Maezli Part 14

Uncle Philip dove into his deep pockets with both hands, and soon the wonderful, coveted object really came to light. And how much bigger and finer it was than Toneli's little instrument. Such a one must be able to sound the loveliest tones. Lippo, holding his treasure in his hand, could hardly believe it to be his own property, but Uncle Philip rea.s.sured him, saying: "Come, Lippo, take it, the harmonica is meant for you."

There were presents for all the children in the depths of the pockets, and one child after another ran away to show his gift to his mother.

Lippo saw and heard nothing else just then. In expectation of the melodies which would well up he blew with all his might quite horrible, ear-shattering sounds.

"Lippo, you must learn how to play a little first. Everything has to be learned. Give it to me," said Uncle Philip; "you see you must do this way." Setting the instrument to his lips and pus.h.i.+ng it up and down, he played the merriest tunes. Lippo looked up in speechless admiration at his G.o.d-father. He was tremendously impressed that Uncle Philip could do everything, even blow a harmonica, which generally only boys were able to do. How fine it sounded! He was sure that n.o.body else could bring forth such beautiful melodies.

Lippo was interrupted by his brothers and sisters, who were noisily announcing supper. So Uncle Philip was taken in their midst into the dining-room, and he might have been likened to a prisoner-of-war captured by the victors amidst shouts of triumph.

The mother had purposely ordered supper a little early, and she noticed that her brother was satisfied with the arrangement. If his intention had been to shorten the time he could have with the children, he had no intention of cheating them of amus.e.m.e.nt, and he told them so many entertaining things that they felt they had never had a better time with him. At last, however, it was quiet in the living-room. Uncle Philip was sitting there alone, waiting for his sister, who had gone upstairs with the children.

"First of all, Philip," she said on her return, as she settled down beside him, "what shall be done with Bruno? I am sure you told Mr.

Knippel not to engage board and lodging for him."

"On the contrary, I gave him full power to do so," the brother replied.

"Mr. Knippel gave me the impression that you would agree to it and would be very grateful if he took the matter in hand, so I thought that that would be the simplest way out. It won't be so very terrible if the boys live together. Don't always imagine the worst. But I must tell you something else."

Uncle Philip seemed to be rather glad to pa.s.s quickly over the hard problem. He guessed in fact that his communication would cause his sister great consternation. And he had guessed rightly. In her fright over his first words she had not even heard the last.

"How could you do such a thing," she began to complain. "I can see quite clearly what will happen without unduly imagining anything. The low nature and character of the two boys rouses Bruno's ire, and he constantly flies into a rage when he is with them. It is my greatest sorrow that he can't control himself. What on earth will happen if the three are compelled to be together daily, nay constantly, and will even live together. The matter frightens me more than you can realize, Philip, and now you have made it impossible for me to change the plan."

"But, Maxa, can't you see that I could not act otherwise. Mr. Knippel was terribly anxious to arrange it all, and you know how quickly he is offended. He always imagines that his low birth is in his way, for he cannot understand our utter indifference to all the money he has heaped up. You must not be so anxious about it. It can't possibly last very long," the brother consoled her. "There is sure to be a violent quarrel between them soon, and as soon as that happens, I promise to take the matter in hand. That will give us good grounds to separate them."

The prospect of a horrible fight was, however, no consolation to Mrs.

Maxa. But she said nothing more for the matter was irrevocably settled.

"I have to tell you something now which will put you into a happier mood," he began, clearly relieved that his unpleasant communication had been made. "Yesterday evening the two ladies from Hanover who were my travelling companions some time ago came to me to ask my advice about something which troubled them very much. They have received an urgent call to return home to their aged mother, who has fallen very ill and has asked to see them. The little girl who is in their care, however, has been so sick for a few days that they had to call the doctor. They summoned him again yesterday in order to consult him as to whether there might be danger if the child travelled. He told them positively that they could not think of letting her go now, and that she might not be able to go for weeks. A slow fever showed that she was on the point of serious illness, Which would not quickly pa.s.s. The ladies were extremely frightened and told the doctor their dilemma, for they were both absolutely compelled to leave. One of them might be able to return in about two weeks, but they had to find a reliable person in the meantime who could nurse the child. This was terribly difficult for them as strangers. The doctor's advice was to bring the young invalid to the hospital in Sils, where she would be well taken care of and he could see her every day. The ladies wanted my opinion before deciding. They realize that doctors always favor hospitals because the care of their patients is made simple and easy, so they wondered if I advised them to have the young girl sent there. I told them that the place was not at all badly equipped, but that it was rather small, and the patients were of course very mixed. When I asked the ladies if it would not be better if the child's parents decided that difficult question, I received the information that Leonore von Wallerstatten was an orphan and that the aunt who had put her in their care had also died."

