Hans
clutched his notebook tightly to his chest. He had tried so hard not to be
noticed by the headmaster. It was usually easier to escape notice during the school
day, but Hans had nowhere else to go once school was over.
Both of
Hans’s parents had died, leaving him an orphan. Headmaster Jensen had offered
to take in Hans out of the goodness of his heart. Hans sighed. The only
goodness in the headmaster’s heart was the desire to look good in front of his
superiors. Hans knew full well that the headmaster only took him in because he
wanted to appear generous in order to be promoted.
Well,
Headmaster Jensen hadn’t been promoted, and he took out all of his anger on
Hans. It was true that Hans had his basic needs met—barely. But every day after
school, he was put to work doing all kinds of chores. Cleaning the school and
the outhouse, as well as tending the large garden. Hans worked without stopping
until bedtime.
When Hans
was finally alone on his straw pallet, he was able to sit and think—and write.
Hans would dream up stories of people who lived magical lives and write them
down in his notebook. It was his way of escaping the reality of his life. He
wrote about castles and knights who fought dragons. Several of his stories were
about children like himself in poor situations. He always thought up magical
ways for them to escape and live happily ever after.
The only
thing Hans had to worry about was hiding his notebook. He kept it hidden among
his other schoolbooks during the day. On sunny days, he brought it outside with
him at lunch time. There was a secluded spot behind some trees where he could
write in peace.
Not today,
though. Hans looked up at Headmaster Jensen, whose hand was held out. “Hand it
over, boy,” the headmaster said roughly.
Reluctantly,
Hans gave him his precious notebook. “It’s just my personal notes, sir.”
Headmaster
Jensen glanced through the notebook, looking at the contents. “Writing magic
stories, are we?” He glared at Hans. “You don’t have time for this nonsense.
Especially ones about children rising above their elders.” He held up the notebook
and said, “I’ll just hold on to this until you learn some sense.”
“No, wait!”
Hans cried as the headmaster walked away. He knew that he would never get his
notebook back. He slammed his hands on the ground in frustration. If only he
could be like the people in his stories. Surely a fairy godmother would come
and visit him and help him get his notebook back. Maybe even take him somewhere
far, far away from here. He could see it all happen in his head and his fingers
were itching to write it down. He had to get his notebook back, but how?
Hans worked
the problem over in his mind for the rest of the school day. He paid less
attention than usual to his lessons, but when school was dismissed, he had a
plan. He was going to get his notebook back.
Hans threw
himself into his afternoon and evening chores. He didn’t want to draw any more
attention to himself. He finished cleaning the school house and started weeding
the garden. Finally, he came in after dark and accepted his small supper
without complaint. The headmaster set him a few extra chores before he was
finally allowed to retire to bed.
The hardest
part of his plan was lying on his sleeping pallet, pretending to sleep, when
really, he was listening with all his might for any movement upstairs. Hans’
sleeping space was in a small closet, close to the kitchen. He didn’t stir for
at least an hour before he judged that the headmaster had gone to bed. Then he
waited another hour before he rose silently and crept through the kitchen, into
the main school house.
Every creak
sounded like thunder as Hans slowly moved upstairs toward the headmaster’s
office and sleeping quarters. He heard the headmaster snoring softly as he
passed the closed bedroom door. The small office next door seemed a mile away
as he held his breath and crossed a particularly loud and creaky section of
flooring.
Hans froze when
he heard a snuffle come from the bedroom. He stood there for a full ten minutes
until he heard the snores resume. Very carefully, he opened the door to the headmaster’s
office and looked around. This and the bedroom were strictly off limits to Hans
and he wasn’t exactly sure where he would find his notebook. He moved to the
desk and quietly started his search.
The full
moon cast enough light through the window for Hans to see while he searched the
desk drawers. He started sweating as he tried to keep from making any sound. He
couldn’t find his notebook anywhere in the desk. He turned to a chest of
drawers set against the wall, and resumed his search.
His heart
leapt in his throat as he opened a drawer and saw his notebook. Finally! He
forgot his caution as he wrenched the drawer all the way open. It gave a
terrific squeak and Hans heard a thump from next door. He snatched up his
notebook, closed the drawer, and was looking for a place to hide when he heard
shuffling footsteps.
Moving as
fast as he dared, Hans darted toward the window. Knowing he had only seconds,
he wrenched the window open and climbed outside. He stuffed his notebook inside
his shirt and lowered himself from the windowsill. Hanging by his hands, he
dropped to the grass below which only slightly cushioned his fall. Quickly, he
jumped up and ran for the kitchen door. He slid into his sleeping pallet just
as he heard footsteps descending the stairs. He pretended to be asleep when he
heard his door open.
Forcing
himself to take slow deep breaths, he waited for what seemed like an age before
he heard the door shut again. He didn’t move even after he heard the headmaster
head back up to his own room. Finally, after an hour, he dared to retrieve his
notebook from inside his shirt. He couldn’t be happier when he saw his own name
written on the inside cover—Hans Christian Andersen.
After that
day, Hans took extra care with his notebook. Never again would he allow anyone
to take it away from him. There would come a time later in his life when he
would share his stories with the world, but for now, he held them close, safe
from disapproving eyes.
