CHAPTER VII.
AN UNEXPECTED TERMINATION.
Directly after dinner Emma and Fani had started on their expedition.They had no trouble to-day in finding their way to the willows, and theywent as quickly as they could, so that they could have a long afternoon,and yet get back in time for Oscar's Festival.
They found the boat ready for them; oars and pole all in position, and aseat in the middle. The boat was but lightly fastened to the shore, andthe children sprang gayly into it. Emma took the oars and pushed off.She rowed well, and knew what she was about. She handled the boatskilfully, for she had often been out on the lake with her friend whenthe wind blew and the waves were high.
Fani took his seat in the stern, saying:--
"When you want my help, just say so, Emma. But I don't know anything atall about rowing."
"I shan't need you," answered Emma, bravely, as she pulled away.
Two things, however, she had not counted on. The boat was much heavierthan that which she had used on the lake, and the swift current of theriver was a very different thing to row against, from the quiet watersof a lake. Emma worked sturdily against the stream. She wanted to go outfar enough to be in full sight of the ruined castle. She had arranged inher mind a plan for keeping the boat in place while Fani sketched. Butshe soon began to find herself growing very tired, while yet she madelittle head-way.
"Take the pole, Fani," she said, "and stick it firmly against thebottom and push." Fani did so, and the boat made an advance of severalfeet. "Again, again, Fani." Fani did his best.
"Now I'll row a bit farther into the middle of the river, then hold fastso that we shall not be carried down; here we are! there is the ruin,Fani! Now, Fani, stick the pole down, and I'll hold it and you can beginto sketch."
Fani stuck his pole manfully into the bottom of the river, but therushing current seized it and threw it up again as if it had been areed.
"Oh! oh!" he cried, "we shall be carried away!"
"You take one of the oars and we'll row back to the shore," said Emma,anxiously. "Come, be quick!"
But the stream seized the oar before Fani could take it from her, and itwas swept away.
"What shall we do? There is no one to help us," cried Emma, besideherself. "Suppose the boat should upset!"
Faster and faster they were whirled along, the boat tossing like anut-shell upon the waves.
The children sat still, although frightened almost to death.
"Fani, we are lost! who can help us?" screamed Emma. "Let us say ourprayers. I have forgotten to say them ever since I came to Rosemount. Ipromised mamma not to forget; but I did. Do you think God will hear menow? Fani, you pray; you do it every day, I know."
"No; I thought Elsli would do it for me and for herself," said the boyhoarsely.
"That is no good; you must do it for yourself or God will not listen. Hewill only say, 'I do not know him,' when Elsli prays for you. Oh, if Ihad not forgotten to pray myself, he would not punish me so now!"
And then she sat silent, looking at the sky and praying from her heartthat God would forgive her forgetfulness of him, and save her and Fanifrom the danger that threatened them.
"A steamboat! A steamboat! It is going to run us down!" shrieked Fani;and his fears were well grounded. With lightning speed, as it seemed,the great boat came rushing toward them like a huge giant, and in a fewminutes the little boat would be engulfed in the swelling waves.
The children screamed; the steamer came nearer; it was close upon them;the boat was upset! At the same instant Emma was seized by a stronghand, lifted into the air, and then set down upon her feet on the deckof the steamer. Fani was saved, too, by another seaman, and both stoodshivering with cold and fright, dripping with water, and soaked to theskin, but safe and sound. The passengers crowded about them.
Suddenly a tall, black-bearded man with angry eyes came toward them. Itwas the captain.
"What madness is this?" he thundered. "Do you think it is the businessof steamboats to look out for little fools of fishermen? Whose faultwould it have been if you had been run down and drowned?"
But as he looked at the two little dripping, miserable figures, his tonesoftened.
"Bring them below and give them something hot to drink," he said to oneof the gaping by-standers. It was a mercy to get them away from allthose staring eyes; they swallowed the steaming contents of the glassthat was given them in the cabin without a word, though it burned theirthroats. They did not dare to sit down; they were too wet.
After a while the captain came down and asked where they came from, andwhere they were going in that "old fish-box."
Fani told the whole story without reserve. An expression of amusementpassed over the captain's brown face more than once during thisnarration, and when he had heard all, he said kindly that they must getthemselves dried off as best they could; he was going to stop atCologne, and there they could take the train home again.
To reward him for saving them, Mrs. Stanhope could invite him to visither house at the next vintage.
This was their second visit to Cologne; how different it was from thefirst one!
The captain's parting advice was that they should in future make theirexpeditions by land rather than by water; it was much safer, he said.
