Dora

by Johanna Spyri

After walking up and down for a while the pair always settled beneath the lovely trees.

The sick man, a certain Major Falk, lived with his daughter Dora and an elderly housekeeper who attended to his wants. They had only recently come to Karlsruhe. Dora had never known her mother, who had died soon after the child's birth, and she therefore clung to her father with double affection, and he, with great tenderness, did his best to make up to Dora for her early loss.

A year before he had been obliged to leave his child and fight in a war against the enemy. When he returned he was very ill and miserable, having received a dangerous wound in the chest, which physicians pronounced as hopeless. Major Falk, who had no relatives or connections in Hamburg, had lived a very retired life there, and the only relative he had in the world was an elderly step-sister who was married to a scholar in Karlsruhe by the name of Titus Ehrenreich. When Major Falk realized the hopelessness of his condition, he decided to move to Karlsruhe, where his step-sister could come to his and his eleven-year-old daughter's assistance, if his illness became acute. The resolution was soon carried out and he found pleasant lodgings near his sister.

He enjoyed these beautiful spring days with his lovely daughter as daily companion on his walks, and when the two sat hand in hand on the bench, the father told about his past experiences and Dora never grew tired of listening. She was quite sure nobody in the world was as wonderful and splendid and interesting as her father. Most of all, she loved to hear about her mother, who had been so merry, bringing sunshine wherever she went. Everyone had loved her and no one who had loved her could forget her. When the father was lost in such recollections, he often forgot completely where he was till it grew late and the damp evening air made him shiver and reminded him that it was time to go home. The pair walked slowly till they came to a narrow street with high houses on both sides.

Here the father usually stopped, saying: "We must go to see Uncle Titus and Aunt Ninette." And climbing up the stairs, he daily reminded his little daughter: "Be very quiet, Dora! You know Uncle Titus writes very learned books and must not be disturbed, and Aunt Ninette is not used to noise, either."

Dora climbed upstairs on tiptoe, and the bell was rung most discreetly.

Usually Aunt Ninette opened the door herself and said, "Come in, dear brother, but please be very quiet. Your brother-in-law is much lost in his work as usual."

With scarcely a sound, the three went along the corridor to the living room which was next to Uncle Titus's study. Here, too, one had to be very quiet, which Major Falk never forgot, though Aunt Ninette herself often broke out into sad complaints about many things that troubled her.

June had come and the two could stay out quite long under the linden trees. But they found themselves obliged to return sooner than was their wish, because otherwise Aunt Ninette worried dreadfully. On one such warm summer evening, when the sky gleamed all golden, and rosy and fluffy clouds were sailing along the sky, Major Falk stayed seated on the bench until quite late. Holding his child's hand in his, he quietly watched the radiant sunset with Dora, who gazed up with wonder at her father.

Quite overwhelmed by her impression, she cried out, "Oh, father, you should just see yourself; you look all golden the way the angels in heaven must look."