Uncle Titus: a story for children and for those who love children

Contents

Chapter Page

I. Under THE Lindens i

II. Long, Long Days 13

Chapter I. Under The Lindens

On the beautiful Linden Promenade, at the east side of the city of Carlsruhe, might have been seen, some time ago, a man whose appearance at the same hour every afternoon excited great sympathy among the pleasure-seekers. He seemed very ill, and walked slowly, supporting himself by a staff in his right hand, while his left rested on the shoulder of a child, who was his constant and devoted companion. Occasionally he lifted his hand.

Uncle Titus.

and asked tenderly, “Tell me, my child, do I lean too heavily on you?”

“No, no, indeed, papa!” the child always replied, replacing the hand. “ Lean harder ; I do not notice it at all.”

The invalid was Major Falk, who had recently come to Carlsruhe. He had formerly lived in Hamburg in a quiet way with his daughter Dora and an elderly housekeeper. His wife had died soon after Dora’s birth, so the child had never known her mother.

She had hardly felt the loss, so tender had been her father’s care, until he was summoned to join the army during the French war.

He was away a long time ; and, when he returned, he was suffering from a wound which the physician told him must prove fatal.

Under the Lmdens,

Major Falk had a step-sister in Carlsruhe who had married a literary man, Mr. Titus Ehrenreich; and, when he learned the truth in regard to his condition, the wounded man decided to remove to Carlsruhe, in order that his twelve-year-old daughter might not be quite alone when his trouble should become more serious.

This plan was soon carried out, and he was established near his sister in time to enjoy the warm spring days during his daily walks under the shady lindens. His daughter always accompanied him ; and, when he tired of walking, they sat together on one of the seats under the trees to rest.

Then he had always something pleasant to tell ; and Dora thought nobody could talk so charmingly as her father, and was firmly convinced that there could not be another man in the world so good and

Uncle Titus.

noble. She liked best to hear of her mother, — of how lovely and cheerful she had always been, so that she seemed to carry sunshine wherever she went, and nobody could see her without loving her.

In such conversations her father would entirely forget time and place, until the cool evening air reminded him that it grew late, and that they must return to the city. In front of one of the tall houses in a narrow street he would pause, and say, “We must look in on Uncle Titus and Aunt Ninette;” and on the stairs he would add, “ Now gently, Dora ! You know that Uncle Titus writes very wise books, and cannot be disturbed ; and Aunt Ninette cannot bear any noise, — she is not accustomed to it.” So Dora would go up on tip-toe, while the Major rang very softly. Aunt Ninette usually

U7tder the Lindens, 5

opened the door herself, and said, “ Come in, dear brother ; but softly, if I may ask it. You know my husband is buried in his work.”

You could hardly hear the three as they passed through the corridor into the sitting-room, which was next to Uncle Titus’ study; so they were obliged to converse in low tones.

Major Falk was much less apt to forget this than Aunt Ninette herself, especially when she was reminded of any of her troubles, which was often the case.

June came, and one could stay out-ofdoors later in the evening ; but this pleasure was shortened for our friends by Aunt Ninette’s anxiety.

One warm evening, when the sky was gleaming with the sunset light, and overspread with rosy, hazy clouds, Major Falk sat later than usual, looking at the moving clouds and the golden sky.

Dora had been gazing at her father in silent wonder, when, overpowered by her impression, she exclaimed, —

“ O papa ! if you could only see yourself! You shine like gold. The angels in heaven must be like that!”

Her father smiled.

“ It will soon be over with me, child ; but your mother stands behind the rosy clouds always shining like that, and looking down at us.”

It was soon over. The man’s face grew pale again, and the gold began to fade from the sky.

The Major rose to go, and Dora followed, a little troubled that the beautiful glow had vanished so soon.

“ It will shine upon us again, sometime.

Under the Lindens,

Dora,” said her father, to comfort her; “and much more beautifully, — when your mother and you and I are all together again, and then it will never fade away.”

Aunt Ninette was in the open door awaiting their coming very impatiently; but she did not speak until she had conducted them into the room and closed the door.

“ How can you give me such anxiety, dear brother 'I ” she complained. “ What frightful things I have imagined ! What can have happened to make you so late And how can you be so careless as to stay out after sundown ? You must have taken cold, and what will come of it ? Something terrible may result.”

“ Calm yourself, dear Ninette,” said the Major, soothingly, as soon as he could put in a word. “ The air is so mild that it could not possibly harm any one, and the evening was glorious, — quite wonderful ! Let me look at the beautiful evenings of earth as long as I may; it will neither hasten nor retard what must soon come.”

