Eight Cousins by Louisa M. Alcott

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Then it must be confessed that a tear or two dimmed the blue eyes,
and once, when a very brilliant display illuminated the island for a
moment, and she fancied she saw the tents, the curly head went
down on the railing, and a wide-awake nasturtium heard a little
whisper

"I hope someone wishes I was there!"

The tears were all gone, however, and she was watching the hill
and island answer each other with what Jamie called "whizzers,
whirligigs and busters," and smiling as she thought how hard the
boys must be working to keep up such a steady fire, when Uncle
Mac came walking in upon her, saying hurriedly

"Come, child, put on your tippet, pelisse, or whatever you call it,
and run off with me. I came to get Phebe, but aunt says she is
gone, so I want you. I've got Fun down in the boat, and I want you
to go with us and see my fireworks. Got them up for you, and you
mustn't miss them, or I shall be disappointed."

"But, uncle," began Rose, feeling as if she ought to refuse even a
glimpse of bliss, "perhaps "

"I know, my dear, I know; aunt told me; but no one needs you now
so much as I do, and I insist on your coming," said Uncle Mac,
who seemed in a great hurry to be off, yet was unusually kind.

So Rose went and found the little Chinaman with a funny lantern
waiting to help her in and convulse her with laughter trying to
express his emotions in pigeon English. The city clocks were
striking nine as they got out into the bay, and the island fireworks
seemed to be over, for no rocket answered the last Roman candle
that shone on the Aunt-hill.

"Ours are done, I see, but they are going up all round the city, and
how pretty they are," said Rose, folding her mantle about her, and
surveying the scene with pensive interest.

"Hope my fellows have not got into trouble up there," muttered
Uncle Mac, adding with a satisfied chuckle, as a spark shone out,
"No; there it goes! Look, Rosy, and see how you like this one; it
was ordered especially in honour of your coming."

Rose looked with all her eyes, and saw the spark grow into the
likeness of a golden vase, then green leaves came out, and then a
crimson flower glowing on the darkness with a splendid lustre.

"Is it a rose, uncle?" she asked, clasping her hands with delight as
she recognised the handsome flower.

"Of course it is! Look again, and guess what those are," answered
Uncle Mac, chuckling and enjoying it all like a boy.

A wreath of what looked at first like purple brooms appeared
below the vase, but Rose guessed what they were meant for, and
stood straight up, holding by his shoulder, and crying excitedly

"Thistles, uncle, Scotch thistles! There are seven of them one for
each boy! Oh, what a joke!" and she laughed so that she plumped
into the bottom of the boat and stayed there till the brilliant
spectacle was quite gone.

"That was rather a neat thing, I flatter myself," said Uncle Mac, in
high glee at the success of his illumination. "Now, shall I leave you
on the Island or take you home again, my good little girl?" he
added, lifting her up with such a tone of approbation in his voice
that Rose kissed him on the spot.

"Home, please uncle; and I thank you very very much for the
beautiful firework you got up for me. I'm so glad I saw it; and I
know I shall dream about it," answered Rose steadily, though a
wistful glance went toward the Island, now so near that she could
smell powder and see shadowy figures flitting about.

Home they went; and Rose fell asleep saying to herself, "It was
harder than I thought, but I'm glad I did it, and I truly don't want
any reward but Phebe's pleasure."

Chapter 11 - Poor Mac

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
affection likewise.

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
years.

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
said.

"She's worth all those racketing fellows put together," Mac would
add, fumbling about to discover if the little chair was ready for her
coming.

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
weary voice.

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
that."

"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
nice."

"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
me."

"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
begins?"

"No, Mac," very low.

"Ah!"

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
minute

"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."

"No!"

"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
all right."

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
hope.

"I dare say, if your head is strong enough. This sunstroke, you
know, is what upset you, and your brain needs rest, the doctor
says."

"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
Rose.

"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.

Chapter 12 - "The Other Fellows"

Rose did tell "the people" what had passed, and no one "howled"
over Mac, or said a word to trouble him. He had his talk with the
doctor, and got very little comfort out of it, for he found that "just
what he might do" was nothing at all; though the prospect of some
study by and by, if all went well, gave him courage to bear the
woes of the present. Having made up his mind to this, he behaved
so well that everyone was astonished, never having suspected so
much manliness in the quiet Worm.

The boys were much impressed, both by the greatness of the
affliction which hung over him and by his way of bearing it. They
were very good to him, but not always particularly wise in their
attempts to cheer and amuse; and Rose often found him much
downcast after a visit of condolence from the Clan. She still kept
her place as head-nurse and chief-reader, though the boys did their
best in an irregular sort of way. They were rather taken aback
sometimes at finding Rose's services preferred to their's, and
privately confided to one another that "Old Mac was getting fond
of being molly-coddled." But they could not help seeing how
useful she was, and owning that she alone had remained faithful a
fact which caused some of them much secret compunction now
and then.

