CHAPTER XI.
_POOR MAC._
ROSE'S sacrifice was a failure in one respect, for, though the eldersloved her the better for it, and showed that they did, the boys were notinspired with the sudden respect which she had hoped for. In fact, herfeelings were much hurt by overhearing Archie say that he couldn't seeany sense in it; and the Prince added another blow by pronouncing her"the queerest chicken ever seen."
It is apt to be so, and it is hard to bear; for, though we do not wanttrumpets blown, we do like to have our little virtues appreciated, andcannot help feeling disappointed if they are not.
A time soon came, however, when Rose, quite unconsciously, won not onlythe respect of her cousins, but their gratitude and affection likewise.
Soon after the Island episode, Mac had a sun-stroke, and was very illfor some time. It was so sudden that every one was startled, and forsome days the boy's life was in danger. He pulled through, however; andthen, just as the family were rejoicing, a new trouble appeared whichcast a gloom over them all.
Poor Mac's eyes gave out; and well they might, for he had abused them,and never being very strong, they suffered doubly now.
No one dared to tell him the dark predictions of the great oculist whocame to look at them, and the boy tried to be patient, thinking that afew weeks of rest would repair the overwork of several years.
He was forbidden to look at a book, and as that was the one thing hemost delighted in, it was a terrible affliction to the Worm. Every onewas very ready to read to him, and at first the lads contended for thishonor. But as week after week went by, and Mac was still condemned toidleness and a darkened room, their zeal abated, and one after the otherfell off. It _was_ hard for the active fellows, right in the midst oftheir vacation; and nobody blamed them when they contented themselveswith brief calls, running of errands, and warm expressions of sympathy.
The elders did their best, but Uncle Mac was a busy man, Aunt Jane'sreading was of a funereal sort, impossible to listen to long, and theother aunties were all absorbed in their own cares, though they suppliedthe boy with every delicacy they could invent.
Uncle Alec was a host in himself, but he could not give all his time tothe invalid; and if it had not been for Rose, the afflicted Worm wouldhave fared ill. Her pleasant voice suited him, her patience wasunfailing, her time of no apparent value, and her eager good-will wasvery comforting.
The womanly power of self-devotion was strong in the child, and sheremained faithfully at her post when all the rest dropped away. Hourafter hour she sat in the dusky room, with one ray of light on herbook, reading to the boy, who lay with shaded eyes silently enjoying theonly pleasure that lightened the weary days. Sometimes he was peevishand hard to please, sometimes he growled because his reader could notmanage the dry books he wished to hear, and sometimes he was sodespondent that her heart ached to see him. Through all these trialsRose persevered, using all her little arts to please him. When hefretted, she was patient; when he growled, she ploughed bravely throughthe hard pages,--not dry to her in one sense, for quiet tears dropped onthem now and then; and when Mac fell into a despairing mood, shecomforted him with every hopeful word she dared to offer.
He said little, but she knew he was grateful, for she suited him betterthan any one else. If she was late, he was impatient; when she had togo, he seemed forlorn; and when the tired head ached worst, she couldalways soothe him to sleep, crooning the old songs her father used tolove.
"I don't know what I _should_ do without that child," Aunt Jane oftensaid.
"She's worth all those racketing fellows put together," Mac would add,fumbling about to discover if the little chair was ready for her coming.
That was the sort of reward Rose liked, the thanks that cheered her; andwhenever she grew very tired, one look at the green shade, the curlyhead so restless on the pillow, and the poor groping hands, touched hertender heart and put new spirit into the weary voice.
She did not know how much she was learning, both from the books she readand the daily sacrifices she made. Stories and poetry were her delight,but Mac did not care for them; and since his favorite Greeks and Romanswere forbidden, he satisfied himself with travels, biographies, and thehistory of great inventions or discoveries. Rose despised this taste atfirst, but soon got interested in Livingstone's adventures, Hobson'sstirring life in India, and the brave trials and triumphs of Watt andArkwright, Fulton, and "Palissy, the Potter." The true, strong bookshelped the dreamy girl; her faithful service and sweet patience touchedand won the boy; and long afterward both learned to see how useful thoseseemingly hard and weary hours had been to them.
