Little Men - Chapter 11 - 15 - Have subtitles
Little Men (chapter 11-15) have subtitles By: Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888) If you've read and loved Little Women, you'd probably enjoy finding out more about the doings of the sisters in the third book in the series, Little Men. Published in 1871, the book's full title was Little Men or Life at Plumfield with Jo's Boys. It followed the success of Little Women in 1868 and Good Wives in 1869, which portrayed the fortunes of the March family. Filled with remarkable, endearing and memorable characters, the books remain as fresh and enjoyable as they were when they first came out more than a century ago. Little Men is, like Alcott's other books in the series, based on some of the events in her own life. The “March Family Saga” as the books came to be known was semi-autobiographical in nature. The character of Jo March was based on Alcott herself and many of the episodes in the books are based on real happenings at the family home she shared with her parents and sisters in Concord, Massachusetts. Little Men continues the story of Jo March after she marries the love of her life, Professor Bhaer. She inherits the vast country estate of Plumfield from her crotchety old Aunt March and immediately decides to set up a school for boys. However, this is no conventional school. She takes in orphans, delinquents, disabled and abused children. She and her husband, along with other people, work their magic on the little minds and hearts, leading to many a happy ending. Jo's sisters Meg and Amy feature in this book too. The other sister Beth, who died earlier, is now only a beloved memory. Meg's and Amy's husbands, their families and friends all form part of this colorful tapestry. Though some of the writing may seem dated, and there are plenty of moral asides from the author and though children today prefer fantasy above reality, the book is indeed a warm and endearing family story that appeals to all ages. The overwhelming influence of human relationships and the struggle to survive in a harsh and unforgiving world are all brilliantly portrayed in this book. Jo March's journey from an impulsive and hot-headed tomboy into a loving and warm-hearted wife in whose hands the fate of her pupils lies is vividly portrayed. Inspired also by the death of her beloved brother-in-law, Little Men is a tribute to a person who was her friend, philosopher and guide.
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CHAPTER XI UNCLE TEDDY
For a week Dan only moved from bed to sofa; a long week and a hard one, for the hurt foot was
very painful at times, the quiet days were very wearisome to the active lad, longing
to be out enjoying the summer weather, and especially difficult was it to be patient.
But Dan did his best, and every one helped him in their various ways; so the time passed,
and he was rewarded at last by hearing the doctor say, on Saturday morning,
"This foot is doing better than I expected. Give the lad the crutch this afternoon, and
let him stump about the house a little."
"Hooray!" shouted Nat, and raced away to tell the other boys the good news.
Everybody was very glad, and after dinner the whole flock assembled to behold Dan crutch
himself up and down the hall a few times before he settled in the porch to hold a sort of
levee. He was much pleased at the interest and good-will shown him, and brightened up
more and more every minute; for the boys came to pay their respects, the little girls fussed
about him with stools and cushions, and Teddy watched over him as if
he was a frail creature unable to do anything for himself. They were still sitting and
standing about the steps, when a carriage stopped at the gate, a hat was waved from
it, and with a shout of "Uncle Teddy! Uncle Teddy!" Rob scampered down the avenue as fast
as his short legs would carry him. All he boys but Dan ran after him to see who
should be first to open the gate, and in a moment the carriage drove up with boys swarming
all over it, while Uncle Teddy sat laughing in the midst, with his little daughter
on his knee.
"Stop the triumphal car and let Jupiter descend," he said, and jumping out ran up the steps
to meet Mrs. Bhaer, who stood smiling and clapping her hands like a girl.
"How goes it, Teddy?" "All right, Jo." Then they shook hands, and Mr. Laurie put
Bess into her aunt's arms, saying, as the child hugged her tight, "Goldilocks wanted
to see you so much that I ran away with her, for I was quite pining for a sight of you
myself. We want to play with your boys for an hour
or so, and to see how 'the old woman who lived in a shoe, and had so many children she did
not know what to do,' is getting on."
"I'm so glad! Play away, and don't get into mischief," answered Mrs. Jo, as the lads crowded
round the pretty child, admiring her long golden hair, dainty dress, and lofty ways,
for the little "Princess," as they called her, allowed no one to kiss her, but sat smiling
down upon them, and graciously patting their heads with her little, white hands. They all
adored her, especially Rob, who considered her a sort of doll, and dared not touch her
lest she should break, but worshipped her at a respectful distance, made happy by an
occasional mark of favor from her little highness. As she immediately demanded to see Daisy's
kitchen, she was borne off by Mrs. Jo, with a train of small boys following. The others,
all
but Nat and Demi, ran away to the menagerie and gardens to have all in order; for Mr.
Laurie always took a general survey, and looked disappointed if things were not flourishing.
Standing on the steps, he turned to Dan, saying like an old acquaintance, though he had only
seen him once or twice before,
"How is the foot?" "Better, sir." "Rather tired of the house, aren't you?"
"Guess I am!" and Dan's eyes roved away to the green hills and woods where he longed
to be.
"Suppose we take a little turn before the others come back? That big, easy carriage
will be quite safe and comfortable, and a breath of fresh air will do you good. Get
a cushion and a shawl, Demi, and let's carry Dan off."
The boys thought it a capital joke, and Dan looked delighted, but asked, with an unexpected
burst of virtue,
"Will Mrs. Bhaer like it?"
"Oh, yes; we settled all that a minute ago."
"You didn't say any thing about it, so I don't see how you could," said Demi, inquisitively.
"We have a way of sending messages to one another, without any words. It is a great
improvement on the telegraph."
"I know it's eyes; I saw you lift your eyebrows, and nod toward the carriage, and Mrs. Bhaer
laughed and nodded back again," cried Nat, who was quite at his ease with kind Mr. Laurie
by this time.
"Right. Now them, come on," and in a minute Dan found himself settled in the carriage,
his foot on a cushion on the seat opposite, nicely covered with a shawl, which fell down
from the upper regions in a most mysterious manner, just when they wanted it.
Demi climbed up to the box beside Peter, the black coachman. Nat sat next Dan in the place
of honor, while Uncle Teddy would sit opposite, to take care of the foot, he said,
but really that he might study the faces before him both so happy,
yet so different, for Dan's was square, and brown, and strong, while
Nat's was long, and fair, and rather weak, but very amiable with its mild eyes and
good forehead.
"By the way, I've got a book somewhere here that you may like to see," said the oldest
boy of the party, diving under the seat and producing a book which make Dan exclaim,
"Oh! by George, isn't that a stunner?" as he turned the leaves, and saw fine plates
of butterflies, and birds, and every sort of
interesting insect, colored like life. He was so charmed that he
forgot his thanks, but Mr. Laurie did not mind, and was quite satisfied to see the boy's
eager delight, and to hear this exclamations over certain old friends as he came to them.
Nat leaned on his shoulder to look, and Demi turned his back to the horses, and let his
feet dangle inside the carriage, so that he might join in the conversation.
When they got among the beetles, Mr. Laurie took a curious little object out of his vest-pocket,
and laying it in the palm of his hand, said,
"There's a beetle that is thousands of years old;" and then, while the lads examined the
*** stone-bug, that looked so old and gray, he told them how it came out of the wrappings
of a mummy, after lying for ages in a famous tomb. Finding them interested, he went on
to tell about the Egyptians, and the strange and splendid ruins they have left behind them
the Nile, and how he sailed up the mighty river, with the handsome dark men to work
his boat; how he shot alligators, saw wonderful beasts and
birds; and afterwards crossed the desert on a camel, who pitched him about like a ship
in a storm.
"Uncle Teddy tells stories 'most as well as Grandpa," said Demi, approvingly, when the
tale was done, and the boys' eyes asked for more.
"Thank you," said Mr. Laurie, quite soberly, for he considered Demi's praise worth having,
for children are good critics in such cases, and to suit them is an accomplishment that
any one may be proud of.
"Here's another trifle or two that I tucked into my pocket as I was turning over my traps
to see if I had any thing that would amuse Dan," and Uncle Teddy produced a fine arrow-head
and a string of wampum.
"Oh! tell about the Indians," cried Demi, who was fond of playing wigwam.
"Dan knows lots about them," added Nat.
"More than I do, I dare say. Tell us something," and Mr. Laurie looked as interested as the
other two.
"Mr. Hyde told me; he's been among 'em, and can talk their talk, and likes 'em," began
Dan, flattered by their attention, but rather embarrassed by having a grown-up listener.
"What is wampum for?" asked curious Demi, from his perch.
The others asked questions likewise, and, before he knew it, Dan was reeling off all
Mr. Hyde had told him, as they sailed down the river a few weeks before. Mr. Laurie listened
well, but found the boy more interesting than the Indians, for Mrs. Jo had told him about
Dan, and he rather took a fancy to the wild lad, who ran away as he himself had often
longed to do, and who was slowly getting tamed by pain and patience.
"I've been thinking that it would be a good plan for you fellows to have a museum of your
own; a place in which to collect all the curious and interesting things that you find, and
make, and have given you. Mrs. Jo is too kind to complain, but it is rather hard for her
to have the house littered up with all sorts of rattletraps,
half-a-pint of dor-bugs in one of her best vases, for instance, a couple of dead bats
nailed up in the back entry, wasps nests tumbling down on people's heads, and stones
lying round everywhere, enough to pave the avenue. There
are not many women who would stand that sort of thing, are there, now?"
As Mr. Laurie spoke with a merry look in his eyes, the boys laughed and nudged one another,
for it was evident that some one told tales out of school, else how could he know of the
existence of these inconvenient treasures.
