The Golden House

When the little black pig had made his appearance at the colonel's, in the midst of six rose-coloured brothers, everybody had been reminded of Nono among the fair-haired children at the golden house. Frans at once declared that the eccentric pig ought to belong to the little Italian, and the present had been finally made, with all due ceremonies, and an appropriate speech from Frans, which won great applause from the auditors. Blackie then and there received his name, which he had ever since retained, and to which he seemed willing to bring honour.

Nono had made his pet a rustic home of his own, and had resolved from the first that Blackie should be something remarkable. Oke had described to the boy the learned pigs about which he had read, and Nono betook himself in earnest to the education of Blackie, and found his efforts crowned with amazing success.

Karin had looked rather gloomy at first about piggie's being destined to an exceptional career, but she relented when she saw what innocent merriment he had introduced into the family. Jan was never too tired to laugh as heartily as the boys to see Blackie giving his hard paw to be shaken, or singing or scolding according to the words of command. If the order were "Scold, Blackie!" he scolded to perfection in his grunting way. If it were "Sing, Blackie!" he laid his head sentimentally on one side, and gave a succession of shrill squeals that brought forth from the listeners a glad round of applause. Blackie's everyday dress was provided by nature, and was dusky of course, but scrupulously brushed – a process which he evidently considered an agreeable luxury.

Blackie had been taken to the yearly fair in a red flannel blanket pointed at the edges, that an elephant might have been proud to wear if it had suited his proportions. Nono had exhibited his pet thus attired, and his accomplishments were so well rewarded that Karin received in advance full pay for Blackie's winter accommodation, to Nono's infinite satisfaction.

Nono had not thought of taking Blackie as a companion in his pedestrian trip until he was passing the home of his pet, after bidding good-bye to the elders of the family. The traveller had been suddenly struck with the thought that Blackie might chance to serve instead of a long purse for the exigencies of the journey, and it would be best to take him, as private property, to supply the possible needs of the uncertain future.

It may be that it had unconsciously seemed dreary to the little Italian to start out into the great world alone, and that a four-footed friend would be better than none. The plan promised to prove a good one; for Blackie was a companion who, though he said little, required too much attention for his master to have many anxious thoughts. Accomplished as piggie certainly was, he was evidently puzzled as to Nono's intentions, and constantly suggested in his own way that the walk had been long enough, and it was time to turn back to the golden house. After a sharp contention on this subject, the travellers came in sight of a house which Nono fancied would suit his purpose, for he rightly guessed that Blackie's appetite had been sharpened by the long walk in the fresh air. Most abundant refreshments for boy and beast were given on the one side, and on the other a whole family had a hearty laugh to promote their own digestion. Blackie could not have done better if he had fully realized the importance of the occasion.

Towards twilight the glad jingling of bells rang out on the air – a perfect concert of its kind. A train of sleighs drawn by prancing horses came dashing down a long hill that Nono could see in the distance, as he trudged over a level stretch below. Nono stepped out into the soft snow as the first sleigh was almost upon him, the pace of the horses being prudently slackened at the sight of the uncommon impediment in the road. Nono took off his hat and bowed, while his face gleamed with delight at the pretty display – the festal white nets of the horses, and the fur-covered sleighs where the merry party were so comfortably stowed.

When Nono bowed, at a motion from him the pig did the same, standing in his very best way, if not in most graceful court fashion. The little dark figures on the background of snow brought forth a cheery peal of laughter, as sleigh after sleigh passed by with nods and shouts of approval. Some self-sacrificing lover of children first managed to get his hand into his pocket under the wraps; so came, by example, from one and another a small rain of copper, with now and then a silver bit for company. Nono and Blackie plunging round in the snow to pick up the treasures (Blackie hoping for a dainty morsel, and Nono eager that nothing should be lost) made a funny little roadside scene that sent the gay party on their way even more merry than before.

Nono was not sure that he had gathered up all the results of this unexpected exhibition, but he soon felt obliged to resume his march, as the night was coming on rapidly. Blackie introduced him pleasantly to a little shoemaker, who came up from behind and joined the two pedestrians. Of course he asked Nono all manner of questions, and got true replies, as to where he was going and why. The hardy shoemaker had a leather apron over his heart, but the heart in his broad breast was honest and kind. Nono and Blackie were taken into his poor cottage, and were free to sleep in its one room, where he and his wife and two children, and the leather and the shoes to be mended, and much more of a nondescript nature, were huddled together.

