image008
"I SUPPOSE IT IS PATRIMONY, MY SON," SAID MR. TITUS,PATTING ROLF'S SHOULDER.
"I know," said a deep bass voice behind the children, startling them for a moment.
But right after, Dora gave a merry laugh. "It is Uncle Titus. He is still working in the summer house. Come, Rolf, let's go to him."
Rolf was willing, and when the two entered, Uncle Titus, who was comfortably leaning against the wall, looked very much pleased.
Rolf, after replying pleasantly to Mr. Ehrenreich's greeting, asked him casually, if he had guessed the charade.
"I suppose it is patrimony, my son," said Mr. Titus, patting Rolf's shoulder.
"Yes, it is," Rolf answered, pleased. "Did you guess the others, too, Mr. Ehrenreich?" Rolf inquired.
"Possibly, my son," replied Mr. Titus. "Would I be wrong, if I said the first was marigold and the second courage?"
"Oh, you guessed them all!" exclaimed Rolf, rejoicing. "It is wonderful to make charades, if somebody can guess them. I have another, in fact three more. May I ask you another, Mr. Ehrenreich?"
"Surely, dear son, why not?" replied Mr. Titus kindly. "Just say them, and I'll do my best to solve them."
After refreshing his memory a little, Rolf began. "The first is the shortest and easiest:"
"'A tiny thing, my first, which yet may move;While for my second you need not look far;To be my third is still against the rule—My whole goes far beyond what's learned in school.'"
"Can you guess it?"
"Perhaps so; go on."
Rolf went on:
"'My first is what no coward soul will do,My second you will find in every face;My third will often we ourselves replace—My whole a Persian monarch, brave and true.'"
"Do you know it already?"
"Possibly. Now another!"
"A longer one now:"
"'My first a place where corn and wheat are ground,My second about many a neck is found;My third with succor does the meaning share,My fourth is freedom from all work and care.My whole a famous Greek of long ago,Who put to rout the mighty Persian foe.'"
"Now, my son, I shall tell you what I think," said Mr. Titus, with a happy smile. "Number one, speculate; number two, Darius; number three, Miltiades!"
"Every one correct! Oh what fun! I have always longed for some one to guess charades," said Rolf, highly satisfied, "but I had to run around with them all unsolved. Now I can start on some fresh ones."
"I make you a proposal, son," said Mr. Titus, getting up from his seat with the intention of going home. "Come to me every night, and bring me the fruits of your reflection. I may give you some to solve, too, some day."
The study of the stars had to be put off for another evening, because it had grown too late.
Happy over the pleasant meeting, Rolf and Dora ran back to the rest of the family, who were expecting them, while Mr. Titus, delighted with having found such a pleasant young friend, went home.
Mr. Titus had always wished for a son, preferably one who came to this world at the age of twelve and had behind him the stage where he found it necessary to cry and scream, one who could be a sensible companion, with whom one could talk. Rolf answered his wishes exactly, while the boy himself was obviously delighted to have Uncle Titus's friendship. The scientist felt a real fatherly affection for the lad, which new emotion unbarred his solitary heart. As he wandered homewards, Uncle Titus suddenly began to sing:
"Rejoice, rejoice in lifeWhile yet the lamp is glowing!"
For the melody had penetrated as far as his hermitage that morning and apparently had proved contagious.
Upstairs at the open window stood Aunt Ninette, saying to herself, "Is this really my husband?"
FOUND AT LAST
THE time seemed to fly for everybody in the Birkenfeld household, as well as the little neighboring cottage, and all the inmates would exclaim from time to time, "Oh, is another week really gone?" or "How can it be Sunday again?"
For everybody, but especially for Dora, the days passed so pleasantly that they seemed only half as long as those in Karlsruhe. Every night, when going to bed, she regretted having to lose so much precious time in sleep, and she would have been delighted to sit all night at the piano while the others slept, to practise her little pieces.
Her arm had healed long ago and Lili gave her a daily piano lesson. Lili proved a most enthusiastic teacher, who expected no scales or exercises from her pupil and at once let her learn the favorite piece, "Rejoice, rejoice in Life!" Dora had already learned to play it with the right hand alone, the accompaniment of the left hand being as yet too difficult to attempt. The little teacher herself made such surprising progress, that Miss Hanenwinkel, who till now had only been able to utter complaints about Lili's musical performances, was most astonished at the sudden fruits of her labors. The mother also joyfully noticed the change, and often paused near the open door in order to listen to the little girl's vigorous and agile playing. The child had real talent for music, and progressed very fast since her love for it had been awakened.
