CHAPTER IX.
"WHAT MUST BE, MUST BE."
Time passed quickly at the two houses, in this new and happycompanionship.
"Another week gone already!" and "Sunday again so soon!" were theexclamations heard on every side, as each week went by. And Dora was thehappiest of all; the days fairly danced with her: they certainly had notmore than half as many hours as they had had in Karlsruhe, and everyevening she was sorry to have to go to bed, and lose in sleep so much ofthe little time that remained of her visit. If she could only have passedthe whole night at the piano, practising while the others were sleeping,she thought she could have nothing more to desire. Her arm was now whollyhealed, and she was taking music-lessons with a kind of furor; and in Lilishe had a teacher whose zeal equaled her own. A most agreeable teachertoo, who did not trouble her pupil with finger-exercises and scales, butgave her tunes at once without more ado; and first of course the favorite,"Live thy life merrily." Dora learned the air very quickly with the righthand, and Lili did not require her to learn the left hand yet; declaringthat it was quite too difficult to play both together. All thisplaying-teacher was so improving to Lili, that she began to make wonderfulprogress herself, so that Miss Hanenwinkel was equally surprised andpleased at her improvement, and her mother often paused outside of theschool-room door to listen to the firm but lively touch with which herlittle daughter rendered her studies; for Lili had really great talent formusic, and now that a sufficient motive had been applied, she advancedrapidly.
Paula was in a state of tranquil blessedness all day long. She had found afriend, and such a friend! The reality of this friendship far surpassedher imagination and her hopes, for such a one as Dora she could not haveconceived of; one who was so attractive not only to her, but to everymember of the family. Like Dora, Paula grudged the hours passed in sleep,now that there were so few left that they could spend together.
Rolf had abandoned his old plan of charade-making, and had started on anentirely new system, and he spent his leisure hours striding up and downcertain of the garden-walks, sunk in thought with his hands clasped behindhis back, and so lost to outward things that Hunne was charged to keepaway from these paths; for more than once he was almost run down by hisbrother. A new set of riddles was now ready every evening for Uncle Titus,who was always waiting for his young friend in the summer-house, preparedto guess, and showing remarkable skill in finding out even the mostintricate puzzles; and as a natural result, Rolf grew more and more cleverin making them. Before long, Uncle Titus began to give riddles himself inreturn, and his were carefully written out; for they required seriousstudy, as they were in Latin. Rolf carried these home to his father andJule, but they would not even try to guess them. Mr. Ehrenreich declaredthat his Latin was quite too rusty for such work as this, and Julemaintained that during vacation he did not dare to tax his brainunnecessarily; he needed all his wits for his serious work next term. SoRolf worked away by himself, dictionary in hand, and twisted and turnedthe words till he wrung out their meaning. Then he showed them withtriumph to his father and brother, and in the evening carried them toUncle Titus. The pleasure which his kind old friend took in his successspurred the boy on to greater activity. He studied not only the riddlesthemselves, but his Latin lessons more earnestly, and he took to earlyrising, and every morning before breakfast he worked with his Lexicon inthe garden, as if his livelihood depended on the solution of Latinpuzzles.
Hunne too was a lucky boy in these days, for no matter how often or howlong he hung upon Dora, and claimed her as his own property, never oncedid the good-natured girl avoid or repulse her little friend; but alwayslent herself to his wishes, and took so much pains to amuse him, that itseemed as if she found her own pleasure in pleasing him. Mrs. Birkenfeldhad persuaded Aunt Ninette to leave Dora entirely at liberty both morningand evening, and when in the afternoon she took her sewing and sat withthe family under the apple-tree, she found that even shirt-making mightbe an agreeable occupation, under such favorable circumstances as these.
One day Dora made a new riddle for Hunne; for indeed his "nut-cracker" onehad become rather an old story; yet he couldn't bear to give upriddle-giving. To his unspeakable joy this new riddle had a triumphantexperience, quite unprecedented in the family annals--no one could guessit. This time nobody could turn him off with, "Oh, go away with that sameold charade." For as no one knew the answer, no one could laugh at thelittle questioner, and he and Dora agreed not to give the slightest hintthat might lead to the right guess, and so put an end to this delightfulstate of things.