In the morning Nono was assured that one day's more walk would bring him near to Stockholm. That was a trifle, the shoemaker said. He had walked as far as that to church every Sunday, when he was young, and lived up in the north, where the snow was not to be sneezed at, and the night lasted almost all day, as he inconsistently expressed it.

As to visiting the princess, the shoemaker assured Nono that was sheer madness. A boy like him would hardly dare to look any of the royal family in the face, he was certain. He had never heard anything particular about the princess, to be sure, but high folks didn't like to be bothered. He advised Nono to show Blackie in the streets. That might bring him a bit of money; and if worst came to worst there was begging, not a bad business in Stockholm he had heard. Money was to be made that way, no doubt, by such a chap as Nono, who had such a pretty story to tell.

The shoemaker meant no harm, after his way of looking at life; but Nono drew himself up straight, and said he believed he should see the princess, he knew about her, and she was almost an angel. He might have added, if he had spoken his thoughts, that he felt acquainted with her after a fashion, and that, further, he hoped he should never come to begging while he was able and willing to work. Nono could pay for food and lodging for himself and Blackie without drawing on Jan's coppers, and he set off full of courage. The shoemaker and his wife had been kind, and he thanked them in his heart, as he had with his lips, at parting, but he felt more and more grateful for his home in the golden house. Nobody ever swore there, or tipped up a black bottle with something strong in it. And how clean it was always, and how cosy!

The shoemaker's discouraging words had, however, been for Nono much like the chilling mist that surrounded him when he started on his second day's journey. He suddenly thought of "the lion and the bear" and "this Philistine," and he was again convinced that there would be a blessing on his undertaking, and the dear princess would prove to be no Philistine, but just what he had fancied her.

As Nono drew nearer to Stockholm the cottagers seemed to be of a rougher sort; and it was well that he had money to buy what he needed, for nobody seemed to care to look at him or his piggie. When he tried to tell his story about Karin and little Decima, and that he was going to see the princess, he heard only rude shouts of derision or hard words in reply. He got, however, leave to pass the night in a stable, with Blackie beside him, with the parting good-night warning not to steal off with the lent blanket in the morning. It would not have been easy to slip off unobserved, for the stable was locked and barred, and Nono was as safely imprisoned as if he had been in the common jail. The friendly old cart-horse taught him no harm, and mumbled with contentment as it cheerfully ate its humble fare, peering now and then towards the dark corner where Blackie sang and scolded, as if for the special entertainment of the host in the stable.

By making payment in advance in the morning Nono got a glass of milk to take with his hard bread, and Blackie had the same fare, which put him in a good humour for the day.

Nono was surprised to find that he felt a little shy about entering the city, when he saw the spires shining in the morning sun and the houses rising in close lines about them. The mist had fairly rolled away. All nature was bright, but Nono had too solemn a sense of the greatness and the extraordinary nature of his undertaking to be in anything but a serious mood.

He was in the outskirts of Stockholm, when some big apprentice boys who were on their way to their work hailed him as he was in the midst of a contention with Blackie, who seemed convinced that, with all his accomplishments, he was not fit for city life, and it was best for him to stay in the rural districts. The apprentices offered to help Nono, which they did substantially, if subduing Blackie were the matter in question. Two of them took him in their arms and held him firmly, while Nono was ordered to tell honestly how that stylish little pig came into his possession. Nono said simply that it was given to him, and then hurried to tell the story of his errand. He was afraid of the rough, dirty fellows, who had a wild, reckless look about them; and they so interrupted him by loud laughs unpleasant to hear, that Nono got confused, and really gave no very clear account of himself.

The apprentices, putting on an air of mock respect, declared it was quite impossible to go to see the princess with that little pig as a companion, genteel a pig as he seemed to be. They could take care of him, and Nono could call for him on the way home. They lived, they said, in a house at which they pointed in the distant fields. Then they started off in that direction as fast as their feet could carry them, with Blackie held fast in the strong arms of the tallest of the party.

