Rose’s sacrifice was a failure in one respect, for, though the elders
loved her the better for it, and showed that they did, the boys were
not inspired with the sudden respect which she had hoped for. In
fact, her feelings were much hurt by overhearing Archie say that
he couldn’t see any sense in it; and the Prince added another blow
by pronouncing her "the queerest chicken ever seen."
It is apt to be so, and it is hard to bear; for, though we do not want
trumpets blown, we do like to have our little virtues appreciated,
and cannot help feeling disappointed if they are not.
A time soon came, however, when Rose, quite unconsciously, won
not only the respect of her cousins, but their gratitude and
Soon after the Island episode, Mac had a sunstroke, and was very
ill for some time. It was so sudden that everyone was startled, and
for some days the boy’s life was in danger. He pulled through,
however; and then, just as the family were rejoicing, a new trouble
appeared which cast a gloom over them all.
Poor Mac’s eyes gave out; and well they might, for he had abused
them, and never being very strong, they suffered doubly now.
No one dared to tell him the dark predictions of the great oculist
who came to look at them, and the boy tried to be patient, thinking
that a few weeks of rest would repair the overwork of several
He was forbidden to look at a book, and as that was the one thing
he most delighted in, it was a terrible affliction to the Worm.
Everyone was very ready to read to him, and at first the lads
contended for this honour. But as week after week went by, and
Mac was still condemned to idleness and a darkened room, their
zeal abated, and one after the other fell off. It was hard for the
active fellows, right in the midst of their vacation; and nobody
blamed them when they contented themselves with brief calls,
running of errands, and warm expressions of sympathy.
The elders did their best, but Uncle Mac was a busy man, Aunt
Jane’s reading was of a funereal sort, impossible to listen to long,
and the other aunties were all absorbed in their own cares, though
they supplied the boy with every delicacy they could invent.
Uncle Alec was a host in himself, but he could not give all his time
to the invalid; and if it had not been for Rose, the afflicted Worm
would have fared ill. Her pleasant voice suited him, her patience
was unfailing, her time of no apparent value, and her eager
good-will was very comforting.
The womanly power of self-devotion was strong in the child, and
she remained faithfully at her post when all the rest dropped away.
Hour after hour she sat in the dusky room, with one ray of light on
her book, reading to the boy, who lay with shaded eyes silently
enjoying the only pleasure that lightened the weary days.
Sometimes he was peevish and hard to please, sometimes he
growled because his reader could not manage the dry books he
wished to hear, and sometimes he was so despondent that her heart
ached to see him. Through all these trials Rose persevered, using
all her little arts to please him. When he fretted, she was patient;
when he growled, she ploughed bravely through the hard pages not
dry to her in one sense, for quiet tears dropped on them now and
then; and when Mac fell into a despairing mood, she comforted
him with every hopeful word she dared to offer.
He said little, but she knew he was grateful, for she suited him
better than anyone else. If she was late, he was impatient; when
she had to go, he seemed forlorn; and when the tired head ached
worst, she could always soothe him to sleep, crooning the old
songs her father used to love.
"I don’t know what I should do without that child," Aunt Jane often
"She’s worth all those racketing fellows put together," Mac would
add, fumbling about to discover if the little chair was ready for her
That was the sort of reward Rose liked, the thanks that cheered
her; and whenever she grew very tired, one look at the green
shade, the curly head so restless on the pillow, and the poor
groping hands, touched her tender heart and put new spirit into the
She did not know how much she was learning, both from the
books she read and the daily sacrifices she made. Stories and
poetry were her delight, but Mac did not care for them; and since
his favourite Greeks and Romans were forbidden, he satisfied
himself with travels, biographies, and the history of great
inventions or discoveries. Rose despised this taste at first, but soon
got interested in Livingstone’s adventures, Hobson’s stirring life in
India, and the brave trials and triumphs of Watt and Arkwright,
Fulton, and "Palissy, the Potter." The true, strong books helped the
dreamy girl; her faithful service and sweet patience touched and
won the boy; and long afterward both learned to see how useful
those seemingly hard and weary hours had been to them.