One bright morning, as Rose sat down to begin a fat volume entitled"History of the French Revolution," expecting to come to great griefover the long names, Mac, who was lumbering about the room like a blindbear, stopped her by asking abruptly,--
"What day of the month is it?"
"The seventh of August, I believe."
"More than half my vacation gone, and I've only had a week of it! I callthat hard," and he groaned dismally.
"So it is; but there is more to come, and you may be able to enjoythat."
"_May_ be able! I _will_ be able! Does that old noodle think I'm goingto stay stived up here much longer?"
"I guess he does, unless your eyes get on faster than they have yet."
"Has he said any thing more lately?"
"I haven't seen him, you know. Shall I begin?--this looks rather nice."
"Read away; it's all one to me." And Mac cast himself down upon the oldlounge, where his heavy head felt easiest.
Rose began with great spirit, and kept on gallantly for a couple ofchapters, getting over the unpronounceable names with unexpectedsuccess, she thought, for her listener did not correct her once, and layso still she fancied he was deeply interested. All of a sudden she wasarrested in the middle of a fine paragraph by Mac, who sat bolt upright,brought both feet down with a thump, and said, in a rough, excitedtone,--
"Stop! I don't hear a word, and you may as well save your breath toanswer my question."
"What is it?" asked Rose, looking uneasy, for she had something on hermind, and feared that he suspected what it was. His next words provedthat she was right.
"Now look here, I want to know something, and you've _got_ to tell me."
"Please, don't,--" began Rose, beseechingly.
"You _must_, or I'll pull off this shade and stare at the sun as hard asever I can stare. Come now!" and he half rose, as if ready to executethe threat.
"I will! oh, I will tell, if I know! But don't be reckless and do anything so crazy as that," cried Rose, in great distress.
"Very well; then listen, and don't dodge, as every one else does. Didn'tthe doctor think my eyes worse the last time he came? Mother won't say,but you _shall_."
"I believe he did," faltered Rose.
"I thought so! Did he say I should be able to go to school when itbegins?"
"No, Mac," very low.
"Ah!"
That was all, but Rose saw her cousin set his lips together and take along breath, as if she had hit him hard. He bore the disappointmentbravely, however, and asked quite steadily in a minute,--
"How soon does he think I _can_ study again?"
It was so hard to answer that! Yet Rose knew she must, for Aunt Jane haddeclared she _could_ not do it, and Uncle Mac had begged her to breakthe truth to the poor lad.
"Not for a good many months."
"How many?" he asked with a pathetic sort of gruffness.
"A year, perhaps."
"A whole year! Why, I expected to be ready for college by that time."And, pushing up the shade, Mac stared at her with startled eyes, thatsoon blinked and fell before the one ray of light.
"Plenty of time for that; you must be patient now, and get themthoroughly well, or they will trouble you again when it will be harderto spare them," she said, with tears in her own eyes.
"I won't do it! I _will_ study and get through somehow. It's all humbuga
bout taking care so long. These doctors like to keep hold of a fellowif they can. But I won't stand it,--I vow I won't!" and he banged hisfist down on the unoffending pillow as if he were pommelling thehard-hearted doctor.
"Now, Mac, listen to me," Rose said very earnestly, though her voiceshook a little and her heart ached. "You know you have hurt your eyesreading by firelight and in the dusk, and sitting up late, and nowyou'll have to pay for it; the doctor said so. You _must_ be careful,and do as he tells you, or you will be--blind."
"No!"
"Yes, it is true, and he wanted us to tell you that nothing but entirerest would cure you. I know it's dreadfully hard, but we'll all helpyou; I'll read all day long, and lead you, and wait upon you, and try tomake it easier--"
She stopped there, for it was evident that he did not hear a sound; theword "blind" seemed to have knocked him down, for he had buried his facein the pillow, and lay so still that Rose was frightened. She satmotionless for many minutes, longing to comfort him, but not knowinghow, and wishing Uncle Alec would come, for he had promised to tell Mac.