The riddle was this:
"My first makes you cry--not for sorrow, For my second a spoon you may borrow, To my whole, you say, 'thank you--to-morrow.'"
What could it be? Julius said it was "Hot-tea, because if the tea is veryhot and you try to drink it, the tears start to your eyes, and then youcool it with a spoon, and you would like to let it stand till to-morrow."
Hunne jumped for joy, crying "Wrong, wrong!"
Miss Hanenwinkel suggested "Plum-jam," because Hunne often cried when hecouldn't have plums, and everybody ate jam with a spoon, and if plum-jamwas not on the supper-table to-night, it was sure to be, to-morrow.
"Wrong! wrong!" cried Hunne again.
"Well, I guess Tear-ful," said Rolf; but that was even worse than theothers.
"I think it may be Snow-drop," said the mother. "The sight of the snowmakes you cry for joy, and a spoon is used for your drops if you are ill,and you always want snowdrops to-morrow."
Mamma had failed! "Not Snowdrops; no!" screamed Hunne, almost besidehimself with delight.
"I guess it is _ice-cream_," said Mr. Birkenfeld. "Ice makes me crysometimes, it is so cold. Cream certainly needs a spoon, and I have oftenheard the cry, 'To-morrow please,' when ice-cream has been mentioned."
Hunne spun round with delight. "No, no!" he shouted. It was almost toogood to be true, that his father should have missed it too. He scamperedabout crying out to everyone, "Guess! guess!"
Rolf was really vexed not to be able to see through this simple little"Hunne riddle" as he called it; and was mortified to perceive that he hadmade a worse guess than any one.
Meantime the days were passing. One morning at breakfast Uncle Titus said,
"My dear Ninette, our last week is drawing near. What should you say if weput off going home, another fortnight? I feel remarkably well here, nodizziness at all, and an extraordinary increase of strength in my legs!"
"You show it in your looks, my dear Titus--" said his wife tenderly, "youlook ten years younger, at the very least, than when we came here."
"And to my mind, this way of living has done you a world of good too, mydear Ninette;" replied he, "It seems to me that you find much less tolament over of late."
"Everything is so different," she answered; "It seems to me thateverything has changed. The noise of the children even doesn't seem thesame, now that I know each one of them. I must say that I am very gladthat we didn't leave here that first week; I feel the loss of somethingpleasant now when I do not hear the children's voices, and I am always alittle uneasy if it is perfectly quiet in the garden."
"It is just so with me," said Uncle Titus, "and I cannot get through anevening with any satisfaction unless that bright boy has been in to seeme, full of impatience to tell me what he has been about during the day,and eager to hear the enigmas I have to give him. It is a perfect pleasureto have such a young fellow about one."
"My dear Titus, you are growing younger every day. We will certainly staylonger," said Aunt Ninette decidedly, "just as long as we convenientlycan. I'm sure even the doctor did not expect such good results from onecountry visit; it is almost miraculous!"
Dora lost no time in carrying the enchanting news of this decision toPaula, for in her inmost heart she had been very unhappy at the thought ofgoing away so soon. How could she live, away from all this dear familywith whom she had learned to feel so entirely at home? She thought thatwhen the day of separation came her heart
would surely break.
When the good news of Dora's longer stay among them spread through thefamily, there was general rejoicing, and the little girl was in danger ofbeing fairly hugged to death by her friends.
That evening after the children were all safely in bed, and MissHanenwinkel had withdrawn to her own room, Mr. and Mrs. Birkenfeld sattogether upon the sofa, talking. This was the only quiet time that theycould count upon in the course of the day, when they could talk over theneeds, the pleasures and the pains, of their large and busy family. Theywere talking now about the decision of their new friends, and Mrs.Birkenfeld expressed her great satisfaction with it, adding,
"I cannot bear to think of losing Dora. She has grown very dear to me.What a real blessing that child has been in the family! She leaves hermark wherever she goes, and always for good. Wherever I turn I find somenew evidence of her beneficial influence. And to me personally she isparticularly attractive; I can't understand exactly why, but whenever Ilook into her eyes, I feel as if I had known her for a long time, and asif we had been sympathetic friends in days gone by."
"Ah, my dear wife, how often I have heard you say that whenever you feel aparticular friendship for any one. I recollect perfectly that after we hadknown each other a little while, you said it seemed to you as if we hadbeen intimately acquainted some time before."