It was pretty dark by this time, and they had some trouble in findingthe way to the station. They wandered from street to street inquiringtheir way, and at last found themselves again at the steamboat wharf,just where they had landed. They began to fear that they should lose thetrain and have to stay in the city all night. They set out again upontheir search, and at last they came upon a policeman, who took pity uponthem and led them through alleys and by-streets to the station, wherethey found that one train had just left, and they must wait two hoursfor the next. The little wanderers sat down outside the building towait. They were wet and cold and hungry, but they did not complain ofthese minor troubles; their anxieties lay far deeper.
"I am dreadfully worried," said Fani, with a deep sigh.
"So am I, but I don't know exactly why," replied Emma.
"Well, I do," said the boy. "I'm perfectly sure that Mrs. Stanhope willsend me home after this, and poor Elsli will have to go too, for shecould never stay without me."
"Oh, that is dreadful!" cried Emma. She was conscience-stricken. It wasa bad scrape, and it was mainly her fault. "Mrs. Stanhope is so kind,"she went on hopefully, "perhaps she will not be so very angry."
Fani shook his head.
"You don't know about it, Emma. Of course Mrs. Stanhope is the greatestbenefactress in the world. But she is very particular about our mindingexactly what she tells us; and one of her principal rules is that wemust never disturb the regularity of the household, and must keeppunctually to just such hours; and now see what we have done! We shallnot get home till twelve o'clock to-night, midnight! Probably they arehunting for us everywhere. How will it all turn out? Oh, dear! if shesends us off, there's an end of drawing and painting for me! That's allover"; and Fani looked despairing.
Emma felt that he knew Mrs. Stanhope far better than she did, and hercourage began to fail. They sat in silence till the train came along. Atthe end of their journey they had a long walk from the station toRosemount, and they stumbled along in the dark, frightened andtrembling, and scarcely exchanging a word. Their hearts beat more andmore as they neared the house. As they entered the court-yard, thewatch-dog began to bark, but he stopped when he heard Fani's voice.
The great house-door was opened, and Aunt Clarissa came out to meetthem from the lighted hall.
"Is it you?" she cried. "Thank God!" and she drew them into the house.
Mrs. Stanhope had not gone to bed. She was standing just inside thedoor.
"Now you may tell me all about it," she said, looking seriously at thechildren, who presented a shocking appearance. "So, you've been in thewater! Where are the men?"
The children stammered out that they had seen no men. They had just comeup from the station.
M
rs. Stanhope shook her head.
"Some one must be sent to the fisherman's hut to tell the men to stopthe search," she said coldly. "I will leave the care of the children tomore skilful hands"; and she withdrew without more words.
Aunt Clarissa put them to bed directly, and a big pitcher of hot teawas brought to each of them, from which they had to drink one steamingcup after another, till they were warmed through. Then Clarissa sat downfirst by Emma's bed, and then by Fani's, to learn exactly what hadhappened, and whether they had met with any injuries that would need adoctor's attention.
In the midst of assurances that they were not injured, and of attemptsto explain what had happened, the two tired miscreants fell asleep, andAunt Clarissa went to her room with thankful heart that things were noworse.
The next morning Fani was determined, in spite of his weariness of limb,to be punctual at the breakfast table. He sprang out of bed the momentthat he waked, and dressed an hour too early. He went into the garden tolisten to the birds; he thought their happy singing might make himhappier. As he was walking up and down, he saw the fisherman coming intothe court-yard. He went to meet him. The man stopped and lifted his cappolitely. "I know what you have come for," said Fani, taking out hispurse; "how much do I owe you?"
The man turned his cap about in his hands, as if he were turning histhoughts over too.
"I don't want to be unreasonable," he said presently, "and I don'tsuppose a young gentleman like you knows how much a boat with all itsbelongings is worth. I cannot say less than eighty marks; I shall loseat that, but I will not ask more."
Fani stood thunder-struck. Of course, as the boat was lost, he must makeit good. But eighty marks! He had never even seen so much money asthat. He was speechless. The fisherman looked thoughtfully at him.Presently he said modestly:--
"I can understand that you cannot pay me the money yourself; you willhave to ask your mother for it. I will come again to-morrow."
"No, no!" cried Fani. "I will bring it to you as soon as I get it. Iwill certainly come," he added, as he saw the man's disappointed look."I shall keep my word; only I can't say exactly when."
It seemed as if the man had something more to say; but he swallowed itdown, and went away, muttering to himself, "No boat! and no money to buyanother!"
Fani ran back into the house. He looked at Emma's door to see whetherher boots were still outside, but they had disappeared; so he tapped onthe door and said softly:--
"Come out, Emma, I have something to say to you."
"What is the matter? Has Mrs. Stanhope been talking to you?" asked Emma,in a low tone, as she opened the door.