But these quiet words called forth another lament.

“ How can you speak so } How can you give me such anxiety.? How can you say such terrible words .? ” cried the excited woman, again and again. “ Such a thing cannot be; it shall not be. What would happen to — You know whom I mean.” Here she cast a significant look at Dora. “No, Karl; that is too much. I should not know what to do. It could not be borne ! ”

“ But, dear Ninette,” interposed her brother, “ do not forget one thing, —

Under the Lindens,

‘“Thou art not made a ruler,

The course of things to tell;

God stays and reigns among us,

“ Oh, yes ! I know that, — that is true,” declared his sister; “but where there is no help and no escape, one must die of anxiety, and you speak as if such a terrible thing could happen.”

“ Let us say good-night, and not complain any more,” said the Major, extending his hand. “ Let us both remember that ‘ God stays and reigns among us.’ ”

“ Yes, that is certainly true,” reiterated his sister. “ But don’t get cold in the street; and go down-stairs softly; and — • do you hear, Dora.f^ — close the door below gently; and, Karl, do look out for the draught in the street.”

During these admonitions they delO scended the stairs and closed the streetdoor, according to directions, when they had only to cross the street to reach their own dwelling.

The next evening, as Dora sat again with her father under the lindens, she asked, “ Papa, did not Aunt Ninette know the verse before, —

“‘Thou art not made a ruler,

The course of things to tell;

God dwells and reigns among us,

And guideth all things well ’ ? ”

“Yes, yes, Dora; she knew it,” was the answer. “ Only sometinl^es, in her anxiety, she forgets who rules all things ; but she soon puts herself right again.”

Dora thought awhile, then she said, —

“ But, papa, how can we help being so anxious that we almost die of dread, as Aunt Ninette said.f^”

Under the Lindens,

II

“ My dear child,” responded her father, “ whatever happens to us, we must think that it comes from the good God. If it is a joy, we should have praise in our hearts ; if it is a sorrow, it cannot affright and trouble us much, for we know that a good God sends us only what is to prove a blessing in the end. And, although a grief should come to us, so heavy that we can see no help or way of relief, yet God knows a way, and can bring good out of what seems to us entirely evil and sad. Do you understand, Dora, and will you think of it when such an experience comes to you ? Every one has sad days, and they will come to you, too, dear child.”

“Yes, I understand it now, and I will certainly think of it, papa,” said Dora. “ I would much rather feel safe than to live in fear.”

But we must not forget,” continued her father, after a pause, “that we must think of God not only when something especial happens, but in every thing ; and always ask, ‘ Is it right ? ’ So we come to the true safety, and are already with God when evil comes, and we have need of Him. But if we never think of Him until trouble comes, then it is hard to find the way to Him.”

“ Oh ! I will not lose the way,” said Dora, eagerly. “ I will ask God every day, ‘ Is this right 1 ’ ”

Tenderly the father stroked the little hand which lay in his. He said no more, but the love and tenderness in his glance seemed to enfold the child with a power that she must feel.

The golden sun sank behind the green trees, and father and child turned their steps towards the tall house in the narrow street.

Long^ Lo7tg Days.

Chapter II. Long, Long Days

Some days after, Dora sat by her father’s bedside with her head buried in the pillow, sobbing as if her heart would break. Her father lay still and pale, a kindly smile resting on his countenance.

She could not understand nor believe what she knew was true, — her father had followed her mother: he was in heaven. He had not come that morning as usual to call her, and when she awoke and went to look for him, she found him apparently asleep, and had quietly seated herself near him, in order not to awaken him.

When the woman came up with break-

Uncle Titus.

fast, and looked in through the open door, she drew back with a cry of alarm, “ He is dead! I will bring your aunt,” and was gone.

These words fell with crushing weight on Dora’s heart. She put her head on the pillow beside her father and lay there sobbing until she heard her aunt enter.

Then she tried to master her grief, knowing that a fearful scene would ensue. So she buried her head in her arms to choke her sobs.