"Oh, Philip, now there is no doubt any more that she is our Leonore's little daughter," Mrs. Maxa cried in the greatest agitation. "Oh, Philip, how could you ever advise them to send her to the hospital? Why didn't you say right away that your sister would immediately take the child into her house."

"How could I do that? Just think a moment, Maxa!" said the brother. "Did you want me to add to your troubles and anxieties by bringing a patient sick with fever into your house? It might turn out to be a dangerous illness, which all your five might catch; what should you have said to me then?"

"Philip, I shall go to Sils with you to-morrow and I'll ask you to take me to the ladies. I want them to know who I am, of course. I shall tell them that I have the right as her mother's nearest friend to receive Leonore into my house and to nurse her. I am sure that the little patient can take the trip in your closed carriage. You can quickly go to the doctor to tell him of our plan and have the carriage sent to us.

Please do this for me, Philip! I can't stand that the child of our Leonore should go to a strange hospital all by herself."

Mrs. Maxa had spoken with such decision that her brother had listened to her in greatest surprise.

"So you have resolved to carry this through, Maxa? Are you sure that you won't have to take it all back after your excitement has vanished?" he asked her.

"You can rely on me, Philip. I have absolutely made up my mind to do it," the sister a.s.sured him. "You must help me now to put it through. I shall be able to take care of things when she gets here, but do all in your power to prevent the ladies from putting obstacles in my path. You see, I do not even know them."

"I shall do whatever you wish," the listener said willingly. "It certainly is hard to tell where a woman will set up complaints and where she will suddenly not know either fear or obstacles! I have already told the two Miss Remkes about you. As soon as I knew the child's name, I realized the situation. I told the ladies about your being the best friend of their charge's mother, and that you would surely go to see her now and then in the hospital. This pleased them greatly."

Uncle Philip began now to lay minute plans for the morrow. His sister had to give her promise to be ready very early in order to reach Sils in good time, for the patient was to be taken to the hospital in the course of the forenoon. He also gave her all the needed instructions relating to the coachman and the carriage.

She listened quietly till he had finished and then said, "I have some news for you, too. Just think! Baron Bruno has come back. He arrived in the middle of the night when n.o.body could see him. He is absolutely alone now in the desolate castle. Just imagine how he must feel to be within those walls again where he spent his happy years with all those loved ones he has not seen since he left the castle in a fit of terror."

"Yes, and why did it happen? Wasn't it his own will?" the brother said harshly. "Whenever you speak about him, your voice takes on a tone as if you were speaking about a misunderstood angel. Why did the raging lion come back all of a sudden?"

"Please, Philip, don't be so hard!" his sister said, "He is entirely left alone now. Is sorrow easier to bear when it is our own doing? I heard that he was ill. That is probably the reason why he has come home. I know all this from Apollonie, who is in communication with Mr. Trius.

She keeps on scheming to find a way to set the rooms in order for her young master, as she still calls him. She knows how his mother would wish everything to be for her son. I understand quite well that she worries night and day about the state things are in at the castle. Her former master has for nurse, servant, cook and valet only that peculiar and ancient Mr. Trius. She can hardly think about it without wis.h.i.+ng that she might do something for her old friend. The poor woman is so anxious to make his life at the castle a little more the way it used to be in the old times."

"For heaven's sake, Maxa, I hope you are not trying to interfere. Do you intend to undertake that, too?" the brother exclaimed in perturbation.

"If he wanted things different, he certainly would find a way. Please have nothing to do with it, otherwise you'll be sorry."

"You can be perfectly rea.s.sured, for unfortunately nothing whatever can be done," Mrs. Maxa replied. "If I had known a way to do something for him, I should have done it. My great wish is to let a little suns.h.i.+ne into the closed up, sombre rooms, and may be even a little deeper. I had great hopes of doing something through Apollonie, who knows so much about the castle, but she has explained the state of affairs to me. She was going to enter and take things in hand as soon as she heard from Mr.

Trius that her master had returned, for she still considers herself his servant as in times gone by. It was her intention, naturally, to put everything into the usual order in the house. But Mr. Trius won't even let her go into the garden. He let her know that he had received orders not to let anyone into the place. His master knew no one here and had no intention of meeting anyone. I know quite well, therefore, that I shall he unable to gratify my great desire of doing something for that miserable, lonely man."

"So much the better," the brother said, quite relieved. "I am glad that the villain has bolted you out himself. If I should have tried to keep you out, you certainly would have found means to resist me, I know."

"I willingly admit it," Mrs. Maxa replied with a smile. "But Philip, I should consider it wise for us to go to bed now, if we have to make an early start to Sils to-morrow."