"No," said Fani, "it's not that"; and he drew her into the garden, to anarbor in a far-away corner, and there he told her about the eighty marksthat were owing for the lost boat. Emma was greatly excited.
"We can never in the world get together so much as eighty marks! Whatcan we do?" she cried in a tone of anguish.
"I don't know. We can't ask Mrs. Stanhope for a lot of money like that,after all that we have done to displease her. Can't you think of anyway? If I only knew some one to borrow of! Oh, don't you know ofanybody, Emma?"
Emma had sunk upon a bench, and her eyes looked as if they would startout of her head; she was trying so hard to see some way out of thedilemma.
Fred came running down the walk. He wanted to know what they were aboutthe night before, but they had no time to answer, for just then the bellrang for breakfast.
The meal was not a merry one. The children were all embarrassed, andthey knew why; they were all conscious that they had not behaved well totheir hostess.
Mrs. Stanhope looked at them inquiringly, but said not a word. AuntClarissa nervously buttered large slices of bread as fast as she could;the dish was piled high with them, for no one ate much.
As Mrs. Stanhope left the table, she turned to Fani and said:--
"Go into the library and wait for me. I want to speak to you."
Fani grew white; Emma, red. "It's coming now," they said to themselves.
As Mrs. Stanhope opened the door to leave the room, she was knockedagainst by a house-maid who was entering in great haste.
"Excuse me, madam," she said. "I was in such a hurry. Something else hashappened. A servant has just come from the Crown Prince to say that theyoung gentleman for whom Master Oscar ordered a room there has not beenat home all night; and this morning the shoemaker told them at the hotelthat he was with the young man himself last evening, and saw him runninglike a crazy fellow down towards the river."
It was now Oscar's turn to grow pale.
Aunt Clarissa sent the maid away, saying that she would speak to thehotel servant herself. She was afraid that Lina would let out the secretof Fred's untidy room if she were allowed to go on.
Mrs. Stanhope looked very serious.
"I don't understand all this," she said, turning to Clarissa; "but ifthe young stranger has anything to do with Oscar, I will be responsiblefor his bill at the hotel." And she left the room.
Emma instantly rushed to the school-room, seized her portfolio, andbegan to write as fast as her pen could go.
DEAR AUNTY,--For pity's sake, help me now! Something dreadful has happened. I will never make any plans again as long as I live, even if they would be sure to come out right. I will always do just as mamma bids me, and never suggest anything more to Fani. I gave him the book just to encourage him; but he said before he looked at it that what he cared for most was to be an artist. And there was something that he could do that would make Mrs. Stanhope willing to have him one, only he couldn't find any way to do it. So I found a way. I didn't forget that I promised mamma that I wouldn't make any plans; but I thought this was different. Fani knew what he wanted to do; only he couldn't see the way clear to do it, and I was just going to help him. Don't you see? And there was a dreadful thing that happened when we tried that way; but I can't write about it now, it is a long story. I'll tell you by and by. But the trouble now is, we have lost a boat in the river; it is a poor fisherman's, and we must pay him for it. You will understand that we do not dare to tell Mrs. Stanhope anything about it. We can't ask her for so much money. Fani says he would rather go to work in the factory. But you will help us, I know, dear aunty; you will not let us suffer. We want eighty marks. It is terrible. But it is worth that, for there were two oars and a pole besides the boat. I don't ask you to give it to me, but only to lend it. I will keep thinking day and night how I can earn enough to pay you. I have some things, you know; my godfather's present. In my drawer in the little writing-table at home are six silver spoons, and a beautiful pincushion, and two old Easter eggs with pictures on them cut out of paper: dragons spitting fire, and flowers, and the sun, moon, and stars. You can sell them for something, I am sure; and after this I will sell directly everything that I get and give you the money. And perhaps I shall contrive to think of some way to earn something too; if I can I will. Oh, dearest aunty, you will help us, I know, for you help everybody.
Write as soon as you can and tell us to come home. How glad we shall be to get there! There we can tell you all our troubles. I wish we could go to-morrow, and get back to you and mamma. Write directly, dear aunty. I send you my love a thousand thousand times.
Your loving niece,
EMMA.
P.S. Aunty, dear, I have thought of another way. In Cologne I saw a girl who went about in the street with a basket and sold roses. Now I think that if Mrs. Stanhope would let me take two roses from each bed in her garden I should get a basket full, and I could earn a lot of money, I am sure. Don't you think so? With a thousand kisses, Your niece,
EMMA.