"Where can we put them, then?" said Demi, crossing his legs and leaning down to argue
the question.
"In the old carriage-house."
"But it leaks, and there isn't any window, nor any place to put things, and it's all
dust and cobwebs," began Nat.
"Wait till Gibbs and I have touched it up a bit, and then see how you like it. He is
to come over on Monday to get it ready; then next Saturday I shall come out, and we will
fix it up, and make the beginning, at least, of a fine little museum. Every one can bring
his things, and have a place for them; and Dan is to be the head man, because he knows
most about such matters, and it will be quiet, pleasant work for him now that he can't knock
about much."
"Won't that be jolly?" cried Nat, while Dan smiled all over his face and had not a word
to say, but hugged his book, and looked at Mr. Laurie as if he thought him one of the
greatest public benefactors that ever blessed the world.
"Shall I go round again, sir?" asked Peter, as they came to the gate, after two slow turns
about the half-mile triangle.
"No, we must be prudent, else we can't come again. I must go over the premises, take a
look at the carriage-house, and have a little talk with Mrs. Jo before I go;" and, having
deposited Dan on his sofa to rest and enjoy his book, Uncle Teddy
went off to have a frolic with the lads who were raging about the place in search of
him. Leaving the little girls to mess up-stairs, Mrs. Bhaer sat down
by Dan, and listened to his eager account of the drive till the flock returned, dusty,
warm, and much excited about the new museum, which every one considered the most brilliant
idea of the age.
"I always wanted to endow some sort of an institution, and I am going to begin with
this," said Mr. Laurie, sitting down on a stool at Mrs. Jo's feet.
"You have endowed one already. What do you call this?" and Mrs. Jo pointed to the happy-faced
lads, who had camped upon the floor
about him.
"I call it a very promising Bhaer-garden, and I'm proud to be a member of it. Did you
know I was the head boy in this school?" he asked, turning to Dan, and changing the subject
skilfully, for he hated to be thanked for the generous things he did.
"I thought Franz was!" answered Dan, wondering what the man meant.
"Oh, dear no! I'm the first boy Mrs. Jo ever had to take care of, and I was such a bad
one that she isn't done with me yet, though she has been working at me for years and years."
"How old she must be!" said Nat, innocently.
"She began early, you see. Poor thing! she was only fifteen when she took me, and I led
her such a life, it's a wonder she isn't wrinkled and gray, and quite worn out," and Mr. Laurie
looked up at her laughing.
"Don't Teddy; I won't have you abuse yourself so;" and Mrs. Jo stroked the curly black head
at her knee as affectionately as ever, for, in spite of every thing Teddy was her boy
still.
"If it hadn't been for you, there never would have been a Plumfield. It was my success with
you, sir, that gave me courage to try my pet plan. So the boys may thank you for it, and
name the new institution 'The Laurence Museum,' in honor
of its founder, won't we, boys?" she added, looking very like the lively Jo of old times.
"We will! we will!" shouted the boys, throwing up their hats, for though they had taken them
off on entering the house, according to rule, they had been in too much of a hurry to hang
them up.
"I'm as hungry as a bear, can't I have a cookie?" asked Mr. Laurie, when the shout subsided
and he had expressed his thanks by a splendid bow.
"Trot out and ask Asia for the gingerbread-box, Demi. It isn't in order to eat between meals,
but, on this joyful occasion, we won't mind, and have a cookie all round," said Mrs. Jo;
and when the box came she dealt them out with a liberal hand, every one munching away in
a social circle.
Suddenly, in the midst of a bite, Mr. Laurie cried out, "Bless my heart, I forgot grandma's
bundle!" and running out to the carriage, returned with an interesting white parcel,
which, being opened, disclosed a choice collection of beasts, birds, and pretty things cut out
of crisp sugary cake, and baked a lovely brown.
"There's one for each, and a letter to tell which is whose. Grandma and Hannah made them,
and I tremble to think what would have happened to me if I had forgotten to leave them."
Then, amid much laughing and fun, the cakes were distributed. A
fish for Dan, a fiddle for Nat, a book for Demi, a money for
Tommy, a flower for Daisy, a hoop for Nan, who had driven twice round the triangle without
stopping, a star for Emil, who put on airs because he studied astronomy, and, best
of all, an omnibus for Franz, whose great delight was to drive the
family bus. Stuffy got a fat pig, and the little folks had birds, and cats, and rabbits,
with black currant eyes.
"Now I must go. Where is my Goldilocks? Mamma will come
flying out to get her if I'm not back early," said Uncle Teddy, when the last crumb had
vanished, which it speedily did, you may be sure.
The young ladies had gone into the garden, and while they waited till Franz looked them
up, Jo and Laurie stood at the door talking together.
"How does little Giddy-gaddy come on?" he asked, for Nan's pranks amused him very much,
and he was never tired of teasing Jo about her.
"Nicely; she is getting quite mannerly, and begins to see the error of her wild ways."
"Don't the boys encourage her in them?"
"Yes; but I keep talking, and lately she has improved much. You saw how prettily she shook
hands with you, and how gentle she was with Bess. Daisy's example has its effect upon
her, and I'm quite sure that a few months will work wonders."
Here Mrs. Jo's remarks were cut short by the appearance of Nan tearing round the corner
at a break-neck pace, driving a mettlesome team of four boys, and followed by Daisy trundling
Bess in a wheelbarrow. Hat off, hair flying, whip cracking, and barrow bumping, up they
came in a cloud of dust, looking as wild a set of little hoydens as one would wish to
see.
"So, these are the model children, are they? It's lucky I didn't bring Mrs. Curtis out
to see your school for the cultivation of morals and manners; she would never have recovered
from the shock of this spectacle," said Mr. Laurie, laughing at Mrs. Jo's premature rejoicing
over Nan's improvement.
"Laugh away; I'll succeed yet. As you used to say at College, quoting some professor,
'Though the experiment has failed, the principle remains the same,' " said Mrs. Bhaer, joining
in the merriment.
"I'm afraid Nan's example is taking effect upon Daisy, instead of the other way. Look
at my little princess! she has utterly forgotten her dignity, and is screaming like the rest.
Young ladies, what does this mean?" and Mr. Laurie rescued his small daughter from impending
destruction, for the four horses were champing their
bits and curvetting madly all about her, as she sat brandishing a great whip in both hands.
"We're having a race, and I beat," shouted Nan.
"I could have run faster, only I was afraid of spilling Bess," screamed Daisy.
"Hi! go long!" cried the princess, giving such a flourish with her whip that the horses
ran away, and were seen no more.
"My precious child! come away from this ill-mannered crew
before you are quite spoilt. Good-by, Jo! Next time I come, I shall expect to find the
boys making patchwork."
"It wouldn't hurt them a bit. I don't give in, mind you; for my experiments always fail
a few times before they succeed. Love to Amy and my blessed Marmee," called Mrs. Jo, as
the carriage drove away; and the last Mr. Laurie saw of her, she was consoling Daisy
for her failure by a ride in the wheelbarrow, and looking as
if she liked it.
Great was the excitement all the week about the repairs in the carriage-house, which went
briskly on in spite of the incessant questions, advice, and meddling of the boys. Old Gibbs
was nearly driven wild with it all, but managed to do his work nevertheless;
and by Friday night the place was all in order roof mended, shelves up, walls whitewashed,
a great window cut at the back, which let in a flood of sunshine, and gave them a fine
view of the brook, the meadows, and the distant hills; and over the
great door, painted in red letters, was "The Laurence Museum."
All Saturday morning the boys were planning how it should be furnished with their spoils,
and when Mr. Laurie arrived, bringing an aquarium which Mrs. Amy said she was tired of, their
rapture was great.
The afternoon was spent in arranging things, and when the running and lugging and hammering
was over, the ladies were invited to behold the institution.
It certainly was a pleasant place, airy, clean, and bright. A
hop-vine shook its green bells round the open window, the pretty aquarium stood in the middle
of the room, with some delicate water plants rising above the water, and gold-fish
showing their brightness as they floated to and fro below.
On either side of the window were rows of shelves ready to receive the curiosities yet
to be found. Dan's tall cabinet stood before
the great door which was fastened up, while the small door was to be used. On the cabinet
stood a *** Indian idol, very ugly, but very interesting; old Mr. Laurence sent it,
as well as a fine Chinese junk in full sail, which
had a conspicuous place on the long table in the middle of the room. Above, swinging
in a loop, and looking as if she was alive, hung Polly, who died at an advanced age, had
been carefully stuffed, and was no presented by Mrs. Jo. The walls were
decorated with all sorts of things. A snake's skin, a big wasp's nest, a birch-bark canoe,
a string of birds' eggs, wreaths of gray moss from the South, and a bunch of cotton-pods.
The dead bats had a place, also a large turtle-shell, and an ostrich-egg proudly
presented by Demi, who volunteered to explain these rare curiosities to guests whenever
they liked. There were so many
stones that it was impossible to accept them all, so only a few of the best were arranged
among the shells on the shelves, the rest were piled up in corners, to be examined by
Dan at his leisure.
Every one was eager to give something, even Silas, who sent home for a stuffed wild-cat
killed in his youth. It was rather moth-eaten and shabby, but on a high bracket and best
side foremost the effect was fine, for the yellow glass eyes glared,
and the mouth snarled so naturally, that Teddy shook in his little shoes at sight of it,
when he came bringing his most cherished treasure,
one cocoon, to lay upon the shrine of science.