There was a terrible outburst of grief. Her aunt complained pitifully that the greatest possible misfortune had come to her, and that she could not see any light before her. What should she do }

She gathered up some papers which lay in the open drawer of a table near the bed, and was about to lock them up, when a letter fell out which was addressed to her. She opened it and read, —

^‘Dear Sister Ninette, — I feel that I must soon leave you. I will not talk with you about it, that you may not feel the sorrow until it comes. One thing I should like to ask you to bear on your heart. Keep my child as long as she needs your assistance. I have not much to leave her ; but spend this little in teaching her something useful, that she may be able to support herself. Do not allow yourself to be overcome by grief. Believe, as I do, that God takes care of the children we commend to Him when we can do nothing more ourselves. Accept my thanks for all the kindness you have shown me and my child. May God reward you.’^

The letter seemed to impress the woman. She did not indulge in any more laments; but turned towards Dora, who was still weeping softly, with her face covered.

“ Come with me, Dora,” she said ; “ now you must live with us. We must think that it is well with your father, otherwise we should die of our trouble and anxiety.”

Dora followed obediently; but it seemed to her as if all was over, as if she could not live any longer.

As they went up the stairs, her aunt forgot for the first time to caution her to be quiet, and it was quite unnecessary ; Dora seemed to have no more life.

Aunt Ninette had an attic room which she had used as a store-room. This was arranged for Dora’s sleeping-room. The girl followed all her aunt’s directions silently, and came down when she was called to the evening meal, at which Uncle Titus appeared. He hardly ever spoke, for he was usually buried in thought.

Later, Dora went up to her little room and wept until she fell asleep.

The next day she begged to go and see her father, and her aunt unwillingly prepared to accompany her.

The girl whispered a soft farewell, and then hastened to her own room to sob out her grief, knowing that she would never see her father again on earth.

A very different sort of life now began for Dora. She had not been sent to school during their stay in Carlsruhe. Her father seemed unwilling to make any plans for her future, but left it all to Aunt Ninette, who decided to send her every morning to a private school kept by an acquaintance of hers, and in the afternoon to a seamstress who would teach her plain sewing. This Aunt Ninette considered as one of the most useful of employments, and she wished her niece to be so thoroughly taught that it would be a means of earning a livelihood for her.

Dora liked to study, and when she was in school with other children she would sometimes forget that her good father was no longer with her; but it was not so pleasant to sit in a narrow room during the long, hot summer afternoons, forcing a dull needle through heavy cotton cloth.

The clock kept up a monotonous ticktack in the quiet room ; but it seemed to Dora that it was always half-past four, and that the hands would never move on. The afternoons were so long and hot and still ! The only sound which penetrated this attic-room was that of a distant piano ; and Dora listened eagerly for this every day, thinking how some happy child was sitting at the instrument to practise.

She could imagine nothing better in the world than to be able to play the piano ;■ and when some fragment of a melody floated in to her, she was charmed, and would say to herself, “ Oh, how happy that child must be to learn such a beautiful thing ! ”

These long hours with the seamstress brought many sad thoughts to the girl’s heart, — memories of the pleasant walks under the lindens which could never be again. Her only comfort was her father’s assurance that she would sometime go to him and her mother ; but it seemed such a long time to wait !

She almost wished something would happen, — that the confinement and sewing: would make her ill, and she would die.

U7icle Titm,

But, at last, another thought would come and console her, —

“ God stays and rules among us.

And guideth all things well.”

She tried to believe this firmly; and it comforted her heart, so that even her needle seemed to go more easily.

But the days were still long, and when she went home at night it was so quiet ! At supper Uncle Titus took an enormous newspaper and read and ate behind it; and her aunt spoke in a very low tone, and only when necessary, in order not to disturb him.

Dora said nothing; and, in fact, she hardly ever spoke at all now. Her aunt never had occasion to admonish her to be gentle. Yet Dora was not by nature a quiet child. On the contrary, she early displayed such activity that her father often said, with evident satisfaction, “ The child is the image of her mother, — the same versatility, the same cheerfulness and life ! ”

All that seemed to have disappeared.

It was very seldom that she gave her aunt any cause of complaint, for she dreaded her outbreaks of fretfulness ; and so every wish, almost every impulse of life, was repressed.

One evening Dora came home filled with excitement, for she had heard some one playing, —

“Rejoice in your life,

While the lamp glows;

And, ere it fades,

Gather the rose.”

Dora knew the melody, and could sing it; and the thought that it could be played like this on the piano so aroused her that she said, as she entered the room, —

“ O Aunt Ninette! it must be the greatest happiness to learn to play on the piano. Do you think that I ever, ever in my whole life can do it } ”

“ Dear me ! how can you mention such things to me ? ” complained her aunt. “How can you cause me such trouble How could such a thing happen here ? Think of the dreadful noise which a piano makes in a house 1 and where is there a possibility of it.f^ Where would the means and the time come from ? O Dora 1 how can you have such unfortunate thoughts ? It is enough to bear the ills that we have already, without making me anxious with such plans I ”

Dora promised not to make any plans, and from that time she never spoke of the piano.

