FELIX.

BY MRS. W. J. HAYS.

It is early morning in a cathedral town of Germany, and a boy is muffling his head in the bedclothes, trying to keep out the sound of bells and the sight of the bright sun-beams. His comrade, however, is doing all he can to arouse him.

"Go away, I say," is all the reply to these well-meant efforts. "What's the use of getting up to be knocked about and scolded? When mother was here, one was sure of a cup of hot milk and a kind word. I'm going to sleep again. Do hush! There, take that!" and he gave his friend a cuff on the ear.

The friend howled, which sent a pang through the boy's heart. He stretched out his hand with a gesture prompted by remorse.

"Come here, come here. I've given you just what I don't like for myself, poor fellow. I beg your pardon."

His face was well washed after that by a dog's warm tongue, which had also the effect of waking the boy very thoroughly. The conversation too went on.

"Turk, old dog, you're the best friend I have in the world, and if you didn't wake me up every day, I'd never be in school. Since mother's death, father is so cross and still and dull! he does nothing but work, work, work. But my rose-tree must be planted to-day, and if I don't do it now, I don't know when I will have the chance."

So saying, he dressed rapidly, tossed open his lattice, and took a small plant from the window-sill, ran down the outside flight of steps leading from the door of his father's shop, paused a moment to snatch up a roll and his bag of books, and then with his dog hurried down the village street.

He was soon past the houses and shops, and nearing the vast towers of the great church, which was but partly finished; and as he looked up at the points and pinnacles of heaven-aspiring height a thought which had long been in his mind burst into bloom.

It was a simple thought, but a religious one, and it so absorbed him that for a while he forgot his errand, and stood gazing up into the pure sky, blue as forget-me-nots. He was startled, however, by the village bells and clocks, and a hurrying group of workmen approaching, so he quickly sought out a lonely grave, took his plant from its pot, and digging a little hole, set the rose-bush in it.

Quick as he was, he was yet too late for school, and received frowning disapprobation from the master as he took his seat.

Unfortunately Felix was often late, often too his lessons were unprepared. But he was so ready to make amends, and was so quick in learning, that he could get on better than the duller pupils who labored more systematically.

But to-day everything went wrong; his head was full of fancies, and with his ready pencil he was sketching when he should have been studying, scrawling scrolls and rose-windows over his Latin, and sending flocks of pigeons up and down the margin of oceans and continents. He stumbled at his lessons, he bothered those who knew them, and perplexed those who did not, until the master's patience was exhausted, and he gave him a sound thrashing.

After that there was silence, sullenness, and an appearance of work, but a sudden roar of laughter from the boys made the master look up. Felix was bending over his book as if he were the only one undisturbed. The master was not, however, easily deceived.

"Come here, Felix."

"Yes, sir;" and the lad slowly obeyed.

"Give me that book."

"I'd rather not, sir."

"Give it to me."

Now Felix had a real liking for his master, and was usually sorry for offending him; but the whipping had not been beneficial, although his conscience told him that it was deserved. He presented the book. On its fly-leaf was a drawing of the master—a very clever caricature—as Cupid drawing his bow at a group of girls, who, with much disdain and derision, were pelting him with sticks and stones.

The master's face flushed at the disrespect; but he quietly laid the book aside, and proceeded with his duties, Felix remaining standing.

The recitations went on, the hum of study, the drawl of the lazy ones, and the quick, eager replies of the ambitious. Felix was forgotten.

The boy began to think he had made a mistake. What had he gained by misconduct? Where were the thoughts of the morning under the cathedral windows? How was he fitting himself to work on the beautiful structure which was to be the medium of praise and prayer for multitudes, in the long ages to come? And yet he knew this had been his mother's hope and wish. Was he making good use of the talents God had given him?

He was looking out the window now, watching the lights and shadows on the carved stone of buttress and gable.

The boys were dismissed. He sat down to the extra tasks assigned him. He was hungry, he was miserable, but he plodded on, and finished his work. The master bade him go, and he went, but not home.