"Isn't it beautiful? I'd no idea we had so many curious things. I gave that; don't it
look well? We might make a lot by charging something for letting folks see it."
Jack added that last suggestion to the general chatter that went on as the family viewed
the room.
"This is a free museum and if there is any speculating on it I'll paint out the name
over the door," said Mr. Laurie, turning so quickly that Jack wished he had held his tongue.
"Hear! hear!" cried Mr. Bhaer. "Speech! speech!" added Mrs. Jo.
"Can't, I'm too bashful. You give them a lecture yourself you are used to it," Mr. Laurie answered,
retreating towards the window, meaning to escape. But she held him fast, and said, laughing
as she looked at the dozen pairs of dirty hands about her,
"If I did lecture, it would on the chemical and cleansing properties of soap. Come now,
as the founder of the institution, you really ought to give us a few moral remarks, and
we will applaud tremendously."
Seeing that there was no way of escaping, Mr. Laurie looked up at Polly hanging overhead,
seemed to find inspiration in the brilliant old bird, and sitting down upon the table,
said, in his pleasant way,
"There is one thing I'd like to suggest, boys, and that is, I want you to get some good as
well as much pleasure out of this. Just putting curious or pretty things here won't do it;
so suppose you read up about them, so that when anybody asks questions you can answer
them, and understand the matter. I used to like these things myself, and should enjoy
hearing about them now, for I've forgotten all I once knew. It wasn't much, was it, Jo?
Here's Dan now, full of stories about birds, and bugs, and so on; let him take care of
the museum, and once a week the rest of you take turns to read a composition, or tell
about some animal, mineral, or vegetable. We should all like that, and I think it would
put considerable useful knowledge into our heads. What do you say, Professor?"
"I like it much, and will give the lads all the help I can. But they will need books to
read up these new subjects, and we have not many, I fear," began Mr. Bhaer, looking much
pleased, planning
many fine lectures on geology, which he liked. "We should have a library for the special
purpose."
"Is that a useful sort of book, Dan?" asked Mr. Laurie, pointing to the volume that lay
open by the cabinet.
"Oh, yes! it tells all I want to know about insects. I had it here to see how to fix the
butterflies right. I covered it, so it is not hurt;" and Dan caught it up, fearing the
lender might think him careless.
"Give it here a minute;" and, pulling out his pencil, Mr. Laurie
wrote Dan's name in it, saying, as he set the book up on one of the corner shelves,
where nothing stood but a stuffed bird without a
tail, "There, that is the beginning of the museum library. I'll hunt up some more books,
and Demi shall keep them in order. Where are those jolly little books we used to read,
Jo? 'Insect Architecture' or some such name, all about ants having battles, and bees having
queens, and crickets eating holes in our clothes and stealing milk, and larks of that sort."
"In the garret at home. I'll have them sent out, and we will plunge into Natural History
with a will," said Mrs. Jo, ready for any thing.
"Won't it be hard to write about such things?" asked Nat, who hated compositions.
"At first, perhaps; but you will soon like it. If you think that hard, how would you
like to have this subject given to you, as it was to a girl of thirteen: A conversation
between Themistocles, Aristides, and Pericles on the proposed appropriation of funds of
the confederacy of Delos for the ornamentation of Athens?" said Mrs. Jo.
The boys groaned at the mere sound of the long names, and the gentlemen laughed at the
absurdity of the lesson.
"Did she write it?" asked Demi, in an awe-stricken tone.
"Yes, but you can imagine what a piece of work she make of it, though she was rather
a bright child."
"I'd like to have seen it," said Mr. Bhaer.
"Perhaps I can find it for you; I went to school with her," and Mrs. Jo looked so wicked
that every one knew who the little girl was.
Hearing of this fearful subject for a composition quite reconciled the boys to the thought of
writing about familiar things. Wednesday afternoon was appointed for the lectures, as they preferred
to call them, for some chose to talk instead of write. Mr. Bhaer promised a portfolio in
which the written productions should be kept, and Mrs. Bhaer said she would
attend the course with great pleasure.
Then the dirty-handed society went off the wash, followed by the Professor, trying to
calm the anxiety of Rob, who had been told by Tommy that all water was full of invisible
pollywogs.
"I like your plan very much, only don't be too generous, Teddy," said Mrs. Bhaer, when
they were left alone. "You know most of the boys have got to paddle their own canoes
when they leave us, and too much sitting in the lap of luxury will unfit them for it."
"I'll be moderate, but do let me amuse myself. I get desperately tired of business sometimes,
and nothing freshens me up like a good frolic with your boys. I like that Dan very much,
Jo. He isn't demonstrative; but he has the eye of a hawk, and when you have tamed him
a little he will do you credit."
"I'm so glad you think so. Thank you very much for your kindness to him, especially
for this museum affair; it will keep him happy while he is lame, give me a chance to soften
and smooth this poor, rough lad, and make him love us. What did inspire you with such
a beautiful, helpful idea, Teddy?" asked Mrs. Bhaer, glancing back
at the pleasant room, as she turned to leave it.
Laurie took both her hands in his, and answered, with a look that made her eyes fill with happy
tears,
"Dear Jo! I have known what it is to be a motherless boy, and I never can forget how
much you and yours have done
for
me all these years."
CHAPTER XII HUCKLEBERRIES
There was a great clashing of tin pails, much running to and fro, and frequent demands for
something to eat, one August afternoon, for the boys were going huckleberrying, and made
as much stir about it as if they were setting out to find the North West Passage.
"Now, my lads, get off as quietly as you can, for Rob is safely out
of the way, and won't see you," said Mrs. Bhaer, as she tied Daisy's broad-brimmed hat,
and settled the great blue pinafore in which she had enveloped Nan.
But the plan did not succeed, for Rob had heard the bustle, decided to go, and prepared
himself, without a thought of disappointment. The troop was just getting under way when
the little man came marching downstairs with his best hat on, a bright tin pail in his
hand, and a face beaming with satisfaction.
"Oh, dear! now we shall have a scene," sighed Mrs. Bhaer, who found her eldest son very
hard to manage at times.
"I'm all ready," said Rob, and took his place in the ranks with such perfect unconsciousness
of his mistake, that it really was very hard to undeceive him.
"It's too far for you, my love; stay and take care of me, for I shall be all alone," began
his mother.
"You've got Teddy. I'm a big boy, so I can go; you said I might when I was bigger, and
I am now," persisted Rob, with a cloud beginning to dim the brightness of his happy face.
"We are going up to the great pasture, and it's ever so far; we don't want you tagging
on," cried Jack, who did not admire the little boys.
"I won't tag, I'll run and keep up. O Mamma! let me go! I want to fill my new pail, and
I'll bring 'em all to you. Please, please, I will be good!" prayed Robby, looking up
at his mother, so grieved and disappointed that her heart began to fail her.
"But, my deary, you'll get so tired and hot you won't have a good time. Wait till I go,
and then we will stay all day, and pick as many berries as you want."
"You never do go, you are so busy, and I'm tired of waiting. I'd rather go and get the
berries for you all myself. I love to pick 'em, and I want to fill my new pail dreffly,"
sobbed Rob.
The pathetic sight of great tears tinkling into the dear new pail, and threatening to
fill it with salt water instead of huckleberries, touched all the ladies present. His mother
patted the weeper on his back; Daisy offered to stay home with him; and Nan said, in her
decided way,
"Let him come; I'll take care of him."
"If Franz was going I wouldn't mind, for he is very careful; but he is haying with the
father, and I'm not sure about the rest of you," began Mrs. Bhaer.
"It's so far," put in Jack. "I'd carry him if I was going wish I was,"
said Dan, with a sigh. "Thank you, dear, but you must take care of your foot. I wish I
could go. Stop a minute, I think I can manage it after all;" and Mrs. Bhaer ran out to the
steps, waving her apron wildly.
Silas was just driving away in the hay-cart, but turned back, and agreed at once, when
Mrs. Jo proposed that he should take the whole party to the pasture, and go for them at five
o'clock.
"It will delay your work a little, but never mind; we will pay you in huckleberry pies,"
said Mrs. Jo, knowing Silas's weak point.
His rough, brown face brightened up, and he said, with a cheery "Haw! haw!" "Wal now,
Mis' Bhaer, if you go to bribin' of me, I shall give in right away."
"Now, boys, I have arranged it so that you can all go," said Mrs. Bhaer, running back
again, much relieved, for she loved to make them happy, and always felt miserable when
she had disturbed the serenity of her little sons; for she believed that the small hopes
and plans and pleasures of children should be tenderly respected by grown-up people,
and never rudely thwarted or ridiculed.
"Can I go?" said Dan, delighted.
"I thought especially of you. Be careful, and never mind the berries, but sit about
and enjoy the lovely things which you know how to find all about you," answered Mrs.
Bhaer, who remembered his kind offer to her boy.
"Me too! me too!" sung Rob, dancing with joy, and clapping his precious pail and cover like
castanets.
"Yes, and Daisy and Nan must take good care of you. Be at the bars at five o'clock, and
Silas will come for you all."
Robby cast himself upon his mother in a burst of gratitude, promising to bring her every
berry he picked, and not eat one. Then they were all packed into the hay-cart, and went
rattling away, the brightest face among the dozen being
that of Rob, as he sat between his two temporary little mothers, beaming upon the whole world,
and waving his best hat; for his indulgent mamma
had not the heart to bereave him of it, since this was a gala-day to him.
