The Home in the Valley | Page 9

doubt but what they will, they are so well laid, and aside from that you are not striving for yourself alone, but for your parents, to whom I am sure you will always prove a dutiful and grateful child."
"That is why I should become my father's successor, dear aunt. Had I not thought of this plan, I would undoubtedly have formed some other; but with this I am satisfied."
"And do you intend to afford us the pleasure of your company this summer?" inquired uncle Fabian, abruptly.
"With your permission, dear uncle, your invitation arrived at a lucky moment, as it came during my vacation."
"Well, well, nephew," said Mrs. Ulrica, "we will go and prepare a chamber for you."
"Nephew, nephew," exclaimed Gottlieb, merrily, "why we look more like cousins!"
"You are a little wag!"
"O, I must say more. My mother might have been your mother also, from all appearances."
"Ah, I was a mere girl when she was married. She was the eldest while I was the youngest of the family, and the fourteen years discrepancy between our ages accounts for the differences in our appearance."
"And riches and fortune also," added Gottlieb; "poor mother, misfortune has always been her lot; and although she has much trouble, she has nevertheless an angel's forbearance."
"Her disposition resembles mine more than her person does," said Mrs. H----, casting a glance of tender inquiry upon her husband.
"Yes, my dear," replied he, "your angelic disposition and patience are well known."
He well understood the smile with which his wife had accompanied her words.
"Good Fabian, you know how to appreciate your wife!"
"Sweet Ulgenie!"
Gottlieb glanced from his aunt to his uncle.
"Strange people these," thought he. "I think they are playing bo-peep with each other, or perhaps they are blinding me; well, I care not; so long as they do not disturb me, I will not meddle with their affairs."
CHAPTER IV.
THE ATTIC-ROOMS.
As we have before stated, Nanna had supreme control over one of the attic-rooms of the cottage, and for a long time it had been a sanctuary in which she stored her precious things.
Old Mr. Lonner loved Nanna as the apple of his eye. She was not only the youngest child, and consequently the favorite, but she also possessed strong perceptive qualities, and a heart susceptible of the tenderest emotions. She was, so to speak, a living emblem of those harmonious dreams that her father in his youth had hoped to see realized.
The pale and delicate countenance of Nanna, who he thought was destined in all probability to droop and die like a water lily, which she so much resembled, carried the old man's mind back to the time when his father had promised to wed his mother, and he sighed as he thought how different Nanna's station in life would have been had that promise been fulfilled. Instead of neglect and insult, homage from all would have been her portion.
Yet Nanna was the pride and joy of her father's heart, for Ragnar, who at an early age was obliged to labor for his own support, had preferred to become a sailor, rather than to acquire a refined education, and Carl could scarcely comprehend more than that which was necessary for the performance of family worship. Nanna, on the contrary, would listen to her father with the utmost pleasure and interest as he related and explained matters and things which were entirely novel to one placed in her position of life.
And then, with what eagerness would Nanna read those few books with which her father's little library was supplied! She fully comprehended all she read, and she could not resist from becoming gently interested in the characters described in her books. She sympathised with the unhappy and oppressed, and although she rejoiced with those happy heroes and heroines who had passed safely through the ordeals of their loves, yet when she read of the fortunate conclusion of all their troubles, she would sigh deeply.
But after sighing for those who had lived, she sighed also for the living.
She looked forward, with terror, to the day when she should lose her father, whom she worshipped almost as a supreme being.
Her innocent heart shrunk within her as she thought of the time when a man,--for these thoughts had already entered her little head--should look into her eyes in search of a wife. Who shall that man be? she thought. Is it possible that he can be any other than a peasant or a fisherman? Perhaps he may be even worse; a common day-laborer of the parish.
O, that would be impossible!
Such a rude uncouth husband would prove her death. How could she entertain the same thoughts, after her marriage with such a boor, as she had before? He could never sympathise with her. No, she would be obliged to remain unmarried for ever. Perhaps not even a