Chapter 11--Poor Mac
Rose's sacrifice was a failure in one respect, for, though the eldersloved her the better for it, and showed that they did, the boys were notinspired with the sudden respect which she had hoped for. In fact, herfeelings were much hurt by overhearing Archie say that he couldn't seeany sense in it; and the Prince added another blow by pronouncing her"the queerest chicken ever seen."
It is apt to be so, and it is hard to bear; for, though we do not wanttrumpets blown, we do like to have our little virtues appreciated, andcannot help feeling disappointed if they are not.
A time soon came, however, when Rose, quite unconsciously, won not onlythe respect of her cousins, but their gratitude and affection likewise.
Soon after the Island episode, Mac had a sunstroke, and was very illfor some time. It was so sudden that everyone was startled, and for somedays the boy's life was in danger. He pulled through, however; and then,just as the family were rejoicing, a new trouble appeared which cast agloom over them all.
Poor Mac's eyes gave out; and well they might, for he had abused them,and never being very strong, they suffered doubly now.
No one dared to tell him the dark predictions of the great oculist whocame to look at them, and the boy tried to be patient, thinking that afew weeks of rest would repair the overwork of several years.
He was forbidden to look at a book, and as that was the one thing hemost delighted in, it was a terrible affliction to the Worm. Everyonewas very ready to read to him, and at first the lads contended for thishonour. But as week after week went by, and Mac was still condemned toidleness and a darkened room, their zeal abated, and one after the otherfell off. It was hard for the active fellows, right in the midst oftheir vacation; and nobody blamed them when they contented themselveswith brief calls, running of errands, and warm expressions of sympathy.
The elders did their best, but Uncle Mac was a busy man, Aunt Jane'sreading was of a funereal sort, impossible to listen to long, and theother aunties were all absorbed in their own cares, though they suppliedthe boy with every delicacy they could invent.
Uncle Alec was a host in himself, but he could not give all his time tothe invalid; and if it had not been for Rose, the afflicted Wormwould have fared ill. Her pleasant voice suited him, her patience wasunfailing, her time of no apparent value, and her eager good-will wasvery comforting.
The womanly power of self-devotion was strong in the child, and sheremained faithfully at her post when all the rest dropped away. Hourafter hour she sat in the dusky room, with one ray of light on her book,reading to the boy, who lay with shaded eyes silently enjoying the onlypleasure that lightened the weary days. Sometimes he was peevish andhard to please, sometimes he growled because his reader could not managethe dry books he wished to hear, and sometimes he was so despondent thather heart ached to see him. Through all these trials Rose persevered,using all her little arts to please him. When he fretted, she waspatient; when he growled, she ploughed bravely through the hard pagesnot dry to her in one sense, for quiet tears dropped on them now andthen; and when Mac fell into a despairing mood, she comforted him withevery hopeful word she dared to offer.
He said little, but she knew he was grateful, for she suited him betterthan anyone else. If she was late, he was impatient; when she had to go,he seemed forlorn; and when the tired head ached worst, she could alwayssoothe him to sleep, crooning the old songs her father used to love.
"I don't know what I should do without that child," Aunt Jane oftensaid.
"She's worth all those racketing fellows put together," Mac would add,fumbling about to discover if the little chair was ready for her coming.
That was the sort of reward Rose liked, the thanks that cheered her;and whenever she grew very tired, one look at the green shade, the curlyhead so restless on the pillow, and the poor groping hands, touched hertender heart and put new spirit into the weary voice.
She did not know how much she was learning, both from the books she readand the daily sacrifices she made. Stories and poetry were her delight,but Mac did not care for them; and since his favourite Greeks and Romanswere forbidden, he satisfied himself with travels, biographies, and thehistory of great inventions or discoveries. Rose despised this tasteat first, but soon got interested in Livingstone's adventures, Hobson'sstirring life in India, and the brave trials and triumphs of Watt andArkwright, Fulton, and "Palissy, the Potter." The true, strong bookshelped the dreamy girl; her faithful service and sweet patience touchedand won the boy; and long afterward both learned to see how useful thoseseemingly hard and weary hours had been to them.
One bright morning, as Rose sat down to begin a fat volume entitled"History of the French Revolution," expecting to come to great griefover the long names, Mac, who was lumbering about the room like a blindbear, stopped her by asking abruptly,
"What day of the month is it?"
"The seventh of August, I believe."
"More than half my vacation gone, and I've only had a week of it! I callthat hard," and he groaned dismally.
"So it is; but there is more to come, and you may be able to enjoythat."
"May be able! I will be able! Does that old noodle think I'm going tostay stived up here much longer?"
"I guess he does, unless your eyes get on faster than they have yet."
"Has he said anything more lately?"
"I haven't seen him, you know. Shall I begin? this looks rather nice."
"Read away; it's all one to me." And Mac cast himself down upon the oldlounge, where his heavy head felt easiest.
Rose began with great spirit, and kept on gallantly for a coupleof chapters, getting over the unpronounceable names with unexpectedsuccess, she thought, for her listener did not correct her once, and layso still she fancied he was deeply interested. All of a sudden she wasarrested in the middle of a fine paragraph by Mac, who sat bolt upright,brought both feet down with a thump, and said, in a rough, excited tone,
"Stop! I don't hear a word, and you may as well save your breath toanswer my question."
"What is it?" asked Rose, looking uneasy, for she had something on hermind, and feared that he suspected what it was. His next words provedthat she was right.
"Now, look here, I want to know something, and you've got to tell me."
"Please, don't--" began Rose, beseechingly.
"You must, or I'll pull off this shade and stare at the sun as hard asever I can stare. Come now!" and he half rose, as if ready to executethe threat.
"I will! oh, I will tell, if I know! But don't be reckless and doanything so crazy as that," cried Rose, in great distress.
"Very well; then listen, and don't dodge, as everyone else does. Didn'tthe doctor think my eyes worse the last time he came? Mother won't say,but you shall."
"I believe he did," faltered Rose.
"I thought so! Did he say I should be able to go to school when itbegins?"
"No, Mac," very low.
"Ah!"