Such a happy afternoon as they had, in spite of the mishaps which usually occur on such
expeditions! Of course Tommy came to grief, tumbled upon a hornet's nest and got
stung; but being used to woe, he bore the smart manfully, till Dan suggested the application
of damp earth, which much assuaged the pain. Daisy saw a snake, and flying from it lost
half her berries; but Demi helped her to fill up again, and discussed reptiles most learnedly
the while. Ned fell out of a tree, and split his jacket down the back, but suffered no
other fracture. Emil and Jack established rival claims to a certain thick patch, and
while they were squabbling about it, Stuffy quickly and quietly stripped the bushes and
fled to the protection of Dan, who was enjoying himself immensely. The crutch was no
longer necessary, and he was delighted to see how strong his foot felt as he roamed
about the great pasture, full of interesting rocks
and stumps, with familiar little creatures in the grass, and well-known insects dancing
in the air.
But of all the adventures that happened on this afternoon that which befell Nan and Rob
was the most exciting, and it long remained one of the favorite histories of the household.
Having explored the country pretty generally, torn three rents in her frock, and scratched
her face in a barberry-bush, Nan began to pick the berries that shone like big, black
beads on the low, green bushes. Her nimble fingers flew, but still her basket did not
fill up as rapidly as she desired, so she kept wandering
here and there to search for better places, instead of picking contentedly and steadily
as Daisy did. Rob followed Nan, for her energy suited him better than his cousin's patience,
and he too was anxious to have the biggest and best berries for Marmar.
"I keep putting 'em in, but it don't fill up, and I'm so tired," said Rob, pausing a
moment to rest his short legs, and beginning to think huckleberrying was not all his fancy
painted it; for the sun blazed, Nan skipped hither and thither like a grasshopper, and
the berries fell out of his pail almost as fast
as he put them in, because, in his struggles with the bushes, it was often upside-down.
"Last time we came they were ever so much thicker over that wall great bouncers; and
there is a cave there where the boys made a fire. Let's go and fill our things quick,
and then hide in the cave and let the others find us," proposed Nan,
thirsting for adventures.
Rob consented, and away they went, scrambling over the wall and running down the sloping
fields on the other side, till they were hidden among the rocks and underbrush. The berries
were thick, and at last the pails were actually full. It was shady and cool down there, and
a little spring gave the thirsty children a refreshing drink out of its mossy cup.
"Now we will go and rest in the cave, and eat our lunch," said Nan, well satisfied with
her success so far.
"Do you know the way?" asked Rob.
"'Course I do; I've been once, and I always remember. Didn't I go and get my box all right?"
That convinced Rob, and he followed blindly as Nan led him over stock and stone, and brought
him, after much meandering, to a small recess in the rock, where the blackened stones showed
that fires had been made.
"Now, isn't it nice?" asked Nan, as she took out a bit of
bread-and-butter, rather damaged by being mixed up with nails, fishhooks, stones and
other foreign substances, in the young lady's pocket.
"Yes; do you think they will find us soon?" asked Rob, who found the shadowy glen rather
dull, and began to long for more society.
"No, I don't; because if I hear them, I shall hide, and have fun making them find me."
"P'raps they won't come."
"Don't care; I can get home myself."
"Is it a great way?" asked Rob, looking at his little stubby boots, scratched and wet
with his long wandering.
"It's six miles, I guess." Nan's ideas of distance were vague, and her faith in her
own powers great.
"I think we better go now," suggested Rob, presently.
"I shan't till I have picked over my berries;" and Nan began what seemed to Rob an endless
task.
"Oh, dear! you said you'd take good care of me," he sighed, as the sun seemed to drop
behind the hill all of a sudden.
"Well I am taking good care of you as hard as I can. Don't be cross, child; I'll go in
a minute," said Nan, who considered five-year-old
Robby a mere infant compared to herself.
So little Rob sat looking anxiously about him, and waiting patiently, for, spite of
some misgivings, he felt great confidence in Nan.
"I guess it's going to be night pretty soon," he observed, as if to himself, as a mosquito
bit him, and the frogs in a neighboring marsh began to pipe up for the evening concert.
"My goodness me! so it is. Come right away this minute, or they will be gone," cried
Nan, looking up from her work, and suddenly perceiving that the sun was down.
"I heard a horn about an hour ago; may be they were blowing for us," said Rob, trudging
after his guide as she scrambled up the steep hill.
"Where was it?" asked Nan, stopping short.
"Over that way;" he pointed with a dirty little finger in an entirely wrong direction.
"Let's go that way and meet them;" and Nan wheeled about, and began to trot through the
bushes, feeling a trifle anxious, for there were so many cow-paths all about she could
not remember which way they came.
On they went over stock and stone again, pausing now and then to listen for the horn, which
did not blow any more, for it was only the moo of a cow on her way home.
"I don't remember seeing that pile of stones do you?" asked Nan, as she sat on a wall to
rest a moment and take an observation.
"I don't remember any thing, but I want to go home," and Rob's voice had a little tremble
in it that made Nan put her arms round him and lift him gently down, saying, in her most
capable way,
"I'm going just as fast as I can, dear. Don't cry, and when we come to the road, I'll carry
you." "Where is the road?" and Robby wiped his eyes
to look for it. "Over by that big tree. Don't you know that's the one Ned tumbled
out of?"
"So it is. May be they waited for us; I'd like to ride home wouldn't you?" and Robby
brightened up as he plodded along toward the end of the great pasture.
"No, I'd rather walk," answered Nan, feeling quite sure that she would be obliged to do
so, and preparing her mind for it.
Another long trudge through the fast-deepening twilight and
another disappointment, for when they reached the tree, they found to their dismay that
it was not the one Ned climbed, and no road
anywhere appeared.
"Are we lost?" quavered Rob, clasping his pail in despair.
"Not much. I don't just see which way to go, and I guess we'd better call."
So they both shouted till they were hoarse, yet nothing answered but the frogs in full
chorus.
"There is another tall tree over there, perhaps that's the one," said
Nan, whose heart sunk within her, though she still spoke bravely.
"I don't think I can go any more; my boots are so heavy I can't pull
'em;" and Robby sat down on a stone quite worn out.
"Then we must stay here all night. I don't care much, if snakes don't come."
"I'm frightened of snakes. I can't stay all night. Oh, dear! I don't like to be lost,"
and Rob puckered up his face to cry, when suddenly a thought occurred to him, and he
said, in a tone of perfect confidence,
"Marmar will come and find me she always does; I ain't afraid now."
"She won't know where we are."
"She didn't know I was shut up in the ice-house, but she found me. I know she'll come," returned
Robby, so trustfully, that Nan felt relieved, and sat down by him, saying, with a remorseful
sigh,
"I wish we hadn't run away."
"You made me; but I don't mind much Marmar will love me just the same," answered Rob,
clinging to his sheet-anchor when all other hope was gone.
"I'm so hungry. Let's eat our berries," proposed Nan, after a pause, during which Rob began
to nod.
"So am I, but I can't eat mine, 'cause I told Marmar I'd keep them all for her."
"You'll have to eat them if no one comes for us," said Nan, who
felt like contradicting every thing just then. "If we stay here a great many days, we shall
eat up all the berries in the field, and then we
shall starve," she added grimly.
"I shall eat sassafras. I know a big tree of it, and Dan told me how squirrels dig up
the roots and eat them, and I love to dig," returned Rob, undaunted by the prospect of
starvation.
"Yes; and we can catch frogs, and cook them. My father ate some once, and he said they
were nice," put in Nan, beginning to find a spice of romance even in being lost in a
huckleberry pasture.
"How could we cook frogs? we haven't got any fire."
"I don't know; next time I'll have matches in my pocket," said Nan, rather depressed
by this obstacle to the experiment in frog-cookery.
"Couldn't we light a fire with a fire-fly?" asked Rob, hopefully, as he watched them flitting
to and fro like winged sparks.
"Let's try;" and several minutes were pleasantly spent in catching the flies, and trying to
make them kindle a green twig or two. "It's a lie to call them fire -flies when there
isn't a fire in them," Nan said, throwing one unhappy insect away with scorn, though
it shone its best, and obligingly walked up and down the twigs to please the innocent
little experimenters.
"Marmar's a good while coming," said Rob, after another pause, during which they watched
the stars overhead, smelt the sweet fern crushed under foot, and listened to the crickets'
serenade.
"I don't see why God made any night; day is so much pleasanter," said Nan, thoughtfully.
"It's to sleep in," answered Rob, with a yawn. "Then do go to sleep," said Nan, pettishly.
"I want my own bed. Oh, I wish I could see Teddy!" cried Rob, painfully reminded of home
by the soft chirp of birds safe in their little nests.
"I don't believe your mother will ever find us," said Nan, who was becoming desperate,
for she hated patient waiting of any sort. "It's so dark she won't see us."
"It was all black in the ice-house, and I was so scared I didn't call her, but she saw
me; and she will see me now, no matter how dark it is," returned confiding Rob, standing
up to peer into the gloom for the help which never failed him.
"I see her! I see her!" he cried, and ran as fast as his tired legs would take him toward
a dark figure slowly approaching. Suddenly he stopped, then turned about, and
came stumbling back, screaming in a great panic,
"No, it's a bear, a big black one!" and hid his face in Nan's skirts. For a moment Nan
quailed; ever her courage gave out at the thought of a real bear, and she was about
to turn and flee in great disorder, when a mild "Moo!" changed her fear
to merriment, as she said, laughing, "It's a cow, Robby! the nice, black cow we
saw this afternoon." The cow seemed to feel that it was not just the thing to meet two
little people in her pasture after dark, and the amiable beast paused
to inquire into the case. She let them stroke her, and stood regarding them with her soft
eyes so mildly, that Nan, who feared no animal but a bear, was fired with a desire to milk
her.