Paula swam all day in uninterrupted bliss, for her longed for wish had come true, she at last had a friend, and what a friend! Dora understood her inmost thoughts and experiences, and was able to share everything with her. Paula, who all her life had looked for a friend in vain, found the reality even more lovely than anything she had imagined. Dora was too adorable a being for anyone to just invent. She, like her bosom friend, regretted ever having to go to bed, and hated losing any of the precious time still left.
Rolf's studies in the matter of charades had taken on such a serious character, that he could frequently be seen running up and down the garden paths with hands folded behind his back. At such times, little Hun had to be kept out of his way, because Rolf had several times actually run into the small boy and thrown him down.
Rolf enjoyed preparing his intricate charades for Mr. Titus, who was not only interested, but apparently found great pleasure in Rolf's scholarly turn of mind. The learned man, by being able to guess the most obscure historical names on the spot, urged the boy to greater and more constant efforts, and besides awakened the lad's zeal for Latin by composing rhymed charades in that language.
These were written down and were meant to be studied most carefully. Rolf read these regularly to Jul and his father, but neither could ever guess them. His father had forgotten his Latin too much for such work, while Jul was of the opinion that such useless exertions were not healthy in the holidays. He had to keep his mental vigor undiminished till he took up his own work at school again.
Rolf, on the contrary, puzzled and searched for the sense by looking through his Latin dictionary and did not give up till he at last found the solution. This he would triumphantly reveal to his father and Jul, and finally to Mr. Titus in the evening. The friendly man always showed himself almost more pleased at Rolf's success, than the boy was himself, helping him in that way to great progress in his Latin studies. He began these studies quite early in the morning, and it seemed as if he could not imbibe enough knowledge.
Little Hun also passed very happy days. Whatever time and however often he came to Dora and demanded her attention, she never pushed him aside nor ran away, but in the most kindly manner entertained him, as if she herself found great pleasure in his company. Mrs. Birkenfeld had begged Aunt Ninette to let Dora be free all morning and evening, and let her sew in the afternoons, when the whole family was gathered under the apple tree. Dora here realized that sewing shirts was a most pleasant occupation when one worked in nice surroundings.
In that way, Hun had Dora to himself many hours of the day, when no one had time to interfere. Dora had made a new riddle for her little friend, too, so he need not repeat his old one of the nutcracker forever. He was determined to dish up charades to everybody, and his triumph was complete, when no one in the house could solve it. Running persistently from one to another, he was glad they could not say as before, "Go away, Hun, and don't keep on repeating your stupid old charade." Every time they made a mistake, he leaped for joy, and he and Dora pledged each other not to give anyone a clue.
"My first makes everybody cry!My second some, then we denyOurselves to take the whole when it appears,Because it nearly always does bring tears."
All had tried in vain to solve it.
Jul said it was "misdeed." Everybody cries when Miss Hanenwinkel comes to make them work; and at the deeds, she makes them do some cry. And when a misdeed is perpetrated, many denials result, especially when the twins are the criminals, in which case, tears are always the end.
But Hun joyfully hopped about, crying, "You are wrong, you are wrong, Jul!"
Miss Hanenwinkel said, "It is music lesson. Music makes everybody cry. In the lesson, many cry and many denials have to be made during the lessons."
"Wrong, wrong," cried the small boy, delighted.
"It is schoolroom," asserted Rolf.
"Aha, Rolf, you guessed wrong," Hun cried triumphantly.
"Couldn't it be bedtime?" said the mother. "All children cry in bed some time or other, some cry when the time comes, and all deny bedtime has come."
"Mamma can't guess it, either; mamma doesn't know," jubilated the little fellow, leaping about.
"It might be leave-taking," said the father. "Leave-taking makes everybody cry, taking some children away makes some cry and at Dora's leave-taking, everybody is sorry."
"Papa can't guess it either, papa can't guess it!" rejoiced the small boy, jumping merrily around the room, for it gave him the keenest pleasure that even his father had missed it. The happy possessor of the great secret could still dash from one member of the family to another and puzzle them all.
Rolf was much put out, that Hun's foolish charade should attract so much attention without ever getting solved.
Relentlessly the days passed on.
"My dear Ninette," Uncle Titus said at breakfast one day, "we have only one more week, but I think we ought to add two more weeks to our stay, for I feel so well here. My dizzy spells have completely left me, and there is new vigor in my limbs."
"One can easily see that, dear Titus," replied his wife, delighted. "You look at least ten years younger than when we came."
"It seems to me, our new mode of life suits you also, dear, for I have not heard you complain for a long time now."