It was in vain that Nono called upon the retiring enemy. They shook their fists at him and laughed mockingly, and called out that they would "give it to him" if he undertook to follow them now. He could call for piggie when he had seen the princess; and again they pointed out the house towards which they seemed to be hastening.

Nono felt inclined to sit down and cry by the roadside. It suddenly struck him that these were Philistines, quite of the scoffing, Goliath sort; but he was not to be discouraged by them, not he! It would have been rather awkward to appear before the princess, in her beautiful home, with Blackie beside him. There was truth in that at least. Perhaps those wild fellows meant well after all. They might have been just teasing him, as "the little boys" teased Decima sometimes, though they really loved her at the bottom. Yes, Decima! he must not forget that it was for her he had undertaken it all. In such a good cause no "Philistines" should make him afraid. He was so far safely on his way. He must thank God and take courage. And he did.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE PRINCESS

Jan had given Nono the strictest injunctions to ask questions only of policemen when he had once entered the great city. Of course Nono implicitly obeyed, and so was soon able to find the palace. What a grand building he thought it, and how beautiful the bright water about it! He was sure the world could show nothing more charming than the home of the Swedish king.

Nono would have trembled at the idea of entering the royal palace if he had not remembered that the good princess, his princess, was there. He had a friend within the castle. Not that the palace looked at all like a fortified castle. Its plain, square sides were pierced by long rows of rectangular windows, while on the water-front two long white wings shut in a quiet garden. In one of these wings, he had been told, the princess had her home. A sentinel was at the entrance of the vast courtyard through which he had learned he must pass. The guard looked so imposing that Nono almost trembled as he took off his felt hat and asked the way to the part of the palace where the princess lived. The sentinel condescended to point his finger towards the colonnade under which the desired door was to be found.

A lady was just ringing the bell. Nono watched her, and then closely imitated her movements. The door flew open for him, too, as it had done for her. A dignified, gray-haired man, in a livery Nono considered quite royal apparel, looked inquiringly at the little visitor. Nono asked simply to see the princess about a matter of importance. He was shown into a room, where a fair-haired lady gave him a kindly reception, and told him her royal highness would see him in a few moments.

What rich moments of waiting those were for little Nono! He stood as if on enchanted ground. From the wall looked out faces of gentlemen and ladies in gorgeous array. Real people they seemed to be, though silent and quiet, as, encircled by bright frames, they condescended to be looked at by the wondering, admiring black eyes that were fixed upon them. There, too, were bits of nature brought into that rich room – flashing waterfalls, and quiet pastures, and golden skies through which Nono almost fancied he could see the heaven beyond.

Nono stepped on the soft carpet without a thought of its strangeness to his rustic feet. A vision of beauty had been vouchsafed to him, and his eyes glanced from picture to picture, now glistening with delight and now lost in rapt admiration.

The fair lady, who had been watching him with amusement, soon told him that he might now go in to her royal highness, but only for a few moments, as this was her morning for receiving the poor, and as she had many to talk with her she was very tired.

Nono saw nothing of the room into which he was now admitted, nothing but the tall, slender, stooping figure that came forward to meet him. The painters have liked to give the angels golden hair, but this was to Nono a black-haired angel. Smooth, dark, glossy bands framed in the high, full forehead, while the delicate chin made a corresponding point below. The large brown eyes were full of loving light, and the thin mouth smiled a welcome before the lips had spoken it.

"What have you to say to me, my boy?" said the princess. A weary look quickly clouded her face, and she sank suddenly into an easy-chair, saying, "I have had many visitors to-day, so you must say quickly and plainly what you have to tell me."

"Perhaps I had better come another day," said Nono. It grieved him to see his princess look so weak and worn. Recollecting himself, he added, "But I don't see how I could, for I have come just for this a long way – from near Aneholm Church."

"Aneholm Church!" exclaimed the princess, brightening. "I once had a dear friend who lived in that neighbourhood. What do you want to tell me?"

It was hard for Nono to make his story short. He must go back to the bear, and how he came to the cottage, or the princess would not understand why he loved Karin and little Decima so, and why he felt he must help them. The princess must hear, too, about the accident, and how it was almost his fault, because he had insisted on having Decima out with the boys.