"Silas taught me how; and berries and milk would be so nice," she said, emptying the
contents of her pail into her hat, and boldly beginning her new task, while Rob stood by
and repeated, at her command, the poem from Mother Goose:
"Cushy cow, bonny, let down your milk, Let down your milk to me,
And I will give you a gown of silk, A gown of silk and a silver tee."
But the immortal rhyme had little effect, for the benevolent cow
had already been milked, and had only half a gill to give the thirsty children.
"Shoo! get away! you are an old cross patch," cried Nan, ungratefully, as she gave up the
attempt in despair; and poor Molly walked on with a gentle gurgle of surprise and reproof.
"Each can have a sip, and then we must take a walk. We shall go to sleep if we don't;
and lost people mustn't sleep. Don't you know how Hannah Lee in the pretty story slept under
the snow and died?"
"But there isn't any snow now, and it's nice and warm," said Rob, who was not blessed with
as lively a fancy as Nan.
"No matter, we will poke about a little, and call some more; and then, if nobody comes,
we will hide under the bushes, like Hop-'o-my-thumb and his brothers."
It was a very short walk, however, for Rob was so sleepy he could not get on, and tumbled
down so often that Nan entirely lost patience, being half distracted by the responsibility
she had taken upon herself.
"If you tumble down again, I'll shake you," she said, lifting the poor little man up very
kindly as she spoke, for Nan's bark was much worse than her bite.
"Please don't. It's my boots they keep slipping so;" and Rob manfully checked the sob just
ready to break out, adding, with a plaintive patience that touched Nan's heart, "If the
skeeters didn't bite me so, I could go to sleep till Marmar comes."
"Put your head on my lap, and I'll cover you up with my apron; I'm not afraid of the night,"
said Nan, sitting down and trying to persuade herself that she did not mind the shadow nor
the mysterious rustlings all about her.
"Wake me up when she comes," said rob, and was fast asleep in
five minutes with his head in Nan's lap under the pinafore.
The little girl sat for some fifteen minutes, staring about her with anxious eyes, and feeling
as if each second was an hour. Then a pale light began to glimmer over the hill-top and
she said to herself
"I guess the night is over and morning is coming. I'd like to see the sun rise, so I'll
watch, and when it comes up we can find our way right home."
But before the moon's round face peeped above the hill to destroy her hope, Nan had fallen
asleep, leaning back in a little bower of tall ferns, and was deep in a mid-summer night's
dream of fire-flies and blue aprons, mountains of huckleberries, and Robby wiping away the
tears of a black cow, who sobbed, "I want to go home! I want to go home!"
While the children were sleeping, peacefully lulled by the drowsy hum of many neighborly
mosquitoes, the family at home were in a great state of agitation. The hay-cart came at five,
and all but Jack, Emil, Nan, and Rob were at the bars ready for it. Franz drove instead
of Silas, and when the boys told him that the others were going home through the wood,
he said, looking ill-pleased, "They ought to have left Rob to ride, he will be tired
out by the long walk."
"It's shorter that way, and they will carry him," said Stuffy, who was in a hurry for
his supper.
"You are sure Nan and Rob went with them?"
"Of course they did; I saw them getting over the wall, and sung out that it was most five,
and Jack called back that they were going the other way," explained Tommy.
"Very well, pile in then," and away rattled the hay-cart with the tired children and the
full pails.
Mrs. Jo looked sober when she heard of the division of the party, and sent Franz back
with Toby to find and bring the little ones home. Supper was over, and the family sitting
about in the cool hall as usual, when Franz came trotting back, hot, dusty, and anxious.
"Have they come?" he called out when half-way up the avenue. "No!" and Mrs. Jo flew out
of her chair looking so alarmed that every one jumped up and gathered round Franz.
"I can't find them anywhere," he began; but the words were hardly spoken when a loud "Hullo!"
startled them all, and the next minute Jack and Emil came round the house.
"Where are Nan and Rob?" cried Mrs. Jo, clutching Emil in a way that caused him to think his
aunt had suddenly lost her wits.
"I don't know. They came home with the others, didn't they?" he
answered, quickly.
"No; George and Tommy said they went with you."
"Well, they didn't. Haven't seen them. We took a swim in the pond, and came by the wood,"
said Jack, looking alarmed, as well he might.
"Call Mr. Bhaer, get the lanterns, and tell Silas I want him."
That was all Mrs. Jo said, but they knew what she meant, and flew to obey her orders. In
ten minutes, Mr. Bhaer and Silas were off to the wood, and Franz tearing down the road
on old Andy to search the great pasture. Mrs. Jo caught up some food from the table, a little
bottle of brandy from the medicine-closet, took a lantern, and bidding Jack and Emil
come with her, and the rest not stir, she trotted away on Toby, never stopping for hat
or shawl. She heard some one running after her, but said not a word till, as she paused
to call and listen, the light of her lantern shone on Dan's face.
"You here! I told Jack to come," she said, half-inclined to send him back, much as she
needed help.
"I wouldn't let him; he and Emil hadn't had any supper, and I wanted to come more than
they did," he said, taking the lantern from her and smiling up in her face with the steady
look in his eyes that made her feel as if, boy though he was, she had some one to depend
on.
Off she jumped, and ordered him on to Toby, in spite of his pleading to walk; then they
went on again along the dusty, solitary road, stopping every now and then to call and hearken
breathlessly for little voices to reply.
When they came to the great pasture, other lights were already flitting to and fro like
will-o'-the-wisps, and Mr. Bhaer's voice was heard shouting, "Nan! Rob! Rob! Nan!" in every
part of the field. Silas whistled and roared, Dan plunged here and there on Toby, who seemed
to understand the case, and went over the roughest places with unusual docility. Often
Mrs. Jo hushed them all, saying, with a sob in her throat, "The noise may frighten them,
let me call; Robby will know my voice;" and then she would cry out the beloved little
name in every tone of tenderness, till the very echoes whispered it softly, and the winds
seemed to waft it willingly; but still no answer came.
The sky was overcast now, and only brief glimpses of the moon were seen, heat-lightening darted
out of the dark clouds now and then, and a faint far-off rumble as of thunder told that
a summer-storm was brewing.
"O my Robby! my Robby!" mourned poor Mrs. Jo, wandering up and down like a pale ghost,
while Dan kept beside her like a faithful fire-fly. "What shall I say to Nan's father
if she comes to harm? Why did I ever trust my darling so far away? Fritz, do you
hear any thing?" and when a mournful, "No" came back, she wrung her hands so despairingly
that Dan sprung down from Toby's back,
tied the bridle to the bars, and said, in his decided way, "They may have gone down
the spring I'm going to look." He was over the wall and away so fast that
she could hardly follow him; but when she reached the spot, he lowered the lantern and
showed her with joy the marks of little feet in the soft ground
about the spring. She fell down on her knees to examine the tracks, and then sprung up,
saying eagerly,
"Yes; that is the mark of my Robby's little boots! Come this way, they must have gone
on."
Such a weary search! But now some inexplicable instinct seemed to lead the anxious mother,
for presently Dan uttered a cry, and caught up a little shining object lying in the path.
It was the cover of the new tin pail, dropped in the first alarm of being lost. Mrs. Jo
hugged and kissed it as if it were a living thing; and when Dan was about to utter a glad
shout to bring the others to the spot, she stopped him, saying, as she hurried on, "No,
let me find them; I let Rob go, and I want to give him back to his father all myself."
A little farther on Nan's hat appeared, and after passing the place more than once, they
came at last upon the babes in the wood, both sound asleep. Dan never forgot the little
picture on which the light of his lantern shone that night. He thought
Mrs. Jo would cry out, but she only whispered, "Hush!" as she softly lifted away the apron,
and saw the little ruddy face below. The berry-stained lips were half-open as the breath came and
went, the yellow hair lay damp on the hot forehead, and both the chubby
hands held fast the little pail still full.
The sight of the childish harvest, treasured through all the troubles of that night for
her, seemed to touch Mrs. Jo to the heart, for suddenly she gathered up her boy, and
began to cry over him, so tenderly, yet so heartily, that he woke up, and at first seemed
bewildered. Then he remembered, and hugged her close, saying with a laugh of triumph,
"I knew you'd come! O Marmar! I did want you so!" For a moment they kissed and clung to
one another, quite forgetting all the world; for no matter how lost and soiled and worn-out
wandering sons may be, mothers can forgive and forget every thing as they fold them in
their fostering arms. Happy the son whose faith in his mother remains unchanged, and
who, through all his wanderings, has kept some filial token to repay her brave and tender
love.
Dan meantime picked Nan out of her bush, and, with a gentleness none but Teddy ever saw
in him before, he soothed her first alarm at the sudden waking, and wiped away her tears;
for Nan also began to cry for joy, it was so good to see a kind face and feel a strong
arm round her after what seemed to her ages of loneliness and fear.
"My poor little girl, don't cry! You are all safe now, and no one shall say a word of blame
to-night," said Mrs. Jo, taking Nan into her capacious embrace, and cuddling both children
as a hen might
gather her lost chickens under her motherly wings.
"It was my fault; but I am sorry. I tried to take care of him, and I covered him up
and let him sleep, and didn't touch his berries, though I was so hungry; and I never will do
it again truly, never, never," sobbed Nan, quite lost in a sea of penitence and thankfulness.