P.S. I have thought this very moment of the nicest plan of all. In the vineyards here they put horrid looking figures, like men with red beards and arms stretched out, to frighten away the birds. If
you will send me some red stuff and some yellow, I can make figures a great deal more frightful, and they will sell for a great deal. Perhaps in this way I can pay you half the money, and I'm sure I shall find something else to do by and by.
I am again and always,
Your loving niece,
EMMA.
Fani had been sitting for some time in the library, awaiting with abeating heart the coming of Mrs. Stanhope. When the door opened, hesprang to his feet; he had learned that that was the proper thing to dowhen a lady entered the room. Mrs. Stanhope took a seat on the sofa, andmotioned him to take a cricket and sit down by her.
"Now tell me all about it, Fani," she began. "Tell me the exact truthabout what happened yesterday. What made you think of going out on thewater, and how did you manage it? Tell me the whole story just as itwas. Keep nothing back."
Fani obeyed. He went way back to the plans which Emma and he had madebefore he left home so that he might become an artist. How pleased hehad been to take drawing-lessons, and how they made him love drawingmore and more. How glad Emma had been at his progress, and how she hadurged him to tell Mrs. Stanhope how he felt about his future career. Nowcame the most important point, and Fani related it very clearly. Hewished to make a picture of the old ruin, because if he got a prize forit he thought Mrs. Stanhope would look more favorably on his adoption ofart as a business; and Emma had thought out a way of getting a goodview of it from the river. Then followed the mishap, which occurredbecause Emma did not know the strength of the current, nor understandhow different the river was from the lake on which she had been in thehabit of rowing. Fani told the whole story faithfully. Mrs. Stanhopelistened in silence to the end, and then said briefly,--
"Very well; you may go, Fani."
In the hall behind one of the pillars stood Emma, impatient to hear theresult of the interview.
"Well? well?" she asked eagerly.
"Well; it's just as it was before; I don't know any more than I did."
"Did she scold you very hard? Did she say anything about me? For I wasthe one to blame."
"No, indeed; Mrs. Stanhope never scolds; but she is very angry with me,I know, for she did not speak to me when I had told her all about it.Generally she talks a good deal to me about all sorts of things; evenwhen I have done something to displease her. I am sure there is no helpfor us."
Emma sighed. She knew too well how much she was to blame for thisunfortunate state of things.
Three days passed. The house was more quiet than it had been beforesince the children came. A cloud was over them all. No one laughed ortalked freely or cared for amusement. All seemed waiting for someunpleasant thing that was going to happen.
Early in the morning of the fourth day, a letter was brought to Mrs.Stanhope, containing an enclosure for the children. The letter was fromtheir mother. She expressed her gratitude to Mrs. Stanhope for all herkindness, and for the pleasure the children had enjoyed at Rosemount.Then followed apologies and regrets for the trouble and annoyance thatthe visit must have caused Mrs. Stanhope. And Mrs. Stein closed bysaying that they had too long trespassed on the indulgence of their kindhostess, and begged her to set a time when it would be convenient to herfor them to take their leave.
The enclosure for the children contained three letters from their aunt.Emma tore hers open first. A banknote met her delighted eyes. She ranout of the room, and called Fani. "She has saved us!" she cried. "Oh,isn't aunty an angel from heaven!" Fani's face shone with pleasure andsurprise. Emma thrust the money into his hand.
"Take it, and run to the fisherman's. I must read my letter"; and sheran off to the arbor.
After an affectionate greeting it ran thus;--
"It is a crying shame, my dear girl, that this delightful visit, full ofpleasures that may never fall to your lot again, should have beenspoiled by each of you three children, only because of yourdisobedience. Especially you and Oscar. Your father and mother gave youboth particular warning against what you were not to do. You both set towork to see how you could manage to obey in all the trivial details, andyet carry out your own plans in essentials. You both knew very well whatyou were about, and have well deserved the unpleasant consequences ofyour actions. I trust that you have both received a lasting lesson. Howmuch worse the results might have been, dear Emma, we do not dare tothink. We can only guess, though you do not tell us that you had a verynarrow escape. We trust that you will show your gratitude to God for itby never again straying into forbidden paths. I send you the money youasked for, in order to spare Mrs. Stanhope any trouble about it. Fanishowed a proper sense of his own folly and of his obligations to herwhen he said he would make any sacrifice rather than ask her for it. Ido not lend you the money. It is a gift. But do not run in debt again.Another time I might not be able to help you. We shall all be glad tosee you at home again."