"That is true. Everything seems all changed somehow," answered Aunt Ninette. "The noise the children make is not a bit bad, when one knows them all, and I am glad we did not move from here. I even begin to miss it, when I do not hear their merry voices, and things do not seem quite right, when there is no noise in the garden."
"That's exactly the way I feel," agreed Uncle Titus. "I enjoy the lively boy so much, when he comes running to me every night. He can hardly control his eagerness to tell me what he has composed, and when I set him my task, he drinks in every word I say. It is pure pleasure to have such a boy to talk to."
"My dear Titus, how enthusiastic you are! That makes you seem younger than I have ever known you. We had better stay here as long as we can afford it," the aunt concluded. "Even our doctor could never have predicted such an improvement from our journey. It is just wonderful."
Immediately after this conversation, Dora rushed over to her friends, spreading the happy news. The prospect of her near departure had been a perfect nightmare to the child, and she felt like dying rather than living so far away from all the intimate friends she loved so dearly. Dora anticipated a broken heart on the day of their separation. As soon as the children heard about their playmate's lengthened stay, they crushed Dora from sheer transport and noisily expressed their happiness.
That same evening, when the children had gone to bed and Miss Hanenwinkel had retired, Mr. and Mrs. Birkenfeld, according to their daily custom, sat together on the sofa, talking over their common problems. They mentioned the fact that their neighbors were lengthening their stay, and after expressing her joy, the mother concluded with these words:
"I actually dread the day when we shall lose the child, and it is not very far off. It is impossible to say what a blessing Dora has been to our household, and it is evident at every step. I keep on discovering new traces of her good influence all the time. I don't quite know why the child attracts me so much. All I can say is that a world of memories stirs in me, whenever I look into her eyes. I don't pretend to understand it."
"My dearest wife, you think this every time you grow fond of a person," Mr. Birkenfeld interposed. "I can remember quite well that you thought we must have stood in some incomprehensible relationship long ago, when you just knew me a short time."
"However that may be, you bad, sarcastic husband," she retorted, "I suppose the solid reasons this time are enough. You can't deny that Dora is very dear and charming. I love her, and I know how many of the pleasant changes in our household are due to her. Paula goes about like a ray of sunshine, there is not a trace left of her moodishness and bad humor. Jul takes off his riding boots himself without disturbing the whole household, and Rolf is so eager at his studies, that he does not waste a minute of the day. Lili has developed a diligence and ability for music that surprises everybody, while Hun is always pleasantly occupied, and looks so merry, that it is a joy to see him."
"Can the fact that the twins have not perpetrated any evil deeds lately be due to Dora, too?" asked Mr. Birkenfeld.
"Doubtless," the wife answered. "Dora has somehow awakened Lili's enthusiasm for music, and the lively child is putting all her energies into playing now. Willi does the same, and in that way the two are kept out of mischief."
"Dora is really a curious being. Too bad she is leaving us," said Mr. Birkenfeld, quite regretfully.
"I regret it so much, too," his wife continued, "and I keep on wondering how we could keep them here a little longer."
"We can't," replied the husband, "for we don't know them well enough. We must let them go, but if they come back another year, something might be done about it."
Mrs. Birkenfeld sighed as she thought of the long winter and the uncertainty of their return.
The days passed by quickly, and the last week of Dora's stay had come. They were to leave on Monday, and the Sunday before a supper party was to take place, though everyone felt far from festive. Rolf alone was making eager preparations, which consisted in hanging up several charades, made transparent by multicolored lights, in the garden house in honor of his kind patron.
Dora sat down to lunch with the children on Saturday, and not much appetite was displayed by anybody. When the mother was helping them to their soup, several voices said, "Please, very little;" "Only a tiny bit for me;" "Not much for me;" "Better none for me at all." "None for me at all, please."
"I'd like to know if you all deny yourselves, because the grief of the near parting is so intense, or is it that the onion soup does not suit you?"
"Onion soup, oh, onion soup! Now I know the answer to Hun's charade," cried Rolf, delighted at the victory, for he had hardly been able to bear the humiliation of not guessing it before.
The solution proved correct.
Little Hun, who sat mournfully on his chair, said, "Oh, papa, if only you had not said that we deny ourselves this onion soup! Then nobody would ever have guessed my charade. Oh, all is over now!"
But Dora, who sat beside him, had consolation as always for the little one. She whispered in his ear, "It is not all over, Hun. This afternoon, I'll guide your hand and you can write your charade in my album. I'll give it to lots of people in Karlsruhe who know nothing about it."