"Well, suppose I did, you most incorrigible tease," said his wife, "youcannot convince me to the contrary, nor can you take away the fact thatDora is dear and delightful, not only to me, but to all the familybesides. Paula goes about beaming like the sunshine, and with no trace ofher usual discontent. Jule pulls off his own riding-boots without stirringup the whole house about it; Rolf is so full of interest in his pursuitsthat he has not a moment of idleness all day long; Lili has developed alove for music and a talent for playing the piano, that we never dreamedshe possessed; and little Hunne has become so gentle and so contented athis games, that it is a pleasure just to look at the child."
"I think too," said Mr. Birkenfeld, "that it is because of Dora's beingwith us, that there has been a cessation of those mischievous pranks thatthe twins were always at, and that kept the house in a constant state ofexcitement."
"I have not the least doubt of it;" said his wife, "Dora has aroused inLili an enthusiasm for music, and all the child's lively energy is turnedinto that channel. Wili follows his sister's lead, and they are boththerefore so busy that they have not even a thought for mischief."
"Dora is certainly an uncommon child and I am very sorry she is to leaveus so soon;" said Mr. Birkenfeld regretfully.
"That is what is weighing upon my mind," said his wife, "I am constantlytrying to devise some plan for prolonging her stay still farther."
"No, no;" said her husband, decidedly, "we can't do anything about that.We don't know these people well enough to try to influence theirmovements. They must go away now, but perhaps next year we may see themhere again."
Mrs. Birkenfeld sighed; there was a long winter to come, and there seemedto her to be but little chance of the visit being repeated.
The day fixed for the departure was Monday, and on the day before therewas to be a grand feast, a farewell festival; though to tell the truth,none of them felt much like making a jubilee. Rolf alone was in the mood,and he took charge of the preparations, as an important part of which, anumber of choice riddles were to be hung about the summer-house astransparencies: in honor of his patron.
On Saturday Dora took her seat, as usual, with the family at dinner, butno one had any appetite; the coming separation was too much in theirthoughts. As the mother was helping to soup, one after another exclaimed,"Very little for me," "Please only a little," "I really don't care for anyto-day," "Scarcely any for me, thank you," "And less for me, to-day."
"I should like to ask--" said their father, amid this shower of "No, thankyous;" "I can't help wondering whether this 'thank you, to-morrow,' styleof thing is caused by grief at parting, or by a general dislike foronion-soup."
"Onion-soup! onion-soup! that is the answer to Hunne's riddle!" cried Rolfwith a cry of victory, for he had really taken it seriously to heart, thatHunne's charade had been so long unguessed. The answer was right. PoorHunne was quite depressed at this unexpected blow, and in a moment he saidsomewhat pitifully,
"Oh dear! papa, if you had not said that about 'thank you, to-morrow,' forthe soup, then no one would ever have found it out. Now I shall have nomore fun with it."
But Dora had a comforting word for him, even now, and whispered softly,"Yes, Hunne dear, you shall have some more fun with it, for I will bringover my album this afternoon, and I will guide your hand while you writethe charade in it, and then I will take it to Karlsruhe, and show it toall the people I know there, and they will all try to guess it."
So Hunne was comforted, and was able to finish his dinner happily. Butunder the apple-tree where they were assembled for the last time, thefamily were in very low spirits. For the next day Dora must stay with heraunt to help her, and could not join them until the evening, in time forthe good-bye feast. Paula sat with her eyes full of tears, and did notspeak one word. Lili had already given signs of her state of mind, by allsorts of restless movements, and at last she exclaimed,
"Mamma, I wish I never need touch the piano again; it will be terriblytiresome without Dora, and Miss Hanenwinkel will find fault again and sayI am 'not progressing,' and I don't want to 'progress' when Dora is nothere!"
"Oh dear!" sighed Jule, "what terrible days are before us, with danger tolife and limb, when the twins begin again to find their time hang heavyon their hands. It is a very stupid arrangement anyway," he went on quiteexcitedly; "it would be far better for Dora to pass the winter with us.Her aunt and uncle could go on in their quiet way in Karlsruhe all thesame without her."
The mother sympathized entirely in the children's regret at the separationand said she hoped to persuade Mr. Ehrenreich to bring his wife and Doraback for another summer.