Rose felt that she ruled in that room, if nowhere else, for Aunt
Jane left a great deal to her, finding that her experience with her
invalid father fitted her for a nurse, and in a case like this, her
youth was an advantage rather than a drawback. Mac soon came to
think that no one could take care of him so well as Rose, and Rose
soon grew fond of her patient, though at first she had considered
this cousin the least attractive of the seven. He was not polite and
sensible like Archie, nor gay and handsome like Prince Charlie,
nor neat and obliging like Steve, nor amusing like the "Brats," nor
confiding and affectionate like little Jamie. He was rough,
absent-minded, careless, and awkward, rather priggish, and not at
all agreeable to a dainty, beauty-loving girl like Rose.

But when his trouble came upon him, she discovered many good
things in this cousin of hers, and learned not only to pity but to
respect and love the poor Worm, who tried to be patient, brave,
and cheerful, and found it a harder task than anyone guessed,
except the little nurse, who saw him in his gloomiest moods. She
soon came to think that his friends did not appreciate him, and
upon one occasion was moved to free her mind in a way that made
a deep impression on the boys.

Vacation was almost over, and the time drawing near when Mac
would be left outside the happy school-world which he so much
enjoyed. This made him rather low in his mind, and his cousins
exerted themselves to cheer him up, especially one afternoon when
a spasm of devotion seemed to seize them all. Jamie trudged down
the hill with a basket of blackberries which he had "picked all his
ownself," as his scratched fingers and stained lips plainly testified.
Will and Geordie brought their puppies to beguile the weary hours,
and the three elder lads called to discuss baseball, cricket, and
kindred subjects, eminently fitted to remind the invalid of his
privations.

Rose had gone to drive with Uncle Alec, who declared she was
getting as pale as a potato sprout, living so much in a dark room.
But her thoughts were with her boy all the while, and she ran up to
him the moment she returned, to find things in a fine state of
confusion.

With the best intentions in life, the lads had done more harm than
good, and the spectacle that met Nurse Rose's eye was a trying
one. The puppies were yelping, the small boys romping, and the
big boys all talking at once; the curtains were up, the room close,
berries scattered freely about, Mac's shade half off, his cheeks
flushed, his temper ruffled, and his voice loudest of all as he
disputed hotly with Steve about lending certain treasured books
which he could no longer use.

Now Rose considered this her special kingdom, and came down
upon the invaders with an energy which amazed them and quelled
the riot at once. They had never seen her roused before, and the
effect was tremendous; also comical, for she drove the whole flock
of boys out of the room like an indignant little hen defending her
brood. They all went as meekly as sheep; the small lads fled from
the house precipitately, but the three elder ones only retired to the
next room, and remained there hoping for a chance to explain and
apologise, and so appease the irate young lady, who had suddenly
turned the tables and clattered them about their ears.

As they waited, they observed her proceedings through the
half-open door, and commented upon them briefly but
expressively, feeling quite bowed down with remorse at the harm
they had innocently done.

"She's put the room to rights in a jiffey. What jacks we were to let
those dogs in and kick up such a row," observed Steve, after a
prolonged peep.

"The poor old Worm turns as if she was treading on him instead of
cuddling him like a pussy cat. Isn't he cross, though?" added
Charlie, as Mac was heard growling about his "confounded head."

"She will manage him; but it's mean in us to rumple him up and
then leave her to smooth him down. I'd go and help, but I don't
know how," said Archie. looking much depressed, for he was a
conscientious fellow, and blamed himself for his want of thought.

"No, more do I. Odd, isn't it, what a knack women have for taking
care of sick folks?" and Charlie fell a-musing over this undeniable
fact.

"She has been ever so good to Mac," began Steve, in a
self-reproachful tone.

"Better than his own brother, hey?" cut in Archie, finding relief for
his own regret in the delinquencies of another.

"Well, you needn't preach; you didn't any of you do any more, and
you might have, for Mac likes you better than he does me. I always
fret him, he says, and it isn't my fault if I am a quiddle," protested
Steve, in self-defence.

"We have all been selfish and neglected him, so we won't fight
about it, but try and do better," said Archie, generously taking
more than his share of blame, for he had been less inattentive than
either of the others.

"Rose has stood by him like a good one, and it's no wonder he likes
to have her round best. I should myself if I was down on my luck
as he is," put in Charlie, feeling that he really had not done "the
little thing" justice.

"I'll tell you what it is, boys we haven't been half good enough to
Rose, and we've got to make it up to her somehow," said Archie,
who had a very manly sense of honour about paying his debts,
even to a girl.

"I'm awfully sorry I made fun of her doll when Jamie lugged it out;
and I called her 'baby bunting' when she cried over the dead kitten.
Girls are such geese sometimes, I can't help it," said Steve,
confessing his transgressions handsomely, and feeling quite ready
to atone for them if he only knew how.

"I'll go down on my knees and beg her pardon for treating her as if
she was a child. Don't it make her mad, though? Come to think of
it, she's only two years or so younger than I am. But she is so small
and pretty, she always seems like a dolly to me," and the Prince
looked down from his lofty height of five feet five as if Rose was
indeed a pygmy beside him.

"That dolly has got a real good little heart, and a bright mind of her
own, you'd better believe. Mac says she understands some things
quicker than he can, and mother thinks she is an uncommonly nice
girl, though she don't know all creation. You needn't put on airs,
Charlie, though you are a tall one, for Rose likes Archie better than
you; she said she did because he treated her respectfully."

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