Chapter 11 - Poor Mac

by Louisa May Alcott

　　Rose's sacrifice was a failure in one respect, for, though the elders lovedher the better for it, and showed that they did, the boys were not inspiredwith the sudden respect which she had hoped for. In fact, her feelings weremuch 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 chickenever seen."It is apt to be so, and it is hard to bear; for, though we do not wanttrumpets blown, we do like to have our little virtues appreciated, andcannot help feeling disappointed if they are not.A time soon came, however, when Rose, quite unconsciously, won not only therespect of her cousins, but their gratitude and affection likewise.Soon after the Island episode, Mac had a sunstroke, and was very ill forsome time. It was so sudden that everyone was startled, and for some daysthe boy's life was in danger. He pulled through, however; and then, just asthe family were rejoicing, a new trouble appeared which cast a gloom overthem all.Poor Mac's eyes gave out; and well they might, for he had abused them, andnever being very strong, they suffered doubly now.No one dared to tell him the dark predictions of the great oculist who cameto look at them, and the boy tried to be patient, thinking that a few weeksof rest would repair the overwork of several years.He was forbidden to look at a book, and as that was the one thing he mostdelighted in, it was a terrible affliction to the Worm. Everyone was veryready to read to him, and at first the lads contended for this honour. Butas week after week went by, and Mac was still condemned to idleness and adarkened room, their zeal abated, and one after the other fell off. It washard for the active fellows, right in the midst of their vacation; andnobody blamed them when they contented themselves with brief calls, runningof errands, and warm expressions of sympathy.The elders did their best, but Uncle Mac was a busy man, Aunt Jane'sreading was of a funereal sort, impossible to listen to long, and the otheraunties were all absorbed in their own cares, though they supplied the boywith every delicacy they could invent.Uncle Alec was a host in himself, but he could not give all his time to theinvalid; and if it had not been for Rose, the afflicted Worm would havefared ill. Her pleasant voice suited him, her patience was unfailing, hertime of no apparent value, and her eager good-will was very comforting.The womanly power of self-devotion was strong in the child, and sheremained faithfully at her post when all the rest dropped away. Hour afterhour she sat in the dusky room, with one ray of light on her book, readingto the boy, who lay with shaded eyes silently enjoying the only pleasurethat lightened the weary days. Sometimes he was peevish and hard to please,sometimes he growled because his reader could not manage the dry books hewished to hear, and sometimes he was so despondent that her heart ached tosee him. Through all these trials Rose persevered, using all her littlearts to please him. When he fretted, she was patient; when he growled, sheploughed bravely through the hard pages not dry to her in one sense, forquiet tears dropped on them now and then; and when Mac fell into adespairing mood, she comforted him with every hopeful word she dared tooffer.He said little, but she knew he was grateful, for she suited him betterthan anyone else. If she was late, he was impatient; when she had to go, heseemed forlorn; and when the tired head ached worst, she could alwayssoothe 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; andwhenever she grew very tired, one look at the green shade, the curly headso restless on the pillow, and the poor groping hands, touched her tenderheart and put new spirit into the weary voice.She did not know how much she was learning, both from the books she readand the daily sacrifices she made. Stories and poetry were her delight, butMac did not care for them; and since his favourite Greeks and Romans wereforbidden, he satisfied himself with travels, biographies, and the historyof great inventions or discoveries. Rose despised this taste at first, butsoon got interested in Livingstone's adventures, Hobson's stirring life inIndia, and the brave trials and triumphs of Watt and Arkwright, Fulton, and"Palissy, the Potter." The true, strong books helped the dreamy girl; herfaithful service and sweet patience touched and won the boy; and longafterward both learned to see how useful those seemingly hard and wearyhours 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 overthe 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 callthat 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 staystived 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 oldlounge, where his heavy head felt easiest.Rose began with great spirit, and kept on gallantly for a couple ofchapters, getting over the unpronounceable names with unexpected success,she thought, for her listener did not correct her once, and lay so stillshe fancied he was deeply interested. All of a sudden she was arrested inthe middle of a fine paragraph by Mac, who sat bolt upright, brought bothfeet 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 answermy question.""What is it?" asked Rose, looking uneasy, for she had something on hermind, and feared that he suspected what it was. His next words proved thatshe 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 everI can stare. Come now!" and he half rose, as if ready to execute thethreat."I will! oh, I will tell, if I know! But don't be reckless and do anythingso crazy as that," cried Rose, in great distress."Very well; then listen, and don't dodge, as everyone else does. Didn't thedoctor think my eyes worse the last time he came? Mother won't say, but youshall.""