"Call them now, and let us get home," said Mrs. Jo; and Dan, getting upon the wall, sent
a joyful word "Found!" ringing over the field.
How the wandering lights came dancing from all sides, and gathered round the little group
among the sweet fern bushes! Such a hugging, and kissing, and talking, and crying, as went
on must have amazed the glowworms, and evidently delighted the mosquitoes, for they hummed
frantically, while the little moths came in flocks to the party, and the frogs
croaked as if they could not express their satisfaction loudly enough.
Then they set out for home, a *** party, for Franz rode on to tell the news; Dan and
Toby led the way; then came Nan in the strong arms of Silas, who considered her "the smartest
little baggage he ever saw," and teased her all the way home about her pranks. Mrs. Bhaer
would let no one carry Rob but himself, and the little fellow, refreshed by sleep, sat
up, and chattered gayly, feeling himself a hero, while his mother went beside him holding
on to any pat of his precious little body that came handy,
and never tired of hearing him say, "I knew Marmar would come," or seeing him lean down
to kiss her, and put a plump berry into her mouth, "'Cause he picked 'em all for her."
The moon shone out just as they reached the avenue, and all the boys came shouting to
meet them, so the lost lambs were borne in triumph and safety, and landed in the dining-room,
where the unromantic little things demanded supper instead of preferring kisses and caresses.
They were set down to bread and milk, while the entire household stood round to gaze upon
them. Nan soon recovered her spirits, and recounted her perils with a relish now that
they were all over. Rob seemed absorbed in his food, but put down his spoon all of a
sudden, and set up a doleful roar.
"My precious, why do you cry?" asked his mother, who still hung over him.
"I'm crying 'cause I was lost," bawled Rob, trying to squeeze out a tear, and failing
entirely.
"But you are found now. Nan says you didn't cry out in the field, and I was glad you were
such a brave boy."
"I was so busy being frightened I didn't have any time then. But I want to cry now, 'cause
I don't like to be lost," explained Rob, struggling with sleep, emotion, and a mouthful of bread
and milk.
The boys set up such a laugh at this funny way of making up for lost time, that Rob stopped
to look at them, and the merriment was
so infectious, that after a surprised stare he burst out into a merry, "Ha, ha!" and beat
his spoon upon the table as if he enjoyed the joke immensely.
"It is ten o'clock; into bed, every man of you," said Mr. Bhaer, looking at his watch.
"And, thank Heaven! there will be no empty ones to-night," added Mrs. Bhaer, watching,
with full eyes, Robby going up in his father's arms, and Nan escorted by Daisy and Demi,
who considered her the most interesting heroine of their collection.
"Poor Aunt Jo is so tired she ought to be carried up herself," said gentle Franz, putting
his arm round her as she paused at the stair-foot, looking quite exhausted by her
fright and long walk.
"Let's make an arm-chair," proposed Tommy.
"No, thank you, my lads; but somebody may lend me a shoulder to lean on," answered Mrs.
Jo.
"Me! me!" and half-a-dozen jostled one another, all eager to be chosen, for there was something
in the pale motherly face that touched the warm hearts under the round jackets.
Seeing that they considered it an honor, Mrs. Jo gave it to the one who had earned it, and
nobody grumbled when she put her arm on Dan's broad shoulder, saying, with a look that made
him color up with pride and pleasure,
"He found the children; so I think he must help me up."
Dan felt richly rewarded for his evening's work, not only that he
was chosen from all the rest to go proudly up bearing the lamp, but because Mrs. Jo said
heartily, "Good-night, my boy! God bless you!" as he left her at her door.
"I wish I was your boy," said Dan, who felt as if danger and trouble had somehow brought
him nearer than ever to her.
"You shall be my oldest son," and she sealed her promise with a kiss that made Dan hers
entirely.
Little Rob was all right next day, but Nan had a headache, and lay on Mother Bhaer's
sofa with cold-cream upon her scratched face. Her remorse was quite gone, and she evidently
thought being lost rather a fine amusement. Mrs. Jo was not pleased with this state of
things, and had no desire to have her children led from the paths of virtue, or her pupils
lying round loose in huckleberry fields. So she talked soberly to Nan, and tried to impress
upon her mind the difference between liberty and license, telling several tales to enforce
her lecture. She had not decided how to punish Nan, but one of these stories suggested a
way, and as Mrs. Jo liked odd penalties, she tried it.
"All children run away," pleaded Nan, as if it was as natural and necessary a thing as
measles or hooping cough.
"Not all, and some who do run away don't get found again," answered Mrs. Jo.
"Didn't you do it yourself?" asked Nan, whose keen little eyes saw some traces of a kindred
spirit in the serious lady who was sewing so morally before her.
Mrs. Jo laughed, and owned that she did.
"Tell about it," demanded Nan, feeling that she was getting the upper hand in the discussion.
Mrs. Jo saw that, and sobered down at once, saying, with a remorseful shake of the head,
"I did it a good many times, and led my poor mother rather a hard life with my pranks,
till she cured me."
"How?" and Nan sat up with a face full of interest.
"I had a new pair of shoes once, and wanted to show them; so, though I was told not to
leave the garden, I ran away and was wandering about all day. It was in the city, and why
I wasn't killed I don't know. Such a time as I had. I frolicked in the park with
dogs, sailed boats in the Back Bay with strange boys, dined with a little Irish beggar-girl
on salt fish and potatoes, and was found at last fast asleep on a door-step with my arms
round a great dog. It was late in the evening, and I was a dirty as a little pig, and the
new shoes were worn out I had travelled so far."
"How nice!" cried Nan, looking all ready to go and do it herself.
"It was not nice next day;" and Mrs. Jo tried to keep her eyes from betraying how much she
enjoyed the memory of her early capers.
"Did your mother whip you?" asked Nan, curiously.
"She never whipped me but once, and then she begged my pardon, or I don't think I ever
should have forgiven her, it hurt my feelings so much."
"Why did she beg your pardon? my father don't."
"Because, when she had done it, I turned round and said, 'Well, you are mad yourself, and
ought to be whipped as much as me.' She looked at me a minute, then her anger all died out,
and she said, as if ashamed, 'You are right, Jo, I am angry; and why should I punish you
for being in a passion when I set you such a bad example? Forgive me, dear, and let us
try to help one another in a better way.' I never forgot it, and it did me more good
than a dozen rods."
Nan sat thoughtfully turning the little cold-cream jar for a minute, and Mrs. Jo said nothing,
but let that idea get well into the busy little mind that was so quick to see and feel what
went on about her.
"I like that," said Nan, presently, and her face looked less elfish, with its sharp eyes,
inquisitive nose, and mischievous mouth. "What did your mother do to you when you ran away
that time?"
"She tied me to the bed-post with a long string, so that I could not go out of the room, and
there I stayed all day with the little worn-out shoes hanging up before me to remind
me of my fault."
"I should think that would cure anybody," cried Nan, who loved her liberty above all
things.
"It did cure me, and I think it will you, so I am going to try it," said Mrs. Jo, suddenly
taking a ball of strong twine out of a drawer in her work-table.
Nan looked as if she was decidedly getting the worst of the argument now, and sat feeling
much crestfallen while Mrs. Jo tied one end round her waist and the other to the arm of
the sofa, saying, as she finished,
"I don't like to tie you up like a naughty little dog, but if you don't remember any
better than a dog, I must treat you like one."
"I'd just as lief be tied up as not I like to play dog;" and Nan put on a don't-care
face, and began to growl and grovel on the floor.
Mrs. Jo took no notice, but leaving a book or two and a handkerchief to hem, she went
away, and left Miss Nan to her own devices. This was not agreeable, and after sitting
a moment she tried to untie the cord. But it was fastened in the belt of her apron behind,
so she began on the knot at the other end. It soon came loose, and, gathering it up,
Nan was about to get out of the window, when she heard Mrs. Jo say to somebody
as she passed through the hall,
"No, I don't think she will run away now; she is an honorable little girl, and knows
that I do it to help her."
In a minute, Nan whisked back, tied herself up, and began to sew violently. Rob came in
a moment after, and was so charmed with the new punishment, that he got a jump-rope and
tethered himself to the other arm of the sofa in the most social manner.
"I got lost too, so I ought to be tied up as much as Nan," he explained to his mother
when she saw the new captive.
"I'm not sure that you don't deserve a little punishment, for you knew it was wrong to go
far away from the rest."
"Nan took me," began Rob, willing to enjoy the novel penalty, but not willing to take
the blame.
"You needn't have gone. You have got a conscience, though you are a little boy, and you must
learn to mind it."
"Well, my conscience didn't prick me a bit when she said 'Let's get
over the wall,' " answered Rob, quoting one of Demi's expressions. "Did you stop to see
if it did?" "No."
"Then you cannot tell."
"I guess it's such a little conscience that it don't prick hard enough for me to feel
it," added Rob, after thinking the matter over for a minute.
"We must sharpen it up. It's bad to have a dull conscience; so you may stay here till
dinner-time, and talk about it with Nan. I trust
you both not to untie yourselves till I say the word."
"No, we won't," said both, feeling a certain sense of virtue in helping to punish themselves.
