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Page 4
"How beautiful it must be to live there! No care nor sorrow can reach
the inmates of that lovely dwelling!"
Mrs. Stanhope occupied her paternal home on the banks of the Rhine. She
had married an English-man when very young, and had lived in England
until his death, when she returned to the home of her childhood,
unoccupied since the death of her parents, bringing with her two little
children, the brown-eyed Philo, and his delicate, fair-haired sister,
Nora. The faithful Clarissa, who had taken care of Mrs. Stanhope in her
childhood and who had accompanied her to her foreign home, loved these
children as if they were her own. The little family had now lived
several years in this beautiful house on the Rhine; a very peaceful and
regular life it was, one day like another; for the children were
delicate and could bear no exciting pleasures. Two years ago a heavy
sorrow dropped its dark shadow over the household. Little Philo closed
his dark eyes forever, and was laid to rest under the old linden-tree in
the garden, where the roses bloomed all summer long. Nora, who was only
a year younger than her brother, was now in her eleventh year.
In about a week after his first visit, the doctor came again. He had
heard from his friend, the physician, who had willingly offered to find
a house for Mrs. Stanhope near his own, in the little village of
Buchberg, among the mountains. Mrs. Stanhope might set out as soon as
she pleased. He would answer for all being in readiness to receive her.
In a few days they were ready to start. Clarissa was to remain behind to
put the house in order, and only a young maid-servant went with them. As
the carriage rolled away, bearing Mrs. Stanhope and her little daughter
on the way to Switzerland, Clarissa gave them many a God-speed, and,
turning back into the empty house, she wiped away the tears she could no
longer repress, saying softly to herself:
"'Their rapture gathers more and more;
The sick are well again.'"
CHAPTER II.
IN THE DOCTOR'S HOUSE AT BUCHBERG.
The kitchen-garden is the especial delight of the true German housewife;
that is, of one who lives in the country where such a luxury is
possible. The flower-garden is a source of pleasure to the whole family;
but the vegetable-garden is her own, so to speak; she cares for it
herself; she watches each little plant with her own eyes, and removes
each encroaching weed with her own hands. Now this year the cauliflowers
were of unusually fine promise, and they excited the hopes of their
owner that a wonderful harvest would before long reward her care; not a
trace of a noxious worm was as yet to be detected.
"Good evening," said some one from the other side of the hedge; "your
vegetables are always the best and the most forward of any in the
neighborhood; they show the care you take of them."
The doctor's wife came nearer to the hedge, and over the low barrier
Heiri, the day-laborer, stretched his hand, stained and knotted with
work, to clasp that of his old friend and schoolmate. How often had he
been to her for counsel and aid since those school-days, and when had
that willing and helpful hand ever failed him?
"How are you all at home, Heiri?" she asked heartily. "Have you plenty
of work? Are your wife and children well?"
"Yes, yes, thank God!" replied Heiri, as he lifted his heavy tools from
his shoulder and set them on the ground. "There is work enough; I am
just taking these tools to be sharpened. I have to keep hard at it, for
the family is growing big."
"The three little boys look finely; I saw them go by yesterday with
Elsli," continued the doctor's wife. "But Elsli herself looks quite too
pale and delicate. Do not forget how her mother died, Heiri. The little
girl ought not to have too much to do; she is not strong, and she is
growing too fast. Do take it in time, Heiri; you know by sad experience
how rapidly disease gains ground when it has once got hold of a young
girl."
"Yes, yes, I can never forget that. It was terrible to see how quickly
Gritli sank,--and she so young, so young! Marget is a good wife and an
industrious woman; but nothing will ever make me forget my poor Gritli";
and Heiri wiped away a few tears with his hard hand.
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