Uncle Titus and His Visit to the Country | Page 5

she
could never, never see him again on earth.
And now began a new order of life for Dora. She had not been to
school, during the short time that she and her father had lived together
in Karlsruhe. Her father went over with her the lessons she had learned
in Hamburg, but he did not seem to care to begin any new study,
preferring to leave everything for her aunt to arrange.
It happened that one of Aunt Ninette's friends was the teacher of a
private school for girls, so that it was soon settled that Dora was to go
to her every morning to learn what she could. Also a seamstress was
engaged to teach her the art of shirt-making in the afternoon, for it was
a theory of Aunt Ninette's that the construction of shirts of all kinds
was a most useful branch of knowledge, and she proposed that Dora
should learn this art, with a view of being able to support herself with
her needle. She argued that since the shirt is the first garment to be put
on in dressing, it should be the first that one should learn to make, and
with this as a foundation, Dora could go on through the whole art of
sewing, till in time she might even arrive at the mighty feat of making
dresses! With which achievement Aunt Ninette would feel more than
satisfied, but this great end would never be reached, unless the first
steps were taken in the right direction.
So every morning Dora sat on the school-bench studying diligently,
and every afternoon on a little chair close to the seamstress' knee,
sewing on a big shirt that made her very warm and uncomfortable.

The mornings were not unpleasant; for she was in the company of other
children who were all studying, and Dora was ambitious and willing to
learn. So the hours flew quickly, for she was too busy to dwell much on
the loss of her dear father, and to think that he was gone forever. But
the afternoons were truly dreadful. She must sit through the long hot
hours, close by the seamstress, almost smothered by the big piece of
cotton cloth, which her little fingers could hardly manage, and she grew
restless and irritable, for her hands were moist, and the needle refused
to be driven through the thick cloth. How often she glanced up at the
clock on the wall during those long hours, when the minute hand was
surely stuck at half-past three, and the regular tic-tac seemed to fill the
quiet room with its sleepy droning. So hot, so still, so long were the
hours of those summer afternoons!
The silence was broken now and then by the sounds of a distant piano.
"What a happy child that must be!" thought little Dora, "who can sit at
the piano and practise exercises, and all sorts of pretty tunes!" She
could think of nothing more delightful; she listened with hungry ears,
and drank in every note that reached her. In the narrow street where the
seamstress lived she could hear the music distinctly, for no wagons
passed, and the voices of foot-passengers did not reach up so high as to
her room. So Dora listened to the sweet melodies which were her only
refreshment during those hot long hours, and even the running scales
were a pleasure to her ear. But then the thought of her father came back
to her, and she felt bitterly the terrible contrast between these hot lonely
afternoons and those which she used to spend with him under the cool
shade of the lindens. Then she thought of that glorious sunset, and of
her father, as he stood transfigured in the golden light. She remembered
his comforting words, his assurance that some day they two and the
mother would stand thus together, shining in the eternal light of Heaven.
But Dora sighed at the thought of the long weary time before she
should join them, unless indeed some accident should happen to her, or
she should fall ill and die, from this too heavy task of shirt-making.
After all, her best consolation was her father's verse; and then too, he
had been so sure of its truth:
"God holds us in his hand, God knows the best to send."

She believed it too; and as she repeated the lines to herself, her heart
grew lighter, and even her needle moved more easily, as if inspired by
the cheering thoughts. Yet the days were long and wearisome, and their
stillness followed her when she went home to her uncle and aunt.
She reached home just in time for supper. Uncle Titus always held the
newspaper before his face, and read and ate behind its ample shelter.
Aunt Ninette