Presently, a sort of choking sound came out of the pillow, and wentstraight to her heart,--the most pathetic sob she ever heard, for,though it was the most natural means of relief, the poor fellow must notindulge in it because of the afflicted eyes. The "French Revolution"tumbled out of her lap, and, running to the sofa, she knelt down by it,saying, with the motherly sort of tenderness girls feel for anysorrowing creature,--
"Oh, my dear, you mustn't cry! It is so bad for your poor eyes. Takeyour head out of that hot pillow, and let me cool it. I don't wonderyou feel so, but please don't cry. I'll cry for you; it won't hurt_me_."
"RUNNING TO THE SOFA, SHE KNELT DOWN BY IT."]
As she spoke, she pulled away the cushion with gentle force, and saw thegreen shade all crushed and stained with the few hot tears that toldhow bitter the disappointment had been. Mac felt her sympathy, but,being a boy, did not thank her for it; only sat up with a jerk, saying,as he tried to rub away the tell-tale drops with the sleeve of hisjacket: "Don't bother; weak eyes always water. I'm all right."
But Rose cried out, and caught his arm: "Don't touch them with thatrough woollen stuff! Lie down and let me bathe them, there's a dear boy;then there will be no harm done."
"They do smart confoundedly. I say, don't you tell the other fellowsthat I made a baby of myself, will you?" he added, yielding with a sighto the orders of his nurse, who had flown for the eye-wash and linencambric handkerchief.
"Of course I won't; but any one would be upset at the idea ofbeing--well--troubled in this way. I'm sure you bear it splendidly, andyou know it isn't half so bad when you get used to it. Besides, it isonly for a time, and you can do lots of pleasant things if you can'tstudy. You'll have to wear blue goggles, perhaps; won't that be funny?"
And while she was pouring out all the comfortable words she could thinkof, Rose was softly bathing the eyes and dabbing the hot forehead withlavender-water, as her patient lay quiet with a look on his face thatgrieved her sadly.
"Homer was blind, and so was Milton, and they did something to beremembered by, in spite of it," he said, as if to himself, in a solemntone, for even the blue goggles did not bring a smile.
"Papa had a picture of Milton and his daughters writing for him. It wasa very sweet picture, I thought," observed Rose in a serious voice,trying to meet the sufferer on his own ground.
"Perhaps I could study if some one read and did the eye part. Do yousuppose I could, by and by?" he asked, with a sudden ray of hope.
"I dare say, if your head is strong enough. This sun-stroke, you know,is what upset you, and your brains need rest, the doctor says."
"I'll have a talk with the old fellow next time he comes, and find outjust what I _may_ do; then I shall know where I am. What a fool I wasthat day to be stewing my brains and letting the sun glare on my booktill the letters danced before me! I see 'em now when I shut my eyes;black balls bobbing round, and stars and all sorts of queer things.Wonder if all blind people do?"
"Don't think about them; I'll go on reading, shall I? We shall come tothe exciting part soon, and then you'll forget all this," suggestedRose.
"No, I never shall forget. Hang the old 'Revolution!' I don't want tohear another word of it. My head aches, and I'm hot. Oh, wouldn't I liketo go for a pull in the 'Stormy Petrel!'" and poor Mac tossed about asif he did not know what to do with himself.
"Let me sing, and perhaps you'll drop off; then the day will seemshorter," said Rose, taking up a fan and sitting down beside him.
"Perhaps I shall; I didn't sleep much last night, and when I did Idreamed like fun. See here, you tell the people that I know, and it'sall right, and I don't want them to talk about it or howl over me.That's all; now drone away, and I'll try to sleep. Wish I could for ayear, and wake up cured."
"Oh, I wish, I wish you could!"
Rose said it so fervently, that Mac was moved to grope for her apron andhold on to a corner of it, as if it was comfortable to feel her nearhim. But all he said was,--
"You are a good little soul, Rosy. Give us 'The Birks;' that is a drowsyone that always sends me off."
Quite contented with this small return for all her sympathy, Rose wavedher fan and sang, in a dreamy tone, the pretty Scotch air, the burden ofwhich is,--
"Bonny lassie, will ye gang, will ye gang To the Birks of Aberfeldie?"
Whether the lassie went or not I cannot say, but the laddie was off tothe land of Nod in about ten minutes, quite worn out with hearing thebad tidings and the effort to bear them manfully.
Eight Cousins; Or, The Aunt-Hill Page 12