In her letter to Oscar, aunty wrote that he deserved a much worsepunishment than he had received, for his wilful misinterpretation of hisfather's warning, obeying the letter, rather than the spirit, and forhis obstinacy about the motto. The letter then continued:--
"No notice from the police nor from the court of justice has been sentto your father; but a complaint has been lodged against you fromanother quarter. Only three days after he went from home, Feklitus cameback again, without bag or baggage, as if he had fled for his life. Hetold a terrible tale of some scrape into which you had led him, and fromwhich he had got away safe only by his own most skilful management. Onthe evening of that unlucky Festival he had scampered away from hiscaptors with all his might, flung himself into a railway carriage, and,travelling all night, had not stopped till he reached home. Now you see,dear Oscar, that you have something to answer for in this affair; foreven if Feklitus was unnecessarily frightened, it does not alter thefact that you got him involved in a most unpleasant way, and his parentsare naturally very angry with you. You must at any rate take measures toset Mrs. Bickel's mind at rest She told me yesterday that she had losther sleep and her appetite, from thinking about the beautiful leathertrunk, and the six new suits of clothes, which she has no doubt thewaiters at the Crown Prince are sharing among themselves. You must go tothe hotel, pack all the clothes carefully, lock the trunk, and send itto him. Send the keys in a separate package, and then you will haveremoved one cause of their not unreasonable displeasure."
With Fred, aunty pathetically condoled on the loss of his collection;and then she added:--
"Yet you see, my dear Fred, you are to blame after all; for I told younot to put your creatures where they would displease Mrs. Stanhope, ifshe should see them. I could not specify every such place, but I trustedto your commonsense to tell you that beetles and caterpillars do notbelong in a writing-desk! You are such an insatiable collector! You willhave to learn moderation. If you had only been satisfied with areasonable number of the finest specimens, you would not have needed somany boxes; I am very glad that Fani hindered you from asking for themin a house where so many kindnesses were being shown to all of you. Itill becomes guests to make unreasonable demands. After all, dear Fred, Ihope you will be able to bring home a few treasures, notwithstandingyour great loss, and we will enjoy them together."
These letters were a great relief to all; but some uneasiness stillremained. They did not know yet how Mrs. Stanhope would treat theirseveral delinquencies, when she knew all about them, and, besides, theywere homesick.
"What about going home?" they asked each other; and none of the lettershad mentioned the subject. They were disappointed.
As to Fani, he began to wonder what Mrs. Stanhope's plans were for him.When would she talk with him again? Would he have to go back to thefactory? She had never since that day talked with him as she used to do;but often he was aware that she was looking at him, long andthoughtfully.
In Elsli's heart, too, anxiety reigned supreme; not so much for herselfas for Fani. Mrs. Stanhope was already displeased with him; and when shefound out that she had been doing wrong too, Elsli cou
ld not but fearthat her displeasure would be so severe that they should both be sentaway.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE HAPPY END.
Elsli's bedroom opened into that of Aunt Clarissa. During this time ofworry and excitement, when every day so much happened that was new andunexpected, Clarissa found it difficult to fulfil all her householdduties with her usual promptness and regularity, so it was often verylate before she could get to her room for the night, and she alwaysthought Elsli was fast asleep. One evening she was even later thanusual, and she had hardly seated herself to read her evening prayer whenshe was surprised to hear Elsli calling her.
"I don't feel very well, Aunt Clarissa," said the child in a feeblevoice; and before she had finished speaking her kind friend was at herbedside. Clarissa was startled to see her heavy eyes and feverishcheeks.
"What ails you, my dear girl?" she asked, tenderly, stroking the hothead with her cool hand, and trying to conceal the anxiety that shefelt.
"Not much, I think," answered Elsli, with a faint smile; "I haven't beenfeeling very well for a week or two; I have had a good many dizzy turnsand I've been hot and restless. I've heard you come up to bed everynight though it was so late."
"Why didn't you speak to me, dear? I might have done something to makeyou sleep."
"I didn't want to trouble you and it was really nothing. I had no pain,only heat and restlessness. But to-night I thought I must call you,because I feel very ill, and besides I have something that I must tellyou, you know, and you told me you would hear it when you could find aquiet time. Can you spare the time to-night, though it is so late? Ithink I could go to sleep better after I have told it. It has worried meso long." Elsli spoke feebly but eagerly; and Aunt Clarissa, full ofanxious fear, could not but assent to her request, though she was almostafraid to have her go on; for she saw that the little girl was reallyvery ill.
She sat down by the bedside holding Elsli's trembling hand in her ownand gently pressing it from time to time. Elsli began:--
"I want to tell you something that I ought to have spoken of long ago.It was not right for me to go on as I have been doing without tellingyou; and I am afraid Mrs. Stanhope will be very much displeased when sheknows about it"
Clarissa could scarcely control her astonishment. Was it possible thatthis gentle, conscientious creature had been capable of doing somethingwrong and concealing it?
