“Silly child!” she said, fondly, “as silly as thy poor mother herself!  The master only takes trouble, and chastens and rebukes, because he thinks it is worth while, because thou art trying and learning, and art doing a little better day by day.  He knows what thy best can be, and will never be content with anything but thy very best.”

“Is it that, mother?  Is it indeed that?” said the boy, looking up with a sudden dawning of hope.

And a sweet dawn of promise met him in his mother’s eyes as she answered: 

“It is even that, my own, for thee and for me!”

CHAPTER IV.

With a glad heart, Gottlieb dressed the next morning before Lenichen was awake, and was off to the choir-master for his lesson alone.

The new hope had inspired him, and he sang that morning to the content even of the master, as he knew, not by his praise, but by his summoning Ursula from the kitchen to listen, unable to resist his desire for the sympathy of a larger audience.

Ursula was not exactly musical, nor was she demonstrative, but she showed her satisfaction by appropriating her share of the success.

“I knew what was wanting!” she said, significantly.  “The birds and the blessed angels may sing on crumbs or on the waters of Paradise; but goose and pudding are a great help to the alleluias here below.”

“The archduchess will be enraptured, and the Cistercians will be furious!” said the choir-master, equally pleased at both prospects.

But this Gottlieb did not hear, for he had availed himself of the first free moment to run home and tell his mother how things had improved.

After that, Gottlieb had no more trouble about the master.  The old man’s severity became comprehensible and dear to him, and a loving liberty and confidence came into his bearing toward him, which went to the heart of the childless old man, so that dearer than the praise of the archduchess, or even the discomfiture of the Cistercians, became to him the success and welfare of the child.

But then, unknown to himself, the poor boy entered on a new chapter of temptations.

The other boys, observing the choir-master’s love for him, grew jealous, and called him sometimes “the master’s little angel,” and sometimes “the little beggar of the hermitage” or “Dwarf Hans’ darling.”

He was too brave and manly a little fellow to tell his mother all these little annoyances.  He would not for the world have spoiled her joy in her little “Chrysostom,” her golden-mouthed laddie.  But once they followed him to her door, and she heard them herself.  The rude words smote her to the heart, but she only said: 

“Thou art not ashamed of the hermit’s house, nor of being old Hans’ darling?”

“I hope, never!” said the child, with a little hesitation.  “God sent him to us, and I love him.  But it would be nice if dear Hans sometimes washed his face!”