CHAPTER XIX. JOHN BROOKE
"Wake up, Demi, dear! I want you."
"Why, I've just gone to bed; it can't be morning yet;" and Demi blinkedlike a little owl as he waked from his first sound sleep.
"It's only ten, but your father is ill, and we must go to him. O mylittle John! my poor little John!" and Aunt Jo laid her head down onthe pillow with a sob that scared sleep from Demi's eyes and filled hisheart with fear and wonder; for he dimly felt why Aunt Jo called him"John," and wept over him as if some loss had come that left him poor.He clung to her without a word, and in a minute she was quite steadyagain, and said, with a tender kiss as she saw his troubled face,
"We are going to say good-by to him, my darling, and there is no time tolose; so dress quickly and come to me in my room. I must go to Daisy."
"Yes, I will;" and when Aunt Jo was gone, little Demi got up quietly,dressed as if in a dream, and leaving Tommy fast asleep went awaythrough the silent house, feeling that something new and sorrowful wasgoing to happen something that set him apart from the other boys fora time, and made the world seem as dark and still and strange as thosefamiliar rooms did in the night. A carriage sent by Mr. Laurie stoodbefore the door. Daisy was soon ready, and the brother and sister heldeach other by the hand all the way into town, as they drove swiftly andsilently with aunt and uncle through the shadowy roads to say good-by tofather.
None of the boys but Franz and Emil knew what had happened, and whenthey came down next morning, great was their wonderment and discomfort,for the house seemed forlorn without its master and mistress. Breakfastwas a dismal meal with no cheery Mrs. Jo behind the teapots; and whenschool-time came, Father Bhaer's place was empty. They wandered about ina disconsolate kind of way for an hour, waiting for news and hoping itwould be all right with Demi's father, for good John Brooke was muchbeloved by the boys. Ten o'clock came, and no one arrived to relievetheir anxiety. They did not feel like playing, yet the time draggedheavily, and they sat about listless and sober. All at once, Franz gotup, and said, in his persuasive way,
"Look here, boys! let's go into school and do our lessons just as ifUncle was here. It will make the day go faster, and will please him, Iknow."
"But who will hear us say them?" asked Jack.
"I will; I don't know much more than you do, but I'm the oldest here,and I'll try to fill Uncle's place till he comes, if you don't mind."
Something in the modest, serious way Franz said this impressed the boys,for, though the poor lad's eyes were red with quiet crying for UncleJohn in that long sad night, there was a new manliness about him, as ifhe had already begun to feel the cares and troubles of life, and triedto take them bravely.
"I will, for one," and Emil went to his seat, remembering that obedienceto his superior officer is a seaman's first duty.
The others followed; Franz took his uncle's seat, and for an hourorder reigned. Lessons were learned and said, and Franz made a patient,pleasant teacher, wisely omitting such lessons as he was not equal to,and keeping order more by the unconscious dignity that sorrow gave himthan by any words of his own. The little boys were reading when a stepwas heard in the hall, and every one looked up to read the news in Mr.Bhaer's face as he came in. The kind face told them instantly that Demihad no father now, for it was worn and pale, and full of tender grief,which left him no words with which to answer Rob, as he ran to him,saying, reproachfully,
"What made you go and leave me in the night, papa?"
The memory of the other father who had left his children in the night,never to return, made Mr. Bhaer hold his own boy close, and, for aminute, hide his face in Robby's curly hair. Emil laid his head downon his arms, Franz, went to put his hand on his uncle's shoulder, hisboyish face pale with sympathy and sorrow, and the others sat so stillthat the soft rustle of the falling leaves outside was distinctly heard.
Rob did not clearly understand what had happened, but he hated to seepapa unhappy, so he lifted up the bent head, and said, in his chirpylittle voice,
"Don't cry, mein Vater! we were all so good, we did our lessons, withoutyou, and Franz was the master."
Mr. Bhaer looked up then, tried to smile, and said in a grateful tonethat made the lads feel like saints, "I thank you very much, my boys.It was a beautiful way to help and comfort me. I shall not forget it, Iassure you."
"Franz proposed it, and was a first-rate master, too," said Nat; and theothers gave a murmur of assent most gratifying to the young dominie.
Mr. Bhaer put Rob down, and, standing up, put his arm round his tallnephew's shoulder, as he said, with a look of genuine pleasure,
"This makes my hard day easier, and gives me confidence in you all. Iam needed there in town, and must leave you for some hours. I thoughtto give you a holiday, or send some of you home, but if you like to stayand go on as you have begun, I shall be glad and proud of my good boys."
"We'll stay;" "We'd rather;" "Franz can see to us;" cried several,delighted with the confidence shown in them.