He lingered about the cathedral, watching the workmen. Finally he became fascinated by their employment; and taking up their tools, worked out a leaf pattern on a bit of refuse stone. The men left him there. Tired and faint, he sought his mother's resting-place. The rose was drooping for want of water.

"Come, it is time you were home," said a familiar voice.

Felix looked up astonished. It was the master.

"You must go with me to your father. I wish to speak to him."

Felix obeyed. The climax had come. His father was stern and hard, and the master, of course, would have a sorry tale to tell.

Fortunately the village people had gone in to their evening meal, and he would be spared the disgrace of being seen conducted like a culprit to his father. He did not speak a word, nor did the master, but shame and remorse were written on every feature. He felt as if he were a criminal about to receive sentence—a sentence, too, which was deserved, and which justice demanded.

"Well, what now, Herr Professor, is the matter?" asked the father, grimly surveying his son.

"Felix is in trouble again, Mr. Zimmerman."

"Hah! idle as usual—good for nothing—won't study?"

"Yes, a little of all, I am sorry to say. But I have a remedy to propose."

"A thrashing, of course."

"No, once a day is enough. We've tried that; it did not answer in this case as well as it does sometimes. May I have the pleasure of Master Felix's company to supper?"

"What, sir, you want the boy to be rewarded for bad behavior?"

"Not at all—not at all. Run away, Felix; get your face washed and your jacket on, and you shall be my guest for this evening."

Felix was almost too much surprised to be able to move, but without daring to question his father, he did as the master told him. While he was gone, a conversation went on between Mr. Zimmerman and the teacher.

It is not necessary to repeat it; but Felix saw a different expression on his father's face when, neatly dressed, he came down the steps and followed the master home.

He was fearfully hungry, and yet almost ashamed to take the good broth and bread which were set before him in the master's quaint and quiet little parlor; they somehow choked him; and as he looked about at the book-covered shelves and old engravings, the detestable caricature he had drawn in the morning danced before his eyes.

At last he could stand it no longer. The teacher seemed to have disappeared, and only this kind, genial host sat opposite him, heaping up his plate and bowl.

"Herr Professor," he stammered, "I beg your pardon—indeed I do."

"I am very glad to hear that, my boy; but don't think any more about it just now," was the response, and filling his pipe, wreaths of smoke began to play about the old man's head.

"It is a great pity that a lad of your talent should waste any time, Felix, and if you are willing, I think your father will let me give you drawing lessons."

Felix could hardly believe his ears.

"To be sure, you will have to apply yourself more diligently, be prompt and industrious, or all the lessons in the world won't make a man of you."

"I'll try," said Felix, though a mist was in his eyes.

"That's right," said the Professor, and then he opened some great volumes full of pictures, and the boy gazed in delighted wonder at a world more beautiful than his dreams. Not an allusion did the Professor make again to anything that had happened during the day.

When evening was over, and he courteously bade him good-night, Felix was dazed, and went home with light steps to his little bed.

As soon as Turk woke him next morning he sprang up with alacrity, and would have been off with the dawn to water his rose-bush, but his father detained him.

"Felix," said he, somewhat sternly, "the master says there's good stuff in you if you'll use it. Come here and eat your breakfast before you go, and let me hear what you have to say for yourself."

"I'll try," was the sum and substance of Felix's talk over his brown bread and milk.

Ten years after this there was a great celebration in the town, for the cathedral was finished. Cannon thundered, bells pealed, and a grand "Te Deum" was chanted to the rolling rhythm of the magnificent organ.

A group of visitors standing near a certain pillar of great beauty were applauding it, while they complimented a young architect and sculptor, whose work it was. His head was modestly bent as he received the commendation, but in a moment he raised it, and turning to a very old man in a professor's gown, whose hair was white with the snows of many winters, he took him by the hand and presented him to the visitors.

"Gentlemen, this is the person you must thank for the pillar. Whatever beauty it possesses, whatever expression it is of truth and religion, is due to my master, whose kindness rescued me from idleness, whose skill directed my youthful efforts."