Uncle Titus and His Visit to the Country Part 3

"It strikes me that the next house has a great wealth of children. We cannot help that, but we can keep the windows shut," replied her husband resignedly.

"But, my dearest t.i.tus, only remember that you have come here expressly to breathe the healthy mountain air! As you never go out, you must let the air come in to you. But what will be the end if this is the beginning?

What will become of us if this goes on?"

"We must go home again," said Uncle t.i.tus, continuing to write.

Somewhat calmed by this proposition, Aunt Ninette returned to her room.

Dora had been very busy, putting her little room in perfect order, for she had formed a plan, which she meant to carry out as soon as this was done.

The happy noise of the six children had so excited the lonely little girl that she was filled with the strongest desire to see them come back again, to see them get out of the carriage, and to see what would happen next; whether they wouldn't perhaps come into the garden where the triumphal arch stood, and then she could have a nearer view. She had made a little plan for watching them if they came into the garden. She thought that she might perhaps find a hole in the hedge that divided Mrs. Kurd's little garden from the large grounds next door, through which she could get a good view of what the children were doing, and how they looked. The child did not know what Aunt Ninette would say to this, but she determined to ask directly. At the door of her aunt's room she met Mrs. Kurd, who had come to call them to supper. Dora made her request then and there, to be allowed to go into the little garden, but her aunt said that it was now supper time, and after supper it would be quite too late. Mrs. Kurd put in a word in Dora's favor, saying that no one would be out there, and it would be safe for Dora to run about there as much as she chose, and at last Aunt Ninette consented to allow her to go out for a while after supper. The child could scarcely eat, so great was her excitement. She listened all the while for the sound of the returning wheels and the children's voices, but nothing was to be heard. When supper was over, her aunt said,

"You may go out now for a little while, but don't go far from the house."

Dora promised not to leave the garden, and ran off to search the hedge for the opening she wanted. It was a white-thorn hedge, and so high and thick that the child could see neither through it nor over it, but down near the ground were here and there thin places, where one could look into the next garden; but only by lying close on the ground. Little did Dora mind that; her one idea was to see the children. She had never seen so large a family, boys and girls, big and little, and all so happy and merry. And to have seen them all climbing into the carriage and driving off together!

What a jolly party! She lay down on the ground in a little heap, and peered through the hedge. There was nothing to be heard; the garden beyond was still; the odor of the flowers was wafted to her on the cool, evening air, and she felt as if she could not get enough of it into her lungs. How beautiful it must be in there, she thought; to be able to walk about among the flower-beds! to sit under the tree where the red apples were hanging!

And there under the thick branches stood a table, covered with all sorts of things which she could not see plainly, but which shimmered white as snow in the evening light. She was quite absorbed in wonder and curiosity, when--there--that was the carriage, and all the merry voices talking together. The children had returned. Dora could hear very plainly. Now all was still again; they had gone into the house. Now they were coming out again; now they were in the garden.

Mr. Birkenfeld had just returned from a long journey. The children had all gone down to the lake, to meet him at the landing when the steamboat came in. Their mother had remained at home to complete the preparations for the grand reception and the feast in the garden under the big apple-tree.

The father's home-coming after so long an absence was a very joyful occasion for the family, and must be celebrated as such.

As soon as the carriage stopped at the door, the mother came running out to meet her husband. All the children jumped down, one after another, and the cat and the dog too, and they all crowded into the large hall, where the welcomings and greetings grew so loud and so violent that the father hardly knew where he was, nor which way to turn as they all pressed about him.

"Now one at a time, my children, and then I can give you each a good kiss," he said at last, when he succeeded in making himself heard through the tumult, "first the youngest, and then the others according to age.

Now, my little Hunne, what have you to tell me?"

So saying, Mr. Birkenfeld drew his chubby five-year old boy to his knees.

The child's name was Hulreich, but as he had always called himself Hunne, the other children and the parents had adopted the nick-name. Moreover, Julius, the eldest brother, declared that the baby's little stumpy nose made him look like a Hun, and so the name was very appropriate. But his mother would not admit the resemblance.

The little one had so much to tell his father, that there was not time to wait for the end of his story, and it had to be cut short.

"Bye and bye, little Hunne, you shall tell me all about it. Now it is time for Wili and Lili." And giving the twins each a kiss he asked them, "Well now, have you been very good and happy? and obedient, too, all this long time?"

"Almost always," replied Wili rather timidly, while Lili, recalling certain deviations from perfect obedience during her father's absence, thought it best not to make any answer. The twins were eight years old, and perfectly inseparable, never more so than in planning and carrying out various delightful plans, of whose mischievousness they were really only half conscious.

"And you, Rolf, how is it with you?" said the father, turning to a twelve-year old lad with a high forehead, and a strong, firm neck. "Plenty of Latin learned? More new puzzles ready?"

"I have been doing both, father," said the boy. "But the children will not guess my riddles, and my mother has not time to try."