One bright morning, as Rose sat down to begin a fat volume
entitled "History of the French Revolution," expecting to come to
great grief over the long names, Mac, who was lumbering about
the room like a blind bear, stopped her by asking abruptly
"What day of the month is it?"
"The seventh of August, I believe."
"More than half my vacation gone, and I’ve only had a week of it! I
call that hard," and he groaned dismally.
"So it is; but there is more to come, and you may be able to enjoy
"May be able! I will be able! Does that old noodle think I’m going
to stay stived up here much longer?"
"I guess he does, unless your eyes get on faster than they have yet."
"Has he said anything more lately?"
"I haven’t seen him, you know. Shall I begin? this looks rather
"Read away; it’s all one to me." And Mac cast himself down upon
the old lounge, where his heavy head felt easiest.
Rose began with great spirit, and kept on gallantly for a couple of
chapters, getting over the unpronounceable names with unexpected
success, she thought, for her listener did not correct her once, and
lay so still she fancied he was deeply interested. All of a sudden
she was arrested in the middle of a fine paragraph by Mac, who sat
bolt upright, brought both feet down with a thump, and said, in a
rough, excited tone
"Stop! I don’t hear a word, and you may as well save your breath to
answer my question."
"What is it?" asked Rose, looking uneasy, for she had something
on her mind, and feared that he suspected what it was. His next
words proved that she was right.
"Now, look here, I want to know something, and you’ve got to tell
"Please, don’t – " began Rose, beseechingly.
"You must, or I’ll pull off this shade and stare at the sun as hard as
ever I can stare. Come now!" and he half rose, as if ready to
execute the threat.
"I will! oh, I will tell, if I know! But don’t be reckless and do
anything so crazy as that," cried Rose, in great distress.
"Very well; then listen, and don’t dodge, as everyone else does.
Didn’t the doctor think my eyes worse the last time he came?
Mother won’t say, but you shall."
"I believe he did," faltered Rose.
"I thought so! Did he say I should be able to go to school when it
"No, Mac," very low.
That was all, but Rose saw her cousin set his lips together and take
a long breath, as if she had hit him hard. He bore the
disappointment bravely, however, and asked quite steadily in a
"How soon does he think I can study again?"
It was so hard to answer that! Yet Rose knew she must, for Aunt
Jane had declared she could not do it, and Uncle Mac had begged
her to break the truth to the poor lad.
"Not for a good many months."
"How many?" he asked with a pathetic sort of gruffness.
"A year, perhaps."
"A whole year! Why, I expected to be ready for college by that
time." And, pushing up the shade, Mac stared at her with startled
eyes, that soon blinked and fell before the one ray of light.
"Plenty of time for that; you must be patient now, and get them
thoroughly well, or they will trouble you again when it will be
harder to spare them," she said, with tears in her own eyes.
"I won’t do it! I will study and get through somehow. It’s all
humbug about taking care so long. These doctors like to keep hold
of a fellow if they can. But I won’t stand it I vow I won’t!" and he
banged his fist down on the unoffending pillow as if he were
pommelling the hard-hearted doctor.
"Now, Mac, listen to me," Rose said very earnestly, though her
voice shook a little and her heart ached. "You know you have hurt
your eyes reading by fire-light and in the dusk, and sitting up late,
and now you’ll have to pay for it; the doctor said so. You must be
careful, and do as he tells you, or you will be blind."
"Yes, it is true, and he wanted us to tell you that nothing but entire
rest would cure you. I know it’s dreadfully hard, but we’ll all help
you; I’ll read all day long, and lead you, and wait upon you, and try
to make it easier "
She stopped there, for it was evident that he did not hear a sound;
the word "blind" seemed to have knocked him down, for he had
buried his face in the pillow, and lay so still that Rose was
frightened. She sat motionless for many minutes, longing to
comfort him, but not knowing how, and wishing Uncle Alec would
come, for he had promised to tell Mac.
