help his mother. He had become as good a carver of wooden shoes as his father had been; and in the summer he took good care of their little farm. Not often did they hear from Christina, but the news that they did get was always good. She wrote to her father about her confirmation and the letter was filled with descriptions of the new clothes she had received from her mistress.
The next spring, on a particularly beautiful day, someone knocked on the door of the little farm. It was the bargeman and Christina; she had been offered a ride in a carriage as far as Tem and back. This had been an opportunity to come home for a visit. Beautiful she was and her clothes were as elegant as any lady’s. Ib, who was wearing his work clothes, could hardly utter a word. He took her hand and held it tightly, but his tongue was all tied up in knots. Christina’s wasn’t: she talked and talked, there was so much to tell, and she kissed Ib boldly on the mouth.
“Don’t you know me any more?” she asked.
All he could manage to reply, even though they were alone together, was: “You have become a fine lady and I am so … so coarse! But oh, Christina, how I have thought about you and of the time when we were children together!”
Arm in arm, they walked up to the top of the ridge; from there they could see the river and as far as the heath, where Christina’s father lived. Ib did not say a word; but as they were returning—and Ib was to go to his home and Christina to her father’s—Ib realized how very much he wanted Christina to be his wife. Hadn’t they been called “sweethearts” since they were little children? Now he knew that he had always expected that one day they would marry; and he felt as though they were engaged though neither of them had ever spoken a word about it.
Christina could only stay a few hours because she had to be in Tem
early the following morning, when the carriage departed that would take her back to the inn at Herning.
Ib and the bargeman accompanied her to Tem. It was a lovely night; the moon was full. All the way, Ib held Christina’s hand, and when they finally arrived at their destination he did not want to let go of it. He had great difficulty saying what anyone could have read in his eyes. He spoke only a few words but every one of them came from his heart. “If you have not become used to finer things than I can give you, and if you will be satisfied with living in my mother’s house with me as your husband, then I think the two of us should become man and wife.… But I will not hurry you.”