"That is too bad," said his father, kindly and turning to the eldest daughter, a girl of nearly thirteen, he drew her to his side and said tenderly,

"And you Paula, are you still alone in your garden walks? have you no dear friend with you yet?"

"No, of course not, father, but it is beautiful to have you at home again," she answered as she embraced him.

"And I hope my 'big Jule,' is using his vacation in some sensible way?"

"I combine the agreeable with the useful," said Julius gaily, returning his father's embrace. "You must know, father, that the hazel-nuts are almost ripe and I am watching them carefully, and meantime I am riding Castor a good deal, so that he may not grow too lazy."

Julius was at home now only for the summer holidays, his school being in a distant town. He was seventeen, and tall, even too tall for his years so that in the family he was generally called "Big Jule."

Mr. Birkenfeld now turned to shake hands with the children's governess and the dear friend of the family, Miss Hanenwinkel, when Jule interrupted him.

"Come papa, I beg that you will do the rest of your greetings in the garden, where a most astonishing reception awaits you."

But his words cost him dear, for Wili and Lili sprang upon him as he spoke, pinching, pounding and thumping him to give him to understand that the "surprise" was not a thing to be talked about beforehand. He defended himself to the best of his ability.

"Lili, you little gad-fly, you, stop, stop, I tell you. I will make it all right," and he shouted to his father,

"I mean you are to go into the garden where my mother has prepared all sorts of delicious things for your supper, to celebrate your return."

"That is delightful. We shall find a big table spread under my favorite apple-tree. That is a surprise worth having. Come then let us all go into the garden."

He drew his wife's arm in his, and they walked out to the garden, the whole swarm following, Wili and Lili capering about in most noisy delight that their father should suppose that he knew what the "surprise" was already.

As they pa.s.sed out into the garden they pa.s.sed under the great triumphal arch, with red lanterns hung on each side, lighting up the large tablet, on which was an inscription in big letters.

"Oh, oh, how splendid!" cried the father, now really surprised, "a beautiful arch and a poem of welcome. I must read them aloud:"

"Here we stand in welcome Beside the garden door, How glad we are that you're at home!

We feared you'd come no more, So long you've stayed--but now to-day Forgot is all our pain.

The whole world now is glad and gay, Papa is here again!"

"That is fine--Rolf must have been the author of that, was he not?" and Wili and Lili jumped about more than ever, crying out,

"Yes, yes, Rolf wrote it, but we planned it all out and he made the verses, and Jule put up the poles and then we fetched the fir twigs."

"That was a delightful surprise, my children," said their father, much gratified. "How pretty the garden looks, all lighted up with red and blue and yellow lanterns. It looks like an enchanted spot, and now for my favorite apple-tree."

The garden did look very pretty. The little paper lanterns had been made up a long time before, and this very morning Jule had fastened them about on all the trees and high bushes, and while the hand-shaking and kissing had been going on in the house, Battiste and Trine had lighted the candles. The big apple-tree was dotted all over with them, so that it looked like a huge out-of-doors Christmas tree, and the red apples shone so prettily in the flickering light, that altogether it would have been difficult to imagine a more charming scene.

The table, spread with a white cloth and loaded with all sorts of nice dishes, looked irresistibly attractive.

"What a beautiful banquet-hall," cried the delighted father, "and how good the feast will taste! But what is this? Another poem?" and to be sure, a large white placard hung by two cords from the high bushes behind the apple-tree, and on it were the following lines:

"My first is good for man to be-- Better than wealth.

My second we have longed to see Our father do in health.

My whole with merry hearts we cry Today, and shout it to the sky."

"A riddle! Rolf made this too, I am sure," said he, clapping the boy kindly on the shoulder. "I will begin to guess it as soon as I can. Now we must sit down and enjoy these good things before us, and the pleasure of being all together again."

So they all took their places at the table, and each had his or her own story to tell of what had happened, and what had been done during the separation. There was so much to say that there seemed no chance for a pause.

At last however, came a silence, when lo! Mr. Birkenfeld drew a huge bundle from beneath his chair, and began to open the wrapper, while the children looked on with the greatest interest, knowing very well that that bundle held some gift for each one of them. First came a pair of shining spurs for "big Jule," then a lovely book with blue covers for Paula. Next a long bow with a quiver and two feather arrows. "This is for Rolf," said the father, adding as he showed the boy the sharp points of the arrows, "and for Rolf only, for he knows how to use it properly. It is not a plaything, and Wili and Lili must never dream of playing with it, for they might easily hurt themselves and others with it."

There was a beautiful Noah's Ark for the twins, with fine large animals all in pairs, and Noah's family, all the men with walking-sticks and all the women with parasols, all ready for use whenever they should leave the ark.

Last of all, little Hunne had a wonderfully constructed nutcracker, that made a strange grimace as if he were lamenting all the sins of the world.

He opened his big jaws as if he were howling, and when they were snapped together, he gnashed his teeth as if in despair, and cracked a nut in two without the slightest trouble so that the kernel fell right out from the sh.e.l.l.