But she only said quietly: "Tell me everything that is on your mind, itwill relieve you; but do not hurry, there is time enough."
Elsli told her of her accidental acquaintance with the fisherman'sfamily, of their extreme poverty, of the illness of the mother, and ofher own efforts to help them.
"Do you think I have done very wrong?" she asked, timidly, looking up atClarissa with wistful eyes.
Clarissa was very much moved.
"My darling," she said, "do not worry about it. You did not mean to doanything wrong, and all that you did was in kindness. You wanted to tellme about it long ago, I remember; and it was no fault of yours that Idid not hear it. I will explain it all to Mrs. Stanhope, and she willunderstand it and will not be displeased."
"And do you think she will let me go again and help them?"
"You are too ill to think about going now; but I promise to see to themmyself, so do not fret about it, dear. I had no idea that the familywere so poor; the man never has complained when he has been here withthe fish. I will go and inquire what the sick woman needs. Will thatsatisfy you, dear?"
"Yes," said Elsli, but somewhat doubtfully. "You see, there is so muchto be done that no one would know about, and she would never tell aboutit. I couldn't do much darning and mending, and the clothes are so wornout that the children can scarcely keep them on; and their mother istoo ill to cook, and when the father comes home he is too tired, and hehas hard work even to keep a house over their heads. If I don't helpthem, they will never get through; they will suffer in silence. They arejust like us at home."
Elsli's sobs prevented her from saying any more. The remembrance of herearly sufferings and the thought of her parents' trials came over herlike a flood, and she sobbed as if her heart would break. Clarissalifted her head and raised the pillows behind it, so that she could lookout into the clear, star-lit night.
Elsli gradually grew more tranquil, and by and by she looked up intoClarissa's face and smiled.
"Do you think I shall go to Nora?" she asked. "The old grandfather saidthat only good people go to heaven."
"My child" said Clarissa, "our Lord and Saviour shows us the way. Hehas opened the door for those who have erred, and shown us that ourHeavenly Father is always ready to forgive and receive those who repentand turn to him. Don't you remember the parable of the Prodigal Son andthe words of Jesus to the men who were crucified with him? They were notgood, you know."
"Yes, I know," said the child in a tone of relief; and she repeatedsoftly to herself the hymn which she had said to the old man. The lastcouplet was scarcely audible.
"Oh, ope the gates of heaven now, And bid me enter in!"
The next morning Clarissa went to the other children with the sad newsthat Elsli was very, very ill. They could not at first believe it. Shehad never complained, and had been only yesterday in the garden withthem, joining in their play; quiet to be sure, but always sympatheticand trying to please them all. It was a sad day for them. They could notoccupy themselves as usual, but sat about in the house and garden,weeping in silence, or talking in subdued tones about the sick girl whomthey all loved so dearly.
Fani was, of course, the most unhappy of all. Elsli's goodness to him intheir days of poverty and hardship came clearly to his mind. How she hadsilently taken many a punishment and rebuke that were really deserved byhim. He felt keenly that if Elsli did not recover he should never meetwith any one to take her place. He saw now, as he had never seen before,what his sister had been to him.
To Mrs. Stanhope too the blow was a severe one. She blamed herself fornot having noticed that the child had been growing thin and pale duringthe last few weeks, and she recalled, now that it was too late, severaltimes when she had thought that Elsli looked over-heated and tired, butshe had done nothing about it, thinking it only a passing matter. Shesent at once for the physician. He gave little hope of the child'srecovery. He said she had evidently been "running down" for some time,and she must have been eating too little and doing too much, and,besides, he suspected some mental depression and anxiety. All this,acting on a frame naturally delicate and weakened by the hardships ofher early years, had more than counteracted the gain that Elsli hadcertainly made during the first months of her life at Rosemount.
Clarissa then told Mrs. Stanhope the story which the little girl hadrelated to her, and their tears fell fast over the simple tale of pityand self-sacrifice. Mrs. Stanhope's heart smote her, as she learned howElsli had suffered from fear of her displeasure, and from theconcealment into which this had led her, a concealment so foreign to hernature. She went to the child's bedside, and, embracing her more fondlythan she had ever done before, she said tenderly:--
"I can't tell you, darling child, how sorry I am that you should havebeen afraid of me. I never meant it should be so, but I am naturallyreserved, and when my Nora died, I felt as if all my power of loving haddied with her. I liked you, and I meant to take good care of you, but Isee now that I have seemed cold to you, and haven't shown you the lovethat has really been growing up for you in my heart. Forgive me, dear,and believe that I do love you, and that I will be a real loving motherto Fani, as I would be to you--" She stopped, overcome by her ownemotion.