For an hour they were very good, then they grew tired of one room, and longed to get
out. Never had the hall seemed so inviting; even the little bedroom acquired a sudden
interest, and they would gladly have gone in and played tent with the
curtains of the best bed. The open windows drove them wild because they could not
reach them; and the outer world seemed so beautiful, they
wondered how they ever found the heart to say it was dull. Nan pined for a race round
the lawn, and Rob remembered with dismay that he had not fed his dog that morning,
and wondered what poor Pollux would do. They watched the clock, and
Nan did some nice calculations in minutes and seconds, while Rob learned to tell all
the hours between eight and one so well that he never forgot them.
It was maddening to smell the dinner, to know that there was to be succotash and huckleberry
pudding, and to feel that they would not be on the spot to secure good helps of both.
When Mary Ann began to set the table, they nearly cut themselves in two trying to
see what meat there was to be; and Nan offered to help her make the beds, if she would only
see that she had "lots of sauce on her pudding."
When the boys came bursting out of school, they found the children tugging at their halters
like a pair of restive little colts, and were much edified, as well as amused, by the sequel
to the exciting adventures of the night.
"Untie me now, Marmar; my conscience will prick like a pin next time, I know it will,"
said Rob, as the bell rang, and Teddy came to look at him with sorrowful surprise.
"We shall see," answered his mother, setting him free. He took a good run down the hall,
back through the dining-room, and brought up beside Nan, quite beaming with virtuous
satisfaction.
"I'll bring her dinner to her, may I?" he asked, pitying his fellow-captive.
"That's my kind little son! Yes, pull out the table, and get a chair;" and Mrs. Jo hurried
away to quell the ardor of the others, who
were always in a raging state of hunger at noon.
Nan ate alone, and spent a long afternoon attached to the sofa. Mrs. Bhaer lengthened
her bonds so that she could look out of the window; and there she stood watching the boys
play, and all the little summer creatures enjoying their liberty. Daisy had a picnic
for the dolls on the lawn, so that Nan might see the fun if she could not join in it. Tommy
turned his best somersaults to console her; Demi sat on the steps reading aloud to himself,
which amused Nan a good deal; and Dan brought a little tree-toad
to show her as the most delicate attention in his power.
But nothing atoned for the loss of freedom; and a few hours of confinement taught Nan
how precious it was. A good many thoughts went through the little head that lay on the
window-sill during the last quiet hour when all the children went to the brook
to see Emil's new ship launched. She was to have christened it, and had depended on smashing
a tiny bottle of currant-wine over the prow as it was named Josephine in honor of
Mrs. Bhaer. Now she had lost her chance, and Daisy wouldn't do
it half so well. Tears rose to her eyes as she remembered that it was all her own fault;
and she said aloud, addressing a fat bee who was rolling about in the yellow heart of a
rose just under the window,
"If you have run away, you'd better go right home, and tell your mother you are sorry,
and never do so any more."
"I am glad to hear you give him such good advice, and I think he has taken it," said
Mrs. Jo, smiling, as the bee spread his dusty wings and flew away.
Nan brushed off a bright drop or two that shone on the
window-sill, and nestled against her friend as she took her on her knee, adding kindly
for she had seen the little drops, and knew what they meant
"Do you think my mother's cure for running away a good one?" "Yes, ma'am," answered Nan,
quite subdued by her quiet day. "I hope I shall not have to try it again."
"I guess not;" and Nan looked up with such an earnest little face that Mrs. Jo felt satisfied,
and said no more, for she liked to have her penalties do their own work, and did not spoil
the effect by too much moralizing.
Here Rob appeared, bearing with infinite care what Asia called a
"sarcer pie," meaning one baked in a saucer.
"It's made out of some of my berries, and I'm going to give you half at supper-time,"
he announced with a flourish. "What makes you, when I'm so naughty?" asked
Nan, meekly. "Because we got lost together. You ain't going to be naughty again,
are you?"
"Never," said Nan, with great decision.
"Oh, goody! now let's go and get Mary Ann to cut this for us all ready to eat; it's
'most tea time;" and Rob beckoned with the delicious little pie.
Nan started to follow, then stopped, and said, "I forgot, I can't go."
"Try and see," said Mrs. Bhaer, who had quietly untied the cord sash while she had been talking.
Nan saw that she was free, and with one tempestuous kiss to Mrs. Jo, she was off like a humming-bird,
followed by Robby, dribbling huckleberry juice as he ran.
CHAPTER XIII GOLDILOCKS
After the last excitement peace descended upon Plumfield and reigned unbroken for several
weeks, for the elder boys felt that the loss of Nan and Rob lay at their door, and all
became so paternal in their care that they were rather wearying; while the little ones
listened to Nan's recital of her perils so many times, that they regarded being lost
as the greatest ill humanity was heir to, and hardly dared to put their little noses
outside the great gate lest night should suddenly descend upon them, and
ghostly black cows come looming through the dusk.
"It is too good to last," said Mrs. Jo; for years of boy-culture had taught her that such
lulls were usually followed by outbreaks of some sort, and when less wise women would
have thought that the boys had become confirmed saints, she prepared herself for a sudden
eruption of the domestic volcano.
One cause of this welcome calm was a visit from little Bess, whose parents lent her for
a week while they were away with Grandpa Laurence, who was poorly. The boys regarded Goldilocks
as a mixture of child, angel, and fairy, for she was a lovely little creature, and the
golden hair which she inherited from her blonde mamma enveloped her like a shining veil, behind
which she smiled upon her worshippers when gracious,
and hid herself when offended. Her father would not have it cut and it hung below her
waist, so soft and fine and bright, that Demi insisted that it was
silk spun from a cocoon. Every one praised the little Princess, but
it did not seem to do her harm, only to teach her that her presence brought sunshine, her
smiles made answering smiles on other faces, and her baby griefs filled every heart
with tenderest sympathy.
Unconsciously, she did her young subjects more good than many a real sovereign, for
her rule was very gentle and her power was felt rather than seen. Her natural refinement
made her dainty in all things, and had a good effect upon the careless lads about her. She
would let no one touch her roughly or with unclean hands, and
more soap was used during her visits than at any other time,
because the boys considered it the highest honor to be allowed to carry her highness,
and the deepest disgrace to be repulsed with the disdainful command, "Do away, dirty boy!"
Lour voices displeased her and quarrelling frightened her; so gentler tones came into
the boyish voices as they addressed her, and squabbles were promptly suppressed in her
presence by lookers-on if the principles could not restrain themselves. She liked to be waited
on, and the biggest boys did her little errands without a murmur, while the small lads were
her devoted slaves in all things. They begged to be allowed to draw her carriage, bear her
berry-basket, or pass her plate at table. No service was too humble, and Tommy and Ned
came to blows before they could decide which should have the honor of blacking her little
boots.
Nan was especially benefited by a week in the society of a
well-bred lady, though such a very small one; for Bess would look at her with a mixture
of wonder and alarm in her great blue eyes when the hoyden screamed and romped; and she
shrunk from her as if she thought her a sort of wild animal.
Warm-hearted Nan felt this very much. She said at first, "Pooh! I don't care!" But she
did care, and was so hurt when Bess said, "I love
my tuzzin best, tause she is twiet," that she shook poor Daisy till her teeth chattered
in her head, and then fled to the barn to cry
dismally. In that general refuge for perturbed spirits she found comfort and good counsel
from some source or other. Perhaps the swallows from their
mud-built nests overhead twittered her a little lecture on the beauty of gentleness. However
that might have been, she came out quite subdued, and carefully searched the orchard
for a certain kind of early apple that Bess liked because it was
sweet and small and rosy. Armed with this peace-offering, she approached the little
Princess, and humbly presented it. To her great joy it was graciously accepted, and
when Daisy gave Nan a forgiving kiss, Bess did likewise, as if she felt that she
had been too severe, and desired to apologize. After this they played pleasantly together,
and Nan enjoyed the royal favor for days. To be sure she felt a little like a wild bird
in a pretty cage at first, and occasionally had
to slip out to stretch her wings in a long flight, or to sing at the top of her voice,
where neither would disturb the plump turtle-dove Daisy, nor the dainty golden canary Bess.
But it did her good; for, seeing how every one loved the little Princess for her small
graces and virtues, she began to imitate her, because
Nan wanted much love, and tried hard to win it.
Not a boy in the house but felt the pretty child's influence, and was improved by it
without exactly knowing how or why, for babies can work miracles in the hearts that love
them. Poor Billy found infinite satisfaction in staring at her, and
though she did not like it she permitted without a frown, after she had been made to
understand that he was not quite like the others, and on that account must be more kindly
treated. *** and Dolly overwhelmed her with willow whistles, the
only thing they knew how to make, and she accepted but never used them. Rob served
her like a little lover, and Teddy followed her like a pet dog. Jack she did not like,
because he was afflicted with warts and had a
harsh voice. Stuffy displeased her because he did not eat tidily, and
George tried hard not to gobble, that he might not disgust the
dainty little lady opposite. Ned was banished from court in utter disgrace when he was discovered
tormenting some unhappy field-mice. Goldilocks could never forget the sad spectacle, and
retired behind her veil when he approached, waving him away with an imperious little hand,
and crying, in a tone of mingled grief and anger,
"No, I tarn't love him; he tut the poor mouses' little tails off, and they queeked!"
Daisy promptly abdicated when Bess came, and took the humble post of chief cook, while
Nan was first maid of honor; Emil was chancellor of the exchequer, and spent the public monies
lavishly in getting up spectacles that cost whole ninepences. Franz was prime minister,
and directed her affairs of state, planned royal
progresses through the kingdom, and kept foreign powers in order. Demi was her philosopher,
and fared much better than such gentlemen usually do among crowned heads. Dan was her
standing army, and defended her territories gallantly; Tommy was court
fool, and Nat a tuneful Rizzio to this innocent little Mary.