That proved a comfort to the little boy, and he finished his lunch without a scene. Afterwards, all gathered under the apple tree as usual, except that the children were far from happy, as it was to be the last time that Dora would sit amongst them. Tomorrow she had to help her aunt with packing, and would only be over in the evening with both her relatives.
Paula's eyes were filled with tears and she could not speak. Lili expressed her grief by wriggling nervously around, but at last she burst out passionately, "Oh, mamma, I don't want to play the piano any more when Dora goes. It will be so tiresome then, for Miss Hanenwinkel will just say that I am dreadfully lazy. I won't care for anything any more; nothing will be fun then."
"Oh, dear!" sighed Jul. "We are nearing hard and dangerous times as soon as the twins find life tiresome again. I can really see no reason for Dora to depart," he continued. "It would do her a lot of good to stay till winter time. Why doesn't she? Her uncle and aunt can go back to their peaceful home in Karlsruhe alone."
The mother at once replied that she would beg for such a permission another year. For the present, they had to be resigned to this separation which she herself was dreading, too.
Little Hun alone was more immediately concerned with the present than with the unknown future and remained content. Pulling Dora's apron, he kept begging, "Please get your book for me, Dora. I want to write now."
The girl went to the house to fetch her album and asked all her dear friends to write a little verse in it for her, according to the good old custom. Her album looked far from elegant. It was very old, the pages were yellowed by age and the ink was faded. Here and there little bunches of discolored flowers, with hardly any petals, were pasted in. All the songs and verses were written by a child's hand, having belonged to Dora's mother in her youth. Several funny little drawings enlivened the pages, and one of a little house and a tiny man near a fountain especially attracted Hun's attention.
After turning several more pages, he said with a knowing air, "Mamma has that, too!"
Then pulling out a narrow slip of paper, he declared, "This belongs to Lili, whom I have to bring back from America."
Jul burst out laughing. "What wonderful tales are you inventing for Dora now, young Hun?"
The mother, after a rapid glance at her youngest child, looked at the paper. Suddenly tears rushed to her eyes, and dear old memories of past days rose vividly before her, especially the merry face of her beloved Lili. She was completely overcome, for it brought back all her childhood days, the image of her own sweet mother, long years ago laid in the grave, and all the vanished years of her youth, gone so irrevocably.
As soon as she saw the paper, she recognized it as the second half of the little verse she and Lili had composed together. Unable to read aloud from sheer emotion, she handed to her husband the paper joined to her own half, which she drew out of the notebook where she had kept it, ever since it had been found a few weeks before. The children whispered to each other and with suspense, watched their father as he joined the two slips of yellowish gray paper, which together formed a sheet of writing paper of the usual size. They were written by the same childish hand, and the sense was now quite clear.
After looking the sheet over a little, the father read aloud as follows:
"Our hands lay claspedIn firmest tie,We hoped together,To live and to die.But one has to stay,The other must go.Our hearts are heavyWith mutual woe.We cut apartThis tiny songAnd hope to join itBefore very long.Once more unitedJoyfully we'll cry:'We can live againIn close friendship's tie.We'll never take leave of each other againAnd ne'ermore endure such deep, bitter pain.'"
The mother had grasped Dora's hand. "Where did you get that little paper, darling?" she asked with great emotion.
"It is my mother's album, and that paper was always in it," answered Dora, surprised.
"Oh, Dora, you are my beloved Lili's child!" exclaimed the mother. "Now I understand why I always thought of the past when I looked at you."
Greatly agitated, she embraced the little girl.
The children felt excited, too, but seeing their mother so profoundly moved, they controlled their emotions and remained silently in their seats, their glances fastened on Dora and the mother.
Little Hun at last broke the silence: "Won't I have to go to America now, mamma?" he asked, visibly relieved at the prospect of being able to stay at home, for after giving his rash promise he had felt a little scared at the thought of going to America alone.
"No, you won't have to go. We shall all stay here," replied the mother, turning towards the children with Dora's hand in hers. "Dora is Lili's little girl, whom you wanted to find."
image009
DORA AND PAULA RETURNED TO THE GARDENARM IN ARM SINGING GAILY.
"Oh, mamma!" cried Paula with unusual vivacity, "Dora and I will continue everything you began with Lili. Then we'll also be able to say like you:"
"Once more united—Joyfully we'll cry:'We can live again,In former friendship's tie.We'll never take leave of each other againAnd ne'ermore endure such deep, bitter pain.'"
"Yes, and we, too—" "and I—" "Yes, and we, too—" "I want it, too!" cried Rolf, the twins and little Hun. Even Jul joined in with his deep bass voice.
But the mother had already seized the father's arm and had disappeared with him under the trees.
