Uncle Philip went to her.

"Come, Mazli, come," he said encouragingly, "open your eyes quickly and Mea will take you to bed."

"No, no," Mazli lamented, and would not move.

"But you must! Just look, we are all going," the uncle said vigorously.

"Do you want to stay behind?"

"No, no, no," Mazli moaned, full of misery.

"Mea, give her some cake," the uncle ordered, "then she'll wake up."

"We have no cake, uncle," Mea replied.

"What, you don't have a thing so necessary as that in a house full of children! Well, I shall get some to-morrow," he said, quite agitated.

"Do you want a candy, Mazli? Come, just taste how sweet it is."

"No, no, no," Mazli moaned again in such sorrowful tones as no one had ever heard from the energetic little child.

Suddenly a most disturbing thought shot through the uncle's brain: "Suppose the child has already caught the fever? What should I do? What ought one to do?" he cried out with growing anxiety.

Kathy had entered the room in the meantime to see if anything more was needed.

"That is the way, Mr. Falcon," she said, going up to Mazli, and quickly lifting her in her strong arms, she carried her upstairs. Despite all her lamenting the child was then undressed and put to bed. In the shortest time she was sound asleep again without a trace of fever.

"Well, that's over now," Uncle Philip said, quite relieved when Kathy came back with the news. "I really think that the time has come for us all to seek our beds. Lippo actually looks as if he could not stand on his little legs."

The boy was as white as chalk from staying up so late. From time to time he tried to open his eyes, but they always fell shut again. The uncle, taking his hand, wanted to lead him away, but he fought against it.

"Uncle Philip, we have not sung the evening song yet," he said, clutching the piano.

"Mercy!" the uncle cried out disturbed. "Is this going to start now? No, no, Lippo, it is much too late to-night. You can sing two songs to-morrow, then everything will be straightened out."

"Then we shall have sung two songs to-morrow, but none to-day," Lippo began in a complaining voice, holding on to the piano and pulling his uncle towards him.

"Nothing can be done, we have to do it," Uncle Philip said with resignation, for he knew the obstinacy of his G.o.dson in regard to all customs.

"Kurt, you can tell me about the songs; please find the shortest in the song-book, or we shall have to sing till to-morrow morning. Please spare us such a miserable scene. But wait, Kurt! The song must have a tune I can sing, for as n.o.body plays the piano, I have to set the tune. Do you want to sing with us, too, Salo, or is it too late for you? You can retire if you prefer. You go upstairs to the room at the right corner."

"Oh, no, I want to stay as long as anybody is left," Salo replied. "I shall enjoy singing and doing everything with you. It is all so funny and strange."

Kurt had chosen a suitable song and Uncle Philip began it so vigorously that everybody could join and a full-voiced chorus was formed. Lippo's voice sounded dreadfully weak, but he sang every note to the last word, fighting mightily against his growing sleepiness. Now the little company could wander upstairs to their respective rooms without further obstacle.

"Oh," Uncle Philip breathed relieved when they had reached the top. "At least we are as far as this. It really is an undertaking to keep in order a handful of children where one always differs from the last. Now I have luckily gotten through for today. What? Not yet? What is the matter, Bruno?"

The latter, approaching his uncle with clear signs that he wanted him for something, had pulled him aside.

"I want to ask you for something," said Bruno. "I wonder if you will do me a great favor, Uncle Philip. Salo and I have so much to talk about still and he must leave to-morrow, I wanted to ask you if Kurt can sleep beside you in the guest room and Salo could sleep in Kurt's bed in my room."

"What are you thinking of," the uncle said irritably. "You should hear what your mother would say to that. The idea of having a Wallerstatten for a guest and offering him a bed which has been used already. That would seem a real crime in her eyes. That can't be; no, it mustn't. I hope you can see it, too, don't you?"

"Yes," Bruno said, much depressed, for he had to agree. But Uncle could not stand such downcast spirits.

"Listen, Bruno," he said, "you realize that we can't do it that way. But an uncle knows how to arrange things and that is why he is here. This is the way we'll do. I'll sleep in your bed, and Salo and you can sleep in the guest-room. Will that suit?"

"Oh, thank you, Uncle Philip! There is no other uncle like you," Bruno cried out in his enthusiasm.

So Uncle Philip's last difficulty was solved for to-day and everybody was willing to go to bed. Soon the house lay in deep quiet: even the sick child in the highest story lay calmly sleeping on her cool pillows. She did not even notice when Mrs. Maxa stepped up once more to her bedside with a little lamp. Before herself retiring she wanted to listen once more to the child's breathing. Only the two new friends were still talking long after midnight.