The princess soon forgot her weariness. This was no common beggar, with sycophant whine and forced civility. Nono spoke freely, frankly, and trustfully. She was some one good and powerful, who, he was sure, would gladly help him. His dark eyes looked into hers as he stood before her, while his words sprang from his heart, and his hands and his whole figure helped to illustrate his story. When he came to little Decima, the sister whom the brothers loved and took care of, who played with the boys, and was the pet and darling of all, the whole face of the listener was aglow.

"I was just such a little sister!" exclaimed the princess. "I never played with a doll in my life. I was the special pet with one of my brothers, who loved me very dearly. We romped and we painted, and we made clay figures together. I know what a brother can be!" and the tears for a moment filled her eyes. She dashed them away, and told Nono to go on with his story.

Nono wanted to say that he had seen a beautiful thing the princess had made, and that was one reason why he felt so acquainted with her, but he wisely kept to Decima and what he wanted for her.

When the princess heard of Decima's misfortune, and of the big room where all the family lived, the boys always leaving the door open to blow on the little patient, her heart was quite melted, as it had been many times before, as she compared her own comfort with the surroundings of the sick poor. She herself had been long an invalid, and often for months a prisoner in her beautiful rooms. She put out her arm towards Nono, who had drawn near to her in his eagerness, and was now close at her side. Affectionately her white slender hand was laid on the boy's, as she said, —

"Yes, Nono, your little Decima shall have a place in my home for sick children. I will have the permit made out at once, and she can come as soon as 'Mother Karin' can send her."

The princess spoke aside to the fair lady, who began to write the few words that were necessary, but stopped to ask Nono the full name of the patient.

"Decima Desideria Persson," was the prompt reply.

"Desideria!" said the princess, with a pleasant smile. "That was my grandmother's name, so the little girl half belongs to me to take care of."

"We don't call her Desideria," said Nono truthfully. "She had that name because it stands in the almanac, and seemed to sound well with Decima, Mother Karin thought; and besides, she wanted the only little girl to have a name-day to keep as well as the boys.".

Again the pleasant smile came into the face of the princess. She wrote in a free and flowing hand her signature to the permit, which was duly placed in an envelope and given to Nono.

"Since Decima Desideria is to be my guest, I must pay for her journey," said the princess.

Nono received the generous gift, and dared to kiss the hand that gave it. He was too full of joy and gratitude to express himself fully by his murmured thanks.

"I understand you, Nono," said the princess. "You can go now. Perhaps we shall meet again, some day; perhaps up there, if we both love the dear Lord and try to be his true children." The thin hand made a sweep upwards towards heaven, whither Nono, child as he was, felt that his princess was going, all too soon for the mourning hearts she would leave behind her.

So ended Nono's visit to the royal palace. The princess sank wearily back in her chair when the fair lady had gone out with Nono. On her mild face there was a shadow that betokened something more than weariness. That little boy she had trusted so implicitly while she looked into his clear eyes, what if he should prove an impostor? She had had her own bitter experience from the falsehoods of the apparently needy. "No! Nono is not an impostor, I am sure," she said to herself. "Little Decima, no doubt, ought to be taken care of immediately." A slight smile came over her thoughtful face as she recalled the unusual name.

The dignified old servant now brought in the letters from the morning mails. The first that the princess opened was in an unfamiliar hand. A cloud of sadness came over her, as a friend long in heaven was recalled to her mind. The colonel had written, not to renew the sorrow of the princess by reminding her of his lovely wife, but to say that he had accidentally heard of Nono's departure, without credentials or recommendations of any kind to insure her confidence. The letter guaranteed the truthfulness and honesty of the boy, and contained warm words in favour of the family at the golden house.

The good princess was glad to be acquitted of rashness in her promise, and was once more encouraged to love and to trust, and to give freely out of her abundance.

Little Nono had started cheerily on his homeward journey, grateful at heart. He was hopeful as to finding Blackie at the house where he had been assured his pet would be awaiting his return from the palace. Nono was met there by rude answers to his eager inquiries, and was told that no one had seen anything of a little black pig, nor did any one on those premises wish to see anything more of a little dark boy full of impudent questions. There was a sweep of meadows about the house, and no other dwelling was near the spot.