Uncle Titus and His Visit to the Country | Page 2

saw her
who did not feel at once attracted to her, and how she was even now
remembered by those who had known and loved her during life.
When Major Falk once began to talk about his dearly-beloved wife, he
was apt to forget the flight of time, and often the cool evening wind
first aroused him with its chilly breath to the fact that he was lingering
too long in the outer air. Then he and his little Dora would rise from the
bench in the shade of the lindens, and slowly wander back into town,
until they stopped before a many-storied house in a narrow street, and
the Major would generally say,
"We must go up to see Uncle Titus and Aunt Ninette this afternoon,
Dora." And as they slowly climbed the steep staircase, he would add,
"Softly now, little Dora, you know your Uncle is always writing very

learned books, and we must not disturb him by any unnecessary noise,
and indeed, Dora, I do not think your Aunt is any more fond of noise
than he is."
So Dora went up upon the tips of her toes as quietly as a mouse, and
the Major's ring could scarcely be heard, he pulled the bell so gently!
Generally Aunt Ninette opened the door herself, saying,
"Come in, come in, dear brother! Very softly, if you please, for you
know your brother-in-law is busy at work."
So the three moved noiselessly along the corridor and crept into the
sitting room. Uncle Titus' study was the very next room, so that the
conversation was carried on almost in whispers, but it must be said
Major Falk was less liable to forget the necessary caution against
disturbing the learned writer than Aunt Ninette herself, for that lady
being oppressed with many cares and troubles had always to break into
frequent lamentation.
When June came, it was safe and pleasant to linger late under the shade
of the lindens, but the pair in whom we are interested often turned their
steps homeward earlier than they wished, in order not to arouse Aunt
Ninette's ever-ready reproaches. But one warm evening when the sky
was covered with rosy and golden sunset clouds, the Major and Dora
lingered watching the lovely sight longer than was their wont. They sat
silent hand in hand on the bench by the side of the promenade, and
Dora could not take her eyes from her father's face as he sat with
upturned look gazing into the sky. At last she exclaimed:
"I wish you could see yourself, papa, you look all golden and beautiful.
I am sure the angels in heaven look just as you do now."
Her father smiled. "It will soon pass away from me, Dora, but I can
imagine your mother standing behind those lovely clouds and smiling
down upon us with this golden glory always upon her face."
As the Major said, it did pass away very soon; his face grew pale, and
shone no longer; the golden light faded from the sky and the shades of

night stole on. The Major rose, and Dora followed him rather sadly.
The beautiful illumination had passed too quickly.
"We shall stand again in this glory, my child, nay, in a far more
beautiful one," said her father consolingly, "when we are all together
again, your mother and you and I, where there will be no more parting
and the glory will be everlasting."
As they climbed up the high staircase to say good night to Uncle and
Aunt, the latter awaited them on the landing, making all sorts of silent
signs of alarm and distress, but she did not utter a sound until she had
them safely within the sitting room. Then, having softly closed the door,
she broke forth complainingly,
"How can you make me so uneasy, dear brother? I have been
dreadfully anxious about you. I imagined all kinds of shocking
accidents that might have happened, and made you so late in returning
home! How can you be so heedless as to forget that it is not safe for
you to stay out after sunset. Now I am sure that you have taken cold.
And what will happen, who can tell? Something dreadful, I am certain."
"Calm yourself, I beg you, dear Ninette," said the Major soothingly, as
soon as he could get in a word. "The air is so mild, so very warm, that it
could not possibly harm anybody, and the evening was glorious,
perfectly wonderful. Let me enjoy these lovely summer evenings on
earth as long as I can; it will not be very long at the farthest. What is
sure to come, can be neither delayed nor hastened much by anything I
may do."
These words, however, although they were spoken in