Hunne was the only one more interested in the present than in the future,and he kept pulling Dora's dress and saying,
"Go get your book, Dora! get the book!"
So Dora went to get her album, and brought it over for each one of herfriends, in the good old fashion, to write a verse or a motto in it, byway of remembrance. It was no new, elegant, gilded affair. It was an oldbook, faded and worn, and much of the writing in it was pale with age.Here and there had been pasted on, tiny bunches of flowers and leaves allof which had lost their color, and many of which had fallen off. The albumhad belonged to Dora's mother, and the verses were all written inunformed, childish characters. There were also some drawings, and amongthese one of a small house and a well, with a man standing near it,particularly attracted Hunne's attention, and he took the book in his ownhands, and began turning the leaves.
"Hallo!" he exclaimed with a knowing look, as he took out a piece of paperthat lay folded between the leaves; "Mamma has one like this; it belongsto Lili; the one I am going to America to find."
Julius laughed aloud. "What in the world are you chattering to Dora aboutnow, Hunne?" But his mother glanced, quickly at the little boy as shecaught his words, took the paper from his hand and read what was writtenthere.
Great tears fell from her eyes as she read; the memory of long past hoursof her happy childhood rose before her, clear and distinct, and almostoverpowered her, Her own mother's face, and all the sights and sounds ofchildhood! It was the other half of her own poem that she held in herhand, the half that had been kept by her dearly loved friend. She gave itsilently to her husband; she could not trust her voice to read it aloud.
The children watched her curiously as she took the other half from hernotebook, and laid the two bits of yellow faded paper side by side. Theymade a sheet of the usual size of old-fashioned letter paper. The writingwas the same on both, and as the lines were joined, their meaning becameplain. Mr. Birkenfeld read the verses aloud:
"Lay your hand in mine dear, Joined thus we need not fear,
Each the other clasping fast, That our union should not last, But behold, the fates decree That our future severed be. We will cut our verse in two, Half for me and half for you. But we still will hope forever That the halves may come together, And with no loss to deplore. Our friendship be as 'twas before."
The mother had taken Dora's hand in hers. "Where did you get this paper,Dora?" she asked, much moved.
"It has always been in my mother's album," replied the child withsurprise.
"Then you are my Lili's child!" cried Mrs. Birkenfeld, "and that is whatyour eyes always said to me, when I looked into them;" and she folded Dorasoftly to her heart.
The children were intensely excited, but seeing how much moved theirmother was, they restrained themselves, and sat very still, watching Doraand their mother with eager looks. But little Hunne broke the spell.
"Then I sha'n't have to go to America, shall I, mamma?" he said gaily, forsince he had given his word to go to find the lost Lili, he had oftenthought with alarm of the long journey that he must take alone.
"No, dear child, we will all stay here together," said his mother, turningtowards the children with Dora's hand fast in hers; "Dora is the Lili youwere to seek, and we have found her."
"Oh, mamma," cried Paula, "Dora and I will be what you and her motherwere; we will carry out the verses. We will say:
"'But we still will hope forever Now the halves have come together No farther losses to deplore, Our friendship prove as yours before.'"
"Oh yes, and ours," "me too," "so will I," and all the children joined inpromising eternal friendship with Dora. But the mother had taken herhusband's hand and had drawn him away down the shady walk.
"All right, I agree to it all," said Mr. Birkenfeld over and over again,as his wife talked eagerly, while they walked back and forth. PresentlyMrs. Birkenfeld left him and crossed over to the next house. She asked forMrs. Ehrenreich, and now as they sat together by the window, she told AuntNinette in words that came from her heart, with what delight she haddiscovered that Dora was the daughter of her earliest and dearest friend;that friend from whom she had been so long separated, but whose memory wasstill green in her heart. She wanted to learn all that could be told ofher friend's life and death, but Aunt Ninette had little to tell. She hadnever known Dora's mother; her brother had spent several years in Americawhere he had married, and his wife had died in Hamburg shortly afterDora's birth. That was all she knew. Then Mrs. Birkenfeld went directly tothe point. She explained to Mrs. Ehrenreich how much she had enjoyed andprofited by, her long visits at her friend's father's house, and howdeeply she felt that she owed these kind friends a debt of gratitude whichshe now saw an opportunity partly to repay, by doing what she could forDora. In short, if Aunt Ninette and her husband would consent, her mostfervent wish would be to take Dora and bring her up as her own child.