They understood each other so thoroughly and upon all points that Bruno had proposed in his enthusiasm that they would not waste one minute of the night in sleep. Salo expressed his wish over and over again that Bruno might become his comrade in the boarding school. But finally victorious sleep stole unperceived over the two lads and quietly closed their eyes.

CHAPTER VII

THE MOTHER'S ABSENCE HAS CONSEQUENCES

Next morning Salo was allowed to go into his sister's room in order to say good-bye to her. She looked at him so cheerfully that he asked with eager delight, "Do you feel so much better already, Leonore?"

"Oh, yes, I feel as if I were at home," she replied with shining eyes.

"I feel as if our mother had come down from heaven to take care of me."

"When you can get up and go downstairs you will be happier still. I know how much you will enjoy meeting the whole family," said Salo. "Then you will feel as if you were in a real home that belongs to you."

"It is such a shame that you have to go," Leonore sighed, but this time the tears did not come quite so urgently. How things had changed since yesterday--how different it was now to stay behind!

At this moment Mrs. Maxa entered the room.

She had left it as she wanted to give brother and sister an opportunity to see each other alone, but the time had come for Salo to depart, and he was obliged to leave his sister. To-day it seemed harder for him to go away than leave Leonore behind.

"I can't even say that I wish you to come soon. I have to hope that you can remain here a long while," he said cheerily, while Leonore was smiling bravely. Uncle Philip, ready for the journey, stood beside the carriage. All the children ran towards Salo as soon as he appeared, and when he said good-bye, he was treated like a friend of the family of many years' standing. Each of the children showed his grief in a special manner. Mazli cried loudly over and over again, "Oh, Salo, please come soon again, please come soon again."

When the carriage was rolling away and the handkerchiefs that fluttered him last greetings were all Salo could see from the distance, he rapidly brushed away a few tears. He had never felt so thoroughly at home anywhere in the world before. How happy he had been! The thought of going far away and possibly never coming back gave him a little pang of grief.

When the children returned at noon from school they were still full of their vivid impression of Salo's sudden appearance and departure. They were all anxious to tell their mother about it, because they knew that they could always count on her lively sympathy. One or the other of the children kept forgetting that the mother must not be sought and would absent-mindedly make an attempt to go upstairs, but they were always met by unexpected resistance. Lippo on his arrival home from school had posted himself there to see that his mother's orders were strictly kept.

He also had missed her desperately, but he had nevertheless remembered her injunctions and was quite certain that the others might forget and act contrary to her orders. Placing himself on the first step, he would hold any of his brothers or sisters with both hands when they came towards him as they dashed upstairs. When he cried out loudly, "We mustn't do it, we mustn't do it," they ran away again, quite frightened, for his horrified shrieks might have penetrated into the sick-room.

Kathy was the only one who appreciated Lippo's worth. She had received orders to remind the children of the strict command, and she knew quite well from previous experiences that she could never have succeeded as effectively as he. Mazli, meanwhile, was sitting at Apollonie's table, gayly eating a snow-white milk-pudding which Apollonie knew so well how to prepare. Whenever Mazli came to a meal at her house, she always set this favorite dish before the child.

The days when Mazli came for a visit here were happy days for Loneli.

There was always something funny going on at meal-time, because Mazli had so many amusing things to speak about. On those days she was never obliged to tell her grandmother exactly what lessons she had known in school and which she had not. Usually Apollonie was dreadfully anxious to hear how punctually she had fulfilled her duties, and she always chose lunch-time for that purpose because then no other affair interfered with talking. Beaming with joy, Loneli now sat beside Mazli, who was telling uninterruptedly about Salo. She told them that he was friendlier and nicer than any boy she had ever seen, and she quoted Bruno, Mea and Kurt as saying exactly the same thing. Usually they disagreed on such points.

Apollonie was quite absorbed in listening, too, and nodding her head once in a while, she seemed to say: "Yes, yes, I know that he couldn't be called Salo for nothing." This interesting subject of conversation kept her longer than usual to-day.

"Suddenly she started up, quite frightened. Oh, is it possible? It is nearly one o'clock. Hurry up, Loneli, or you'll be late for school.

Mazli, you and I have something to do, too, this afternoon. I shall take you on a walk and I'll tell you where we are going as soon as we start."

As the dishes had to be washed first, Apollonie thought that Mazli might go out to play in the garden. But Mazli preferred to see the plates washed and dried and afterwards set in neat rows. After these tasks Apollonie put on a good ap.r.o.n, a beautiful neck-cloth, and after packing up several shirts, cloths and stockings into a large basket the two set out.

"Where are we going?" Mazli asked, inspecting the basket. "Who are you taking these things to?"