Uncle Titus and His Visit to the Country | Page 7

to lament. Uncle Titus had an attack of dizziness, and
the doctor was sent for.
"I suppose it is thirty years since you went beyond the limits of the
town of Karlsruhe, and in all that time you have never left your desk
except to eat and sleep. Am I right?" asked the physician, after he had
looked steadily at Uncle Titus and tapped him a little here and there.
There was no denying that the doctor had stated the case truly.
"Very well," he said, "now off with you! go away at once; to-day rather
than to-morrow. Go to Switzerland. Go to the fresh mountain air; that is
all the medicine you need. Don't go too high up, but stay there six
weeks at least. Have you any preference as to the place? No? Well, set
yourself to thinking and I will do the same, and to-morrow I shall call
again to find you ready for the journey."
With this off started the doctor, but Aunt Ninette would not let him
escape so easily. She followed close at his heels with a whole torrent of
questions, which she asked over and over again, and she would have an
answer. The doctor had fairly deserved this attack, by his astounding
prescription. His little game of snapping it suddenly upon them, and
then quickly making his escape, had not succeeded; he lost three times
as much time outside the door as if he had staid quietly in the room.
When at last Aunt Ninette returned to her husband, there he sat at his
desk again, writing as usual!
"My dear Titus," cried the good woman really in great astonishment,

"is it possible that you did not hear what we are ordered to do? To drop
everything and go away at once, and stay away for six weeks! And
where? We have not an idea where! And there's no way of knowing
who our neighbors will be! It is terrible, and there you sit and write as
if there were nothing else to be done in the world!"
"My love, it is exactly because I must go away so soon, that I wish to
make the most of the little time I have left," said Uncle Titus, and he
went on with his writing.
"My dear Titus, your way of accepting the unexpected is most
admirable, but this must be talked over, I assure you. The consequences
may be very serious, and the matter must not be lightly treated. Do
think at once where we are to go! Aunt Ninette spoke very
impressively.
"Oh, it makes no difference where we go, if it is only quiet, and out in
the country some where," said the good man, as he calmly continued
his writing.
"Of course, that is the very thing" said his wife, "to find a quiet house,
not full of people nor in a noisy neighborhood. We might happen on a
school close by, or a mill, or a waterfall. There are so many of those
dreadful things in Switzerland. Or some noisy factory, or a market
place, always full of country folk, all the people of the whole canton
pouring in there together and making a terrible uproar. But I have an
idea, my dearest Titus, I have thought of a way to settle it. I shall write
to an old uncle of my brother's wife. You remember the family used to
live in Switzerland; I am sure I can find out from him just what it is
best for us to do."
"That seems to me rather a round-about way," said her husband, "and if
I remember right the family had some unpleasant experiences in
Switzerland, and are not likely to have kept up any connection with it."
"Oh, let me see to that; I will take care that all is as it should be, my
dear Titus," said aunt Ninette decidedly, and off she went, and without
more delay wrote and dispatched a letter to her brother's wife's uncle.

This done, she hurried away to Dora's sewing teacher, who was a most
respectable woman, and arranged that while they were in Switzerland,
Dora should spend the days with her, going to school as usual in the
morning and sewing all the afternoon, and that the woman should go
home with Dora to pass the nights.
Dora was informed of this plan when she came home that evening. She
received the news in silence, and after supper in silence went to her
little attic room. There as she sat upon her little bed, she realized fully
what her life would be when her uncle and aunt had gone away, and as
she compared it sadly with the happy companionship of her dear father,
her sorrow and solitude seemed too terrible to