She met with none of the opposition which she had feared. Aunt Ninettesaid frankly that Dora had not a cent of property, and that she would beentirely dependent on her own work as a seamstress; as neither her auntnor her uncle could afford to spend anything on her farther education. Sheconsidered it a great blessing that the child should have found such afriend, and she heartily rejoiced in her good fortune; and was sure thather husband would fully agree with her. So there was nothing farther forMrs. Birkenfeld to do, but to embrace Mrs. Ehrenreich most cordially, andthen to hasten home to tell the children the happy news. She knew how theywould take it.
There they were all under the apple-tree, all looking towards their motherand impatient for what she might have to tell them; hoping that it mightbe some plan for prolonging Dora's stay. But when the mother told themthat from that day forward Dora was to belong to them, forever, as theirsister and a child of the family, then a shout of joy arose that made thewelkin ring again and awoke the echoes in the farthest corner of thegarden. It aroused Uncle Titus and brought him from his distantsummer-house with a gentle smile, saying half to himself and half aloud,
"It is a pity it will soon be over."
Aunt Ninette was standing at an open window, looking down into the garden,and as she heard the shouts of joy that rose again and again from underthe apple-tree, she said to herself, smiling "How we shall miss all thischeerful noise when we are far away."
The children were indeed jubilant, and they decided to organize a feast inhonor of Uncle Titus and Aunt Ninette, a feast more brilliant than anythat had ever before made the shades of the garden glow with splendor.
That night Dora went up to her little room for the last time, for the nextmorning she was to move over to the other house. The happy family ofchildren whom she had secretly watched with longing heart, were now to beher brothers and sisters; the lovely garden into which she had gazed withhopeless eyes was henceforth to be her home; she was to have parents whowould surround her always with their protecting love. She was to learnwhat the others learned; yes, to have regular studies with them, as wellas music-lessons. Dora's heart was flooded with the thoughts that welledup within her. One thing she was sure of; that her father was looking downat her, and rejoicing with her. She stood at the window and gazed up atthe sparkling stars, and recalled the sad hours of depression that she hadknown, when these stars did not seem to bring her comfort, and when shehad almost lost faith in that kind heavenly Father, who nevertheless hadnow brought all this happiness to her.
She fell on her knees and thanked God for his goodness, and prayed thatshe might never again doubt Him, but that even in times of sorrow, shemight be able to say, with heart-felt trust in the words of her father'sverse:
"God holds us in his hand, God knows the best to send."
Uncle Titus and Aunt Ninette engaged their rooms with Mrs. Kurd for thefollowing summer; Uncle Titus even went farther still, and begged Mrs.Kurd, no matter what happened, never to promise them to any one else; forhe left her house now with keen regret, and hoped to return to it everysummer as long as he lived.
When Monday morning came, the whole family were on hand before thecottage, to wish the departing guests good-speed. Rolf drew the uncleaside, and asked if he might venture to send a charade to Karlsruhe, nowand then; to which Uncle Titus kindly replied that he should receive anysuch with pleasure, and answer them with punctuality.
Sly little Hunne, when he overheard these remarks, declared at once, "Iwill also send mine;" for he did not doubt that his would be equallyacceptable to Uncle Titus, if not more so. He thought also that the quietpeople of Karlsruhe would never be able to guess such charades as he wouldmake, and his heart was filled with pride. Dora and Paula wandered arm inarm into the garden, singing gaily,
"No farther losses to deplore In friendship live for evermore."
APPENDIX.
The Charades in this story, involving play upon the German words andsyllables, are of course nearly all untranslatable; the translator hastherefore substituted English ones; as follows:
PAGE
_Welcome_ for "Heimkehr" 80
_Music_ " "Katzenmusik" 104
_Milton_ " "Vogelweide" 105
_Palfrey_ " "Milch Strasse" 107
_Plato_ " "Aristotle" 227
_Caesar_ " "Heliogabal" 228
_Bonaparte_ " "Wallenstein" 230
_Matterhorn_ " "Finsteraarhorn" 230
_Gladstone_ " "Semiramis" 231
Uncle Titus and His Visit to the Country Page 9