Brother and sister separated, but Mrs. Maxa had many arrangements to make before she came to rest. If the ladies would consent to put the little girl in her charge, she meant to bring her immediately home with her. Therefore everything had to be made ready for the little patient.

About midnight Mrs. Maxa still went to and fro in a bedroom on the top floor, which was entirely isolated. When everything necessary had been made ready, she tried to place various embellishments in the little chamber. Finally she placed in the middle of the table a round bowl, which was to be filled to-morrow with the most beautiful roses from her garden. Mrs. Maxa wanted the child of her adored Leonore to receive a pleasant impression from her room in the strange new house. When the morning sun would s.h.i.+ne in through the open windows and the green slope of the castle would send its greeting to her, she did not want little Leonore to feel dissatisfied with her new quarters. With this thought Mrs. Maxa happily closed the door of the room behind her and sought out her own chamber.

CHAPTER VI

NEW FRIENDS

Early next morning brother and sister started towards the valley. Before going Mrs. Maxa had given her orders and had arranged for Mazli to spend the day with Apollonie, in order to prevent her from getting into mischief. As it was a suns.h.i.+ny morning and the paths were dry, walking was delightful. The distance they had to traverse occupied about two hours, but it did not seem long. As soon as brother and sister arrived in Sils, they went to see the two Misses Remke. Both ladies were kneeling before a large trunk, surrounded by heaps of clothes, shoes, books and boxes, and a hundred trifles besides. When the visitors arrived, they immediately stood before the open door of the room used for packing.

Mrs. Maxa's first impulse was to withdraw with an excuse, but the ladies had jumped up already and most cordially greeted their kind friend, Mr Falcon, whom they called their helper and saviour in all difficulties.

They received his sister joyfully, too, for they had been most eager to know her. Both ladies regretted that their meeting had to take place in a moment when their house appeared in its most unfavorable light. Mrs.

Maxa a.s.sured them, however, that she understood the preparations for their impending trip and said that she would not disturb them longer than was necessary. She intended, therefore, to voice her request immediately. Mr. Falcon, steering straight for some chairs he had discovered, brought them for the ladies despite all the a.s.sorted objects on the floor. Mrs. Maxa spoke of her intention of taking the child to her house and her sincere hope that there would be no objection and the ladies could feel their visitor's great eagerness manifested in her words. They on their part did not hide the great relief which this prospect gave them and were extremely glad to leave their young charge in such good hands.

"It has been very hard for us to decide to leave Leonore behind," one of them said. "Unfortunately we must go, and she is not able to travel.

But as long as our plans seem to coincide so well, I shall ask you if it would be inconvenient to you if we put off the date of our return a week longer. You must realize that we are taking the journey for the sake of our sick mother, and that everything is uncertain in such a case. One can never tell what change may come, and we might wish to stay a little longer."

Mrs. Maxa hastened to a.s.sure them that nothing could suit her better than to keep Leonore in her house for several weeks and she promised to send frequent news about the little girl's state of health. She begged them not to be anxious about her and not to hurry back for Leonore's sake. As she was longing to see the child instead of remaining in their way, she begged to be allowed to greet Leonore. She was sure that her brother, who had already risen, also wanted to take his leave. As soon as he had seen how completely the ladies entered into his sister's plans, he wished to arrange the details and so said that he was now going to the doctor in order to get his permission for the little trip. After obtaining this, as he sincerely hoped to do, he would prepare the carriage and send it directly to the house, as it was important for the patient to make the journey during the best portion of the day.

Thereupon he hastened off.

One of the ladies took Mrs. Maxa to the sick room, which was situated in the uppermost story.

"You won't find Leonore alone," she said, "her brother is with her. He is taking a trip through Switzerland with his teacher and some friends, and came here ahead of them in order to see his sister. His travelling companions will join him here to-morrow, and then they are all going back to Germany."

"I fear that the poor boy will lose his day with his sister if I take her with me," Mrs. Maxa said regretfully.

"Well, that can't be altered," the lady quickly replied. "We are all only too happy that you are willing to take Leonore into your house. Who knows how her stay in the hospital might have turned out? Poor Leonore was so frightened by the thought; but we knew no other way. It does not matter about her brother's visit, because they can see each other again in Hanover, for he is at a boarding school there."

The lady now opened a door and led Mrs. Maxa into a room.

"Leonore, look, here is Mrs. Bergmann, a great friend of your mother's."

Miss Remke said, "and I am sure you will be glad of the news she is bringing you. I shall accept your kind permission to get back to my work now, Mrs. Bergmann. Everything is ready for Leonore, because she was to leave for the hospital very shortly."

With these words she went out. The sick child sat completely dressed on a bed in the corner of the room, half reclining on the pillows.