Uncle Fritz and Aunt Jo enjoyed this peaceful episode, and looked on at the pretty play
in which the young folk unconsciously imitated their elders, without adding the
tragedy that is so apt to spoil the dramas acted on the larger stage.
"They teach us quite as much as we teach them," said Mr. Bhaer. "Bless the dears! they never
guess how many hints they give us as to the best way of managing them," answered
Mrs. Jo.
"I think you were right about the good effect of having girls among the boys. Nan has stirred
up Daisy, and Bess is teaching the little bears how to behave better than we can. If
this reformation goes on as it has begun, I shall soon feel like Dr. Blimber with his
model young gentlemen," said Professor, laughing, as he saw Tommy not only remove his own hat,
but knock off Ned's also, as they entered the hall where the Princess was taking a ride
on the rocking-horse, attended by Rob and Teddy astride of chairs, and playing gallant
knights to the best of their ability.
"You will never be a Blimber, Fritz, you couldn't do it if you tried; and our boys will never
submit to the forcing process of that famous hot-bed. No fear that they will be too elegant:
American boys like liberty too well. But good manners they cannot fail to have, if we give
them the kindly spirit that shines through the simplest demeanor, making it courteous
and cordial, like yours, my dear old boy."
"Tut! tut! we will not compliment; for if I begin you will run away, and I have a wish
to enjoy this happy half hour to the end;" yet Mr. Bhaer looked pleased with the compliment,
for it was true, and Mrs. Jo felt that she had received the best her husband could give
her, by saying that he found his truest rest and happiness in her society.
"To return to the children: I have just had another proof of
Goldilocks' good influence," said Mrs. Jo, drawing her chair nearer the sofa, where the
Professor lay resting after a long day's work in his various gardens. "Nan hates sewing,
but for love of Bess has been toiling half the afternoon over a remarkable bag in which
to present a dozen of our love-apples to her idol when she goes. I praised her for it,
and she said, in her quick way, 'I like to sew for other people; it is stupid sewing
for myself.' I took the hint, and shall give her some little shirts and aprons for Mrs.
Carney's children. She is so generous, she will sew her fingers sore for them, and I
shall not have to make a task of it." "But needlework is not a fashionable accomplishment,
my dear." "Sorry for it. My girls shall learn all I can teach them about it, even
if they give up the Latin, Algebra, and half-a-dozen ologies it is considered necessary for girls
to muddle their poor brains over now-a-days. Amy means to make Bess an accomplished
woman, but the dear's mite of a forefinger has little
pricks on it already, and her mother has several specimens of needlework which she
values more than the clay bird without a bill, that filled Laurie with such pride when Bess
made it."
"I also have proof of the Princess's power," said Mrs. Bhaer, after he had watched Mrs.
Jo sew on a button with an air of scorn for the whole system of fashionable education.
"Jack is so unwilling to be classed with Stuffy and Ned, as distasteful
to Bess, that he came to me a little while ago, and asked me to touch his warts with
caustic. I have often proposed it, and he never would consent; but now he bore the smart
manfully, and consoles his present discomfort by hopes of future favor, when
he can show her fastidious ladyship a smooth hand."
Mrs. Bhaer laughed at the story, and just then Stuffy came in to ask if he might give
Goldilocks some of the bonbons his mother had
sent him.
"She is not allowed to eat sweeties; but if you like to give her the pretty box with the
pink sugar-rose in it, she would like it very much," said Mrs. Jo, unwilling to spoil this
unusual piece of self-denial, for the "fat boy" seldom offered
to share his sugar-plums.
"Won't she eat it? I shouldn't like to make her sick," said Stuffy, eyeing the delicate
sweetmeat lovingly, yet putting it into the box.
"Oh, no, she won't touch it, if I tell her it is to look at, not to eat. She will keep
it for weeks, and never think of tasting it. Can you do as much?"
"I should hope so! I'm ever so much older than she is," cried
Stuffy, indignantly.
"Well, suppose we try. Here, put your bonbons in this bag, and see how long you can keep
them. Let me count two hearts, four red fishes, three barley-sugar horses, nine almonds, and
a dozen chocolate drops. Do you agree to that?" asked sly Mrs. Jo, popping the sweeties into
her little spool-bag.
"Yes," said Stuffy, with a sigh; and pocketing the forbidden fruit,
he went away to give Bess the present, that won a smile from her, and permission to escort
her round the garden.
"Poor Stuffy's heart has really got the better of his stomach at last, and his efforts will
be much encouraged by the rewards Bess gives him," said Mrs. Jo.
"Happy is the man who can put temptation in his pocket and learn self-denial from so sweet
a little teacher!" added Mr. Bhaer, as the children passed the window, Stuffy's fat face
full of placid satisfaction, and Goldilocks surveying her sugar-rose with polite interest,
though she would have preferred a real flower with a
"pitty smell."
When her father came to take her home, a universal wail arose, and the parting gifts showered
upon her increased her luggage to such an extent that Mr. Laurie proposed having out
the big wagon to take it into town. Every one had given her something; and it was found
difficult to pack white mice, cake, a parcel of shells, apples,
a rabbit kicking violently in a bag, a large cabbage for his refreshment, a bottle of minnows,
and a mammoth bouquet. The farewell scene was moving, for the Princess sat upon the
hall-table, surrounded by her subjects. She kissed her cousins, and held out her hand
to the other boys, who shook it gently with various soft speeches, for they were taught
not to be ashamed of showing their emotions.
"Come again soon, little dear," whispered Dan, fastening his best green-and-gold beetle
in her hat.
"Don't forget me, Princess, whatever you do," said the engaging
Tommy, taking a last stroke of the pretty hair.
"I am coming to your house next week, and then I shall see you, Bess," added Nat, as
if he found consolation in the thought.
"Do shake hands now," cried Jack, offering a smooth paw.
"Here are two nice new ones to remember us by," said *** and Dolly, presenting fresh
whistles, quite unconscious that seven old ones had been privately deposited in the kitchen-stove.
"My little precious! I shall work you a book-mark right away, and you must keep it always,"
said Nan, with a warm embrace.
But of all the farewells, poor Billy's was the most pathetic, for the thought that she
was really going became so unbearable that he cast himself down before her, hugging her
little blue boots and blubbering despairingly, "Don't go away! oh, don't!" Goldilocks was
so touched by this burst of feeling, that she leaned over and lifting the poor lad's
head, said, in her soft, little voice,
"Don't cry, poor Billy! I will tiss you and tum adain soon."
This promise consoled Billy, and he fell back beaming with pride
at the unusual honor conferred upon him.
"Me too! me too!" clamored *** and Dolly, feeling that their devotion deserved some
return. The others looked as if they would like to join in the cry; and something in
the kind, merry faces about her moved the Princess to stretch out
her arms and say, with reckless condescension,
"I will tiss evvybody!"
Like a swarm of bees about a very sweet flower, the affectionate lads surrounded their pretty
playmate, and kissed her till she looked like a little rose, not roughly, but so enthusiastically
that nothing but the crown of her hat was visible for a moment. Then her father rescued
her, and she drove away still smiling and waving her hands, while the boys sat on the
fence screaming like a flock of guinea-fowls, "Come back! come back!" till she was out
of sight.
They all missed her, and each dimly felt that he was better for having known a creature
so lovely, delicate, and sweet; for little Bess appealed to the chivalrous instinct in
them as something to love, admire, and protect with a tender sort of reverence. Many a man
remembers some pretty child who has made a place in his heart and kept her memory alive
by the simple magic of her innocence; these little men were just learning to feel this
power, and to love it for its gentle influence, not ashamed to let the small hand lead them,
nor to own their loyalty to womankind, even in the bud.
CHAPTER XIV DAMON AND PYTHIAS
Mrs. Bhaer was right; peace was only a temporary lull, a storm was brewing, and two days after
Bess left, a moral earthquake shook Plumfield to its centre.
Tommy's hens were at the bottom of the trouble, for if they had not persisted in laying so
many eggs, he could not have sold them and made such sums. Money is the root of all evil,
and yet it is such a useful root that we cannot get on without it any more than we can without
potatoes. Tommy certainly could not, for he spent his income so recklessly, that Mr. Bhaer
was obliged to insist on a savings-bank, and presented him with a private one an imposing
tin edifice, with the name over the door, and a tall chimney, down which the pennies
were to go, there to rattle temptingly till leave was given to open a sort of trap-door
in the floor.
The house increased in weight so rapidly, that Tommy soon became satisfied with his
investment, and planned to buy unheard-of treasures with his capital. He
kept account of the sums deposited, and was promised that he might break the bank as soon
as he had five dollars, on condition that he spent the money wisely. Only one dollar
was needed, and the day Mrs. Jo paid him for four
dozen eggs, he was so delighted, that he raced off to the barn to display the bright quarters
to Nat, who was also laying by money for the long-desired violin.
"I wish I had 'em to put with my three dollars, then I'd soon get enough to buy my fiddle,"
he said, looking wistfully at the money.
"P'raps I'll lend you some. I haven't decided yet what I'll do with mine," said Tommy, tossing
up his quarters and catching them as they fell.
"Hi! boys! come down to the brook and see what a jolly great snake Dan's got!" called
a voice from behind the barn.
"Come on," said Tommy; and, laying his money inside the old winnowing machine, away he
ran, followed by Nat.
The