Elsli's face beamed with a radiant smile. She lifted her feeble arm andlaid it around Mrs. Stanhope's neck.
"I am going to Nora," she whispered; "I will tell her how good you havebeen to us. I love you," she added, and it went to Mrs. Stanhope's heartthat it was the first time the child had ever said these words to her.She could not speak, but she drew Elsli's head to rest upon hershoulder, and in a few moments the sick girl
fell asleep with a peacefullook upon her face, and Mrs. Stanhope sat holding her unwearied, tillClarissa came and gently laid the little head back upon the pillows.
For several days Elsli continued in a critical state; but they werehappy days. Mrs. Stanhope never left her, and it seemed as if she couldnot do enough to show her tenderness. Clarissa was devoted to hercomfort, and brought her every day news from her friends in thefisherman's hut, whom Mrs. Stanhope had already begun to help in thewisest and kindest ways. The poor family sent many messages of love andgratitude to their little helper, and these Clarissa delivered; but shedid not tell Elsli how unhappy they were at the thought of losing her,nor how the father said:--
"I knew she was an angel from heaven; and we could not expect her tostay long with us. Now she is going back again where she belongs."
The children at Rosemount were allowed to come for a few minutes at atime into Elsli's room. They were charged to bring only cheerful faces,and not to trouble her with their grief. They brought her flowers fromthe garden, and sometimes they read to her from the books she loved.Fani especially was very tender and devoted, and Elsli took greatsatisfaction in having him with her.
Every interview was precious, since the time for them was probably soshort.
But Elsli did not die. The complete repose of the sick-room, and thedevoted care she received, but perhaps more than all that the newhappiness that had come into her heart in Mrs. Stanhope's awakenedaffection and her own response to it, and the fresh hopes which sprangfrom seeing how large a place she held in the lives of those about her,and the happy prospect of being useful and valuable without need ofconcealment or anxiety,--all these things helped in her recovery; andwhen, in a few weeks, she again came down stairs and out into the sunnygarden, it was with new eyes that she looked upon life and its dutiesand opportunities, and she thanked God that he had permitted her to stayupon his beautiful earth, and help his children here. For she saw thatthe earth is the Lord's as well as the heavens, and while she stilllooked forward to the happy life of Paradise with hope and confidence,she no longer undervalued the joys and privileges which surrounded herhere.
As soon as Elsli was fairly convalescent, the doctor's children wenthome. Their parents could spare them no longer. Mrs. Stanhope bade themgood-bye with the assurance that she should depend on having anothervisit from them next year, so that it was plain that she felt no seriousdispleasure with them. They were grateful for her forgiveness, andfervently resolved that next year she should have nothing to forgive.
The three travellers went rapidly on towards their own dear home. Atthe last station their father's carriage was waiting for them. A shoutof joy hailed them. It was Rikli. She had been allowed to come to meetthem. It seemed that night as if they would never be tired enough to goto bed, they were so excited with joy at seeing father and mother andaunty, and at feeling themselves at home again. Questions and answerswere all poured out together, interrupted by frequent exclamations ofaffection and of joy at being all together once more. There seemed nochance of quiet or rest that night.
But at last the evening came to an end. The active trio were in bed andasleep, and the happy mother went softly from one bedside to another,and breathed a silent thanksgiving over each sleeping child, that theyhad all been preserved from harm and brought safely back to her arms.
Mrs. Stanhope's summer had been full of excitement of various kinds,such as she had never in her whole life experienced before. It had beenrather a trying thing to her to have her very methodical and regularlife so disturbed, and she had not always known how to take withequanimity the alarms and inconveniences that her generous invitation tothe doctor's children had brought upon her. But she had been interestedin the children, and it had been a good thing for her to becomeaccustomed to the interruption of the too rigorous routine in which shehad been living. Elsli's illness had been a deep and painful experience,but it had produced a blessed change in the whole tone of her life andspirit. Her new-born love for the little girl had broken up the sealedfountains of her heart, and she felt again the bliss of a mother's loveardently returned by a child. A warmer glow was infused too into herfeeling for Fani, to whom she had been attracted at first by hisresemblance to her Philo. Time had softened her sorrow for the loss ofher boy, so that this resemblance endeared Fani to her, while in Elsli'scase, a similar likeness to Nora had only made it the more difficult toreceive one who was brought to her to take Nora's place, while she wasstill stunned with the grief of the recent parting.
Her first thought now was for Elsli. The doctor said that the child mustspend the next winter in a warmer climate, and recommended a removal tothe south of France or to Italy before the coming of cold weather.
