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 deny
Ourselves 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 clasped
In firmest tie,
We hoped together,
To live and to die.
But one has to stay,
The other must go.
Our hearts are heavy
With mutual woe.
We cut apart
This tiny song
And hope to join it
Before very long.
Once more united
Joyfully we'll cry:
'We can live again
In close friendship's tie.
We'll never take leave of each other again
And 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."
[Illustration: DORA AND PAULA RETURNED TO THE GARDEN ARM 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 again
And 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 us
And 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."