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 longbreath, 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 haddeclared she could not do it, and Uncle Mac had begged her to break thetruth 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 soonblinked and fell before the one ray of light."Plenty of time for that; you must be patient now, and get them thoroughlywell, 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 abouttaking care so long. These doctors like to keep hold of a fellow if theycan. But I won't stand it I vow I won't!" and he banged his fist down onthe unoffending pillow as if he were pommelling the hard-hearted doctor."Now, Mac, listen to me," Rose said very earnestly, though her voice shooka little and her heart ached. "You know you have hurt your eyes reading byfire-light and in the dusk, and sitting up late, and now you'll have to payfor it; the doctor said so. You must be careful, and do as he tells you, oryou will be blind.""No!""Yes, it is true, and he wanted us to tell you that nothing but entire restwould cure you. I know it's dreadfully hard, but we'll all help you; I'llread all day long, and lead you, and wait upon you, and try to make iteasier "She stopped there, for it was evident that he did not hear a sound; theword "blind" seemed to have knocked him down, for he had buried his face inthe pillow, and lay so still that Rose was frightened. She sat motionlessfor many minutes, longing to comfort him, but not knowing how, and wishingUncle Alec would come, for he had promised to tell Mac.Presently, a sort of choking sound came out of the pillow, and wentstraight to her heart the most pathetic sob she ever heard, for, though itwas the most natural means of relief, the poor fellow must not indulge init because of the afflicted eyes. The "French Revolution" tumbled out ofher lap, and, running to the sofa, she knelt down by it, saying, with themotherly 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 yourhead out of that hot pillow, and let me cool it. I don't wonder you feelso, 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 thegreen shade all crushed and stained with the few hot tears that told howbitter the disappointment had been. Mac felt her sympathy, but, being aboy, did not thank her for it; only sat up with a jerk, saying, as he triedto rub away the tell-tale drops with the sleeve of his jacket, "Don'tbother; weak eyes always water. I'm all right."But Rose cried out, and caught his arm, "Don't touch them with that roughwoollen stuff! Lie down and let me bathe them, there's a dear boy; thenthere will be no harm done.""They do smart confoundedly. I say, don't you tell the other fellows that Imade a baby of myself, will you?" he added, yielding with a sigh to theorders of his nurse, who had flown for the eye-wash and linen cambrichandkerchief."Of course I won't; but anyone would be upset at the idea of being welltroubled in this way. I'm sure you bear it splendidly, and you know itisn'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 towear 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 withlavender-water, as her patient lay quiet with a look on his face thatgrieved her sadly."Homer was blind, and so was Milton, and they did something to beremembered by, in spite of it," he said, as if to himself, in a solemntone, for even the blue goggles did not bring a smile."Papa had a picture of Milton and his daughters writing for him. It was avery sweet picture, I thought," observed Rose in a serious voice, trying tomeet the sufferer on his own ground."Perhaps I could study if someone read and did the eye part. Do you supposeI 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, iswhat 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 justwhat I may do; then I shall know where I am. What a fool I was that day tobe stewing my brains and letting the sun glare on my book till the lettersdanced before me! I see 'em now when I shut my eyes; black balls bobbinground, and stars and all sorts of queer things. Wonder if all blind peopledo?""Don't think about them; I'll go on reading, shall I? We shall come to theexciting 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 hearanother word of it. My head aches, and I'm hot. Oh, wouldn't I like to gofor a pull in the 'Stormy Petrel!"' and poor Mac tossed about as if he didnot 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 dreamedlike 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; nowdrone away, and I'll try to sleep. Wish I could for a year, and wake upcured.""Oh, I wish, I wish you could!"Rose said it so fervently that Mac was moved to grope for her apron andhold 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 drowsyone that always sends me off."Quite contented with this small return for all her sympathy, Rose waved herfan and sang, in a dreamy tone, the pretty Scotch air, the burden of whichis"Bonny lassie, will ye gang, will ye gangTo the Birks of Aberfeldie?"Whether the lassie went or not I cannot say, but the laddie was off to theland of Nod, in about ten minutes, quite worn out with hearing the badtidings and the effort to bear them manfully.