Every evening, when she had finished her school exercise, while her aunt mended, or knit, or napped, she stole up to her little attic room ; and, before she closed the window, looked out at the stars which gleamed so brightly.

Just over her head there were always five near together, and Dora came to know them so well that they seemed like friends who wished to comfort her, and show her that she was not alone ; and the thought came to her that they were sent by her father and mother to bring their greetings.

This was a great consolation to her every night when she came into the dark room ; and, as she sent her evening prayer up to heaven, full confidence entered her heart that God would not leave her alone. Her father had often told her that whoever asks God for protection has nothing to fear.

So the long summer days passed. Autumn came, and a long winter followed, which was so cold and dark that Dora thought she liked the hot days better than these, when she could not open her window and see her stars, and was often so cold that she could not sleep; for the room under the roof was not warm.

Spring and summer came again, and there was no change in the quiet household.

Dora worked more than ever on the great shirts, for now she had to help the seamstress in earnest.

When the hot days came, something happened which disturbed Aunt Ninette greatly.

Uncle Titus had an attack of dizziness, and a physician was called.

“ He probably has not been outside of Carlsruhe for thirty years, and, during this time, has never left his desk except to eat and sleep ? ” he asked, after he had examlined the patient.

The question had to be answered in the affirmative.

“Good!” said the doctor. “Now off, away, at once I to-day rather than to-morrow. Go to Switzerland ; to the good fresh mountain air, not too high up. You need no other medicine. But stay away six weeks at the least. Have you any choice where No You can think it over. I will do the same, and come to-morrow to find you ready to start.”

‘ The doctor retired, and Aunt Ninette after him ; for now a flood of questions rose before her eyes which she must ask in regard to this most unexpected deci-

U^icle Titus.

sion. It was of no use for the doctor to try to be very short : he was detained at the door three times as long as he had been inside.

When Aunt Ninette returned, after some time, she found Uncle Titus sitting at his desk, absorbed in his writing, as usual.

“ My dear Titus,” she cried, in the deepest amazement. “ Can you have really heard what is before us? To break up at once, leave every thing, and go, — we do not know where ! And to stay so long, six weeks or more, and not to know where and how, and with whom, and in what neighborhood ! It is a frightful thought, and there you sit and write as if there were nothing before us.”

“ My dear, it is because this journey impends that I must use my time,” answered Mr. Titus, writing industriously.

“ My dear Titus, it is wonderful how readily you adapt yourself to unexpected circumstances ! But this matter must be discussed : it may have serious consequences,” said Aunt Ninette, very impressively. “ Do think where we can go ! ”

“ It is all the same to me, if it is only quiet; and it is sure to be that in the country,” remarked Uncle Titus, working on.

“ That is exactly what I am considering,” continued his wife. “ How we can be sure that we do not get into a house full of people, or into a noisy neighborhood. There might be a school in the neighborhood, or a mill, or a waterfall, — there are so many of them in Switzerland, — or some noisy trade might be carried on there ; or there might be a place in the vicinity where a provincial court meets,

U^tcle Titus, and brings together the people of an entire canton, which must cause a terrible tumult. But I have a thought, dear Titus. There is one way to avoid all that. I will write to Hamburg, where the old uncle of my blessed brother’s wife lives. You know that the family lived once in Switzerland, so I can get exact information.”

“ It seems to me rather a roundabout way,” said Uncle Titus; “and, so far as I know, the family had some unpleasant experience in Switzerland, and will hardly have kept up any connections there.”

“ Let me take care of that. I will arrange every thing all right, my dear Titus,” ended Aunt Ninette.

She wrote a letter to Hamburg, and then betook herself to Dora’s sewingteacher to talk over the child’s lonely condition with her; and it was agreed that the seamstress should stay with her at night, and that Dora should spend all her free time out of school during the day with the seamstress.