Presently, a sort of choking sound came out of the pillow, and
went straight to her heart the most pathetic sob she ever heard, for,
though it was the most natural means of relief, the poor fellow
must not indulge in it because of the afflicted eyes. The "French
Revolution" tumbled out of her lap, and, running to the sofa, she
knelt down by it, saying, with the motherly sort of tenderness girls
feel for any sorrowing creature
"Oh, my dear, you mustn’t cry! It is so bad for your poor eyes. Take
your head out of that hot pillow, and let me cool it. I don’t wonder
you feel so, but please don’t cry. I’ll cry for you; it won’t hurt me."
As she spoke she pulled away the cushion with gentle force, and
saw the green shade all crushed and stained with the few hot tears
that told how bitter the disappointment had been. Mac felt her
sympathy, but, being a boy, did not thank her for it; only sat up
with a jerk, saying, as he tried to rub away the tell-tale drops with
the sleeve of his jacket, "Don’t bother; weak eyes always water. I’m
But Rose cried out, and caught his arm, "Don’t touch them with
that rough woollen stuff! Lie down and let me bathe them, there’s a
dear boy; then there will be no harm done."
"They do smart confoundedly. I say, don’t you tell the other fellows
that I made a baby of myself, will you?" he added, yielding with a
sigh to the orders of his nurse, who had flown for the eye-wash and
linen cambric handkerchief.
"Of course I won’t; but anyone would be upset at the idea of being
well troubled in this way. I’m sure you bear it splendidly, and you
know it isn’t half so bad when you get used to it. Besides, it is only
for a time, and you can do lots of pleasant things if you can’t study.
You’ll have to wear blue goggles, perhaps; won’t that be funny?"
And while she was pouring out all the comfortable words she
could think of, Rose was softly bathing the eyes and dabbing the
hot forehead with lavender-water, as her patient lay quiet with a
look on his face that grieved her sadly.
"Homer was blind, and so was Milton, and they did something to
be remembered by, in spite of it," he said, as if to himself, in a
solemn tone, for even the blue goggles did not bring a smile.
"Papa had a picture of Milton and his daughters writing for him. It
was a very sweet picture, I thought," observed Rose in a serious
voice, trying to meet the sufferer on his own ground.
"Perhaps I could study if someone read and did the eye part. Do
you suppose I could, by and by?" he asked, with a sudden ray of
"I dare say, if your head is strong enough. This sunstroke, you
know, is what upset you, and your brain needs rest, the doctor
"I’ll have a talk with the old fellow next time he comes, and find
out just what I may do; then I shall know where I am. What a fool I
was that day to be stewing my brains and letting the sun glare on
my book till the letters danced before me! I see ’em now when I
shut my eyes; black balls bobbing round, and stars and all sorts of
queer things. Wonder if all blind people do?"
"Don’t think about them; I’ll go on reading, shall I? We shall come
to the exciting part soon, and then you’ll forget all this," suggested
"No, I never shall forget. Hang the old ‘Revolution’! I don’t want to
hear another word of it. My head aches, and I’m hot. Oh, wouldn’t I
like to go for a pull in the ‘Stormy Petrel!"’ and poor Mac tossed
about as if he did not know what to do with himself.
"Let me sing, and perhaps you’ll drop off; then the day will seem
shorter," said Rose, taking up a fan and sitting down beside him.
"Perhaps I shall; I didn’t sleep much last night, and when I did I
dreamed like fun. See here, you tell the people that I know, and it’s
all right, and I don’t want them to talk about it or howl over me.
That’s all; now drone away, and I’ll try to sleep. Wish I could for a
year, and wake up cured."
"Oh, I wish, I wish you could!"
Rose said it so fervently that Mac was moved to grope for her
apron and hold on to a corner of it, as if it was comfortable to feel
her near him. But all he said was
"You are a good little soul, Rosy. Give us ‘The Birks’; that is a
drowsy one that always sends me off."
Quite contented with this small return for all her sympathy, Rose
waved her fan and sang, in a dreamy tone, the pretty Scotch air, the
burden of which is
"Bonny lassie, will ye gang, will ye gang
To the Birks of Aberfeldie?"
Whether the lassie went or not I cannot say, but the laddie was off
to the land of Nod, in about ten minutes, quite worn out with
hearing the bad tidings and the effort to bear them manfully.