"And meantime," he said, "you must put a stop to all this long sittingon the stone seat under those heavy lindens down by the water, and topacing up and down that damp little path that leads to the willows, andto spending hours in that wretched hut by the bog, that isn't fit forany one to live in. The river is very beautiful, but it's better to belooked at from a distance above. Dry air and sunshine are what ourlittle girl needs. She couldn't do anything worse for mind or body thanto sit and meditate in that cold, damp, lonely place."
Mrs. Stanhope's eyes were opened, and she resolved to act on thedoctor's suggestion, not only with regard to Elsli, but also to thefisherman's family. She took measures directly for building a smallhouse on her own land, in a dry situation, but not far from the river,so that he could continue his avocation as a fisherman, while she alsogave him steady and profitable employment as a laborer on her estate.Elsli was very happy watching the progress of the new house and fittingit up for its inmates, and she had the pleasure of seeing themcomfortably established there before she went south for the winter.
Meantime Mrs. Stanhope, after much deliberation, and with considerablereluctance, for she was not accustomed to change a resolution once made,had come to a decision with regard to Fani's future, quite at variancewith her former plans, which had been to bring him up with a knowledgeof business, with a view to his becoming steward of her estates.
One evening she was sitting with the two children in the parlor aftersupper; for they no longer went out on the terrace at this hour, sincethe days were growing shorter and Elsli must not be out after sundown.The children were chatting gayly, on various subjects, when Mrs.Stanhope, who had been reading, laid down her book, and said:--
"Come and sit by me, Fani; let us have a little talk together. Thatunfortunate expedition of yours on the river, and what you said when youtold me about it, seemed to show that your heart was fully set onbecoming an artist. Is it so still? or was it only a passing fancy? Areyou sure that you have thought long enough about it to be certain ofyourself?"
Fani grew crimson. He hesitated an instant, and then said:--
"Yes; I have thought about it and wished for it a long, long time; andthe more I draw, the more I care for it. But I am willing to think nomore about it; and I will do whatever you wish, to the very best of myability."
"I have been talking to your teacher," continued Mrs. Stanhope, "and hesays, if your industry and perseverance are as great as your talent, youwill be a successful artist. And as you care so much about it, I amsure you will be persevering. So I have decided to take you with us toFlorence this winter, where you will have good instruction in drawing,and also the benefit of the galleries. You will go on with your studiestoo, for I want you to be a well educated man as well as an artist, andyou are too young yet to give up school-work. If you do well, and at theend of a year or two still persevere in your desire to become a painter,you shall go to an art-school, at Duesseldorf or somewhere else, and takea course of several years. There you will find out just how much you cando, and after that we will decide what is best for our young artist."
Fani sprang to his feet and stood speechless before his kindbenefactress. When he tried to speak, tears came instead of the words hemeant to utter.
Mrs. Stanhope saw his emotion with far more satisfaction tha
n if he hadoverwhelmed her with thanks.
"Now," she said to herself, "he is certainly in earnest."
"Meanwhile," she continued aloud, "we shall often be with you, Elsli andI, sometimes at home, or wherever it is best for us to spend thewinters. In summer we shall be all together here. You are my ownchildren now; and I shall do for you just as I should have done for myPhilo and Nora if they had stayed with me."
Tears stood in Mrs. Stanhope's eyes, but she smiled too, as she held outher arms to the children, and drew them, radiant with joy and gratitude,into a mother's embrace.
There were great rejoicings among their friends in Buchberg over thenews that Mrs. Stanhope had adopted the two children, and that Fani wasto become an art-student. Oscar and Fred, and still more the triumphantEmma, could already see with prophetic eyes the announcement of thegreat exhibition to be held in the neighboring city, of the wonderfullandscapes of that "celebrated painter, Fani von Buchberg!"
Heiri's family grew better off every year with the help that came fromthe absent children and their new mother, and Elsli was happy in thethought that her father's hardest days were over, and that her owngood-fortune had brought good to him also.
Oscar and the Fink boys kept up an uninterrupted correspondence. Theywere determined that when they were grown up to manhood they would founda Swiss brotherhood which should astonish the world.
Feklitus got back his shirts and his new clothes and his trunks safefrom the clutches of the waiters at the Crown Prince. But he neverspoke of his journey to the Rhine, no matter how much his companionsmight ply him with questions. If, in school, his geography lesson wasupon the Rhine country, he turned a deaf ear, for he absolutely declinedto learn anything about a place where innocent persons are treated withsuch indignity as they meet with there.
Mrs. Stein and her sister still had their hands and their hearts fullwith the care of the boys and girls who were at once their anxiety andtheir delight; but they still had time and thought to give to theinterests of others, and they never failed to rejoice over theimprovement and the happiness of Gritli's children.
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