This decision was made known to Dora when she came home. She listened in silence, and then went up to her lonely room. Here she seated herself on the bed, and many thoughts and memories arose in ^her heart of the time when her father had been with her, and talked to her so lovingly. Then she realized how entirely alone she was, and that, when her uncle and aunt were gone, there was nobody who loved her. She grew so sad over these thoughts that she began to weep bitterly, and, the more she thought, the more desolate her life seemed. If her uncle and aunt should die, there was nobody in the world to whom she belonged ;

and then she would have to sew from morning till evening, for her aunt had told her that she must support herself sometime. She sat weeping so long that, when she took her hands away from her eyes, the room was perfectly dark. Her candle had long since burned out, and there was no longer any light in the street. But her five stars shone through the window, beaming so brightly that it seemed to Dora, all at once, as if her father was looking at her with his loving eyes, and saying trustfully, as on that other evening,—

“ God stays and reigns among us,

The starry light shone deep into her heart, and made it lighter; for what her father had said must be true, and she could have this same trust, and not fear for the future.

So she lay down, quieted, still looking at her beautiful stars.

The next evening the doctor appeared again, as he had promised, with various propositions in regard to Mr. Ehrenreich’s journey.

But Aunt Ninette explained that she already had something in view ; and, when she had arranged every thing, she would ask the doctor’s judgment upon it.

“ Only don’t make it too long. Start soon, go soon ! ” advised the doctor, as he tried to hurry away, almost falling over Dora, who had entered so softly that he had not noticed her.

“ What, what ! it did not hurt you ? ” he said, tapping the frightened child on the shoulder. “ The journey will be good for this slender creature, — only drink a great deal of milk; always drink milk.”

“ We have decided to leave Dora here, doctor,” remarked Aunt Ninette.

“ Well, that is your affair, Mrs. Ehrenreich. Only you must watch her, or you will have something worse here than with your husband.”

And the doctor was outside the door.

“ Doctor, doctor ! What do you mean } what do you mean ? ” called Aunt Ninette, running down the stairs after him.

“ I mean,” said the doctor, “ that the little person has too little blood, and cannot live unless she gets some.”

“Oh, dear! must every misfortune burst upon us } ” cried the woman, as she reentered the room,* wringing her hands. “ My dear Titus, put down your pen a minute. You have not heard what a frightful thing the doctor predicts for Dora if she does not get more blood.”

“ Take her with us to Switzerland: she does not make any noise,” said Uncle Titus, and wrote on.

“ But, my dear Titus, to make such a decision in a half-second ! She does not make a noise, that is a great thing; but there is so much to consider and weigh and think over. Ah, ah ! ” Here Aunt Ninette observed that her husband was so buried in his work that further communications were useless.

She went into her room, and considered every thing for and against, until she finally decided that it was best to follow the doctor’s advice, and take Dora with them. The answer from Hamburg came a few days later. The old uncle knew nothing about his brother’s life in Switzerland more than thirty years before, only that Tannenberg, the little town, was quiet and secluded, for his brother had always complained of the lack of society.

This account so pleased Aunt Ninette that she decided to apply to the pastor of Tannenberg and inquire for a suitable house.

The answer came soon, and was very satisfactory. The pastor wrote that Tannenberg was a little village consisting of a few scattered houses and cottages. By chance, just such a lodging as was desired could be had with the widow of a teacher, an elderly and very worthy woman, who could let two good rooms and a chamber. He enclosed the widow’s address, in case further information was desired.

Aunt Ninette was so pleased that she wrote to the widow ^ at once, expressing her joy that the houses in Tannenberg were so scattered ; but it might be that

Long, Long Days.

the house was in a neighborhood which must be especially avoided by the sick man ; therefore she must ask if any blacksmith, any locksmith, any stone-cutter, and especially any butcher, lived near; or if there was any school, any mill, and particularly any waterfall, in the vicinity.

All these questions were answered in the most satisfactory manner. No mechanic was to be found far or near. The school and mill were so far away that no sound ever was heard from them, and there was no waterfall in the region. .

The widow could further assert that she lived in the most agreeable neighborhood, with no dwelling near except the great house of Mr. Birkenfeld, which had a splendid garden and fine fields and meadows around it.

This was the most important family in the whole region, and Mr. Birkenfeld and his wife were public benefactors. She herself was greatly indebted to them ; for her little house belonged to the estate, Mr. Birkenfeld having offered it to her after her husband’s death.

Thus every thing was arranged in the best way. All possible chances of disturbance were provided for, and the day for their departure was set.

With great astonishment, Dora heard that she was to go too ; and, full of wonder, she packed the six great shirts which she was to take as work. She was so animated at the prospect of making them in a new place, that every thing seemed to her like a fete^ even sewing these long seams.