"Yes, of course, I am satisfied, I am perfectly satisfied," repeated the father several times to a question his wife was asking. Then they separated, and the mother went to the little neighboring cottage, where she asked at once for Aunt Ninette. She related to Mrs. Ehrenreich that she had just discovered, to her great joy, that Dora was the child of the best and dearest friend of her youth, whom she had mourned for many years. She knew that her friend had died, but hoped to hear more details about her life and Dora's circumstances.
Mrs. Birkenfeld, as well as Aunt Ninette, had been reluctant till now to mention this last very delicate subject. Mrs. Birkenfeld could not find out as much about Lili as she had hoped, for Aunt Ninette had never known her. Her brother, who had lived in America for several years, had met and married Lili in that country, and after returning to Hamburg, had lost her soon after Dora's birth.
Mrs. Birkenfeld told Aunt Ninette how much gratitude she owed to Lili's family for all the happiness she had enjoyed at their house. The acquaintance with Lili had, in fact, shaped her whole future, and she wished to repay this debt. With this, she came to the chief object of her visit, namely, the request to be allowed to adopt Dora and raise her just like one of her own children.
No opposition was made to this, as Mrs. Birkenfeld had feared might be the case. On the contrary, Aunt Ninette was only too glad that Dora, who had been left practically destitute, should have found such generous friends. Sheer necessity would have obliged the child to begin earning her livelihood at once as a seamstress, which was a dreary outlook for the future. As she and her husband had not the means to furnish Dora with a higher education, the new prospect was most welcome, and she was quite sure her husband would not oppose it either.
Mrs. Birkenfeld, after heartily pressing Aunt Ninette's hand, hastened away, in order to tell everybody the glad news. Her heart thrilled at the thought of her children's joy, for she knew how fond they were of Dora.
They were still gathered under the apple tree, and all eyes were turned towards her in suspense, for they were sure that she was planning some pleasant surprise, possibly even a visit from Dora at their house.
When the mother told them that Dora would actually belong to the family from this time on, and would be their sister always, such cries of transport and delight broke forth that they penetrated into the furthest recesses of the garden. Uncle Titus stepped out of his summer house, and smiling happily at their merry exclamations, said to himself, "Too bad we have to go so soon."
Aunt Ninette, standing at her open window, looked down into the garden and listened with delight to the children's outbreaks. She even quietly murmured to herself, "We'll miss it, when we can't hear them any more."
The children felt in such a festive mood, that they planned the most elaborate celebrations for the coming evening, and decided to have a feast such as the garden had never seen before.
Dora entered her little chamber for the last time that night as in a dream. Tomorrow she was to become a permanent inmate of the big house, and the merry children whom she had at first watched with such longing were to be her brothers and sisters. The beautiful garden for which she had also pined was to be her playground, and she was to have a father and mother again who would carefully and lovingly watch over her. She would share the children's pleasures as well as their studies, for Lili had announced to her solemnly that she was to have real music lessons from now on. This made her especially happy.
All these thoughts flooded Dora's heart, and filled her with such happiness that she felt unable to bear it. Her father in Heaven was probably looking down at her and rejoicing with her. When she stood at the open window and looked up at her beloved stars, which gleamed so brightly, she remembered the dark hours when she had looked at them sadly and had forgotten then that her dear God in Heaven was guiding her. Dora fell on her knees and thanked the good God from the bottom of her heart for His kind providence, resolving from that hour, never to forget her father's favorite verse. Whatever life should bring, whatever anxiety would oppress her in the future, she resolved to say confidently:
"'Yet God keeps watch above usAnd doeth all things well.'"
Uncle Titus and Aunt Ninette engaged their rooms again for the next summer and were already actually looking forward to their return. Uncle Titus even went so far as to extract a promise from Mrs. Kurd never to let her rooms during the summer to anybody else. He had felt so wonderfully well in her cottage, that he left it with many regrets and meant to come back.
On Monday morning, the whole family was gathered around the packed travelling carriage, and a hearty leave-taking took place on all sides. Rolf at the last moment, led Uncle Titus apart, and asked him eagerly if he might send a charade to Karlsruhe now and then. To this, Uncle Titus gave the most friendly assurance that this would please him greatly, and he promised to send the answers promptly.
Sly little Hun, who had heard the conversation, also declared at once, "I'll send mine, too!" Never doubting but that Mr. Titus's joy would be still greater then. He also thought to himself that the people of Karlsruhe would never in their lives guess his original charade, which gave him great satisfaction.
Dora and Paula returned to the garden, arm in arm, singing gaily:
"We'll never take leave of each other again."