"Isn't Marmar coming home?" asked Rob, wistfully; for home without"Marmar" was the world without the sun to him.
"We shall both come to-night; but dear Aunt Meg needs Mother more thanyou do now, and I know you like to lend her for a little while."
"Well, I will; but Teddy's been crying for her, and he slapped Nursey,and was dreadful naughty," answered Rob, as if the news might bringmother home.
"Where is my little man?" asked Mr. Bhaer.
"Dan took him out, to keep him quiet. He's all right now," said Franz,pointing to the window, through which they could see Dan drawing baby inhis little wagon, with the dogs frolicking about him.
"I won't see him, it would only upset him again; but tell Dan I leaveTeddy in his care. You older boys I trust to manage yourselves for aday. Franz will direct you, and Silas is here to over see matters. Sogood-by till to-night."
"Just tell me a word about Uncle John," said Emil, detaining Mr. Bhaer,as he was about hurrying away again.
"He was only ill a few hours, and died as he has lived, so cheerfully,so peacefully, that it seems a sin to mar the beauty of it with anyviolent or selfish grief. We were in time to say good-by: and Daisy andDemi were in his arms as he fell asleep on Aunt Meg's breast. No morenow, I cannot bear it," and Mr. Bhaer went hastily away quite bowed withgrief, for in John Brooke he had lost both friend and brother, and therewas no one left to take his place.
All that day the house was very still; the small boys played quietly inthe nursery; the others, feeling as if Sunday had come in the middleof the week, spent it in walking, sitting in the willow, or among theirpets, all talking much of "Uncle John," and feeling that somethinggentle, just, and strong, had gone out of their little world, leaving asense of loss that deepened every hour. At dusk, Mr. and Mrs. Bhaer camehome alone, for Demi and Daisy were their mother's best comfort now,and could not leave her. Poor Mrs. Jo seemed quite spent, and evidentlyneeded the same sort of comfort, for her first words, as she came up thestairs, were, "Where is my baby?"
"Here I is," answered a little voice, as Dan put Teddy into her arms,adding, as she hugged him close, "My Danny tooked tare of me all day,and I was dood."
Mrs. Jo turned to thank the faithful nurse, but Dan was waving off theboys, who had gathered in the hall to meet her, and was saying, in a lowvoice, "Keep back; she don't want to be bothered with us now."
"No, don't keep back. I want you all. Come in and see me, my boys. I'veneglected you all day," and Mrs. Jo held out her hands to them as theygathered round and escorted her into her own room, saying little, butexpressing much by affectionate looks and clumsy little efforts to showtheir sorrow and sympathy.
"I am so tired, I will lie here and cuddle Teddy, and you shall bring mein some tea," she said, trying to speak cheerfully for their sakes.
A general stampede into the dining-room followed, and the supper-tablewould have been ravaged if Mr. Bhaer had not interfered. It was agreedthat one squad should carry in the mother's tea, and another bring itout. The four near
est and dearest claimed the first honor, so Franz borethe teapot, Emil the bread, Rob the milk, and Teddy insisted on carryingthe sugar basin, which was lighter by several lumps when it arrived thanwhen it started. Some women might have found it annoying at such a timeto have boys creaking in and out, upsetting cups and rattling spoons inviolent efforts to be quiet and helpful; but it suited Mrs. Jo, becausejust then her heart was very tender; and remembering that many of herboys were fatherless or motherless, she yearned over them, and foundcomfort in their blundering affection. It was the sort of food that didher more good than the very thick bread-and-butter that they gave her,and the rough Commodore's broken whisper,
"Bear up, Aunty, it's a hard blow; but we'll weather it somehow;"cheered her more than the sloppy cup he brought her, full of tea asbitter as if some salt tear of his own had dropped into it on the way.When supper was over, a second deputation removed the tray; and Dansaid, holding out his arms for sleepy little Teddy,
"Let me put him to bed, you're so tired, Mother."
"Will you go with him, lovey?" asked Mrs. Jo of her small lord andmaster, who lay on her arm among the sofa-pillows.
"Torse I will;" and he was proudly carried off by his faithful bearer.
"I wish I could do something," said Nat, with a sigh, as Franz leanedover the sofa, and softly stroked Aunt Jo's hot forehead.
"You can, dear. Go and get your violin, and play me the sweet littleairs Uncle Teddy sent you last. Music will comfort me better than anything else to-night."
Nat flew for his fiddle, and, sitting just outside her door, played ashe had never done before, for now his heart was in it, and seemedto magnetize his fingers. The other lads sat quietly upon the steps,keeping watch that no new-comer should disturb the house; Franz lingeredat his post; and so, soothed, served, and guarded by her boys, poor Mrs.Jo slept at last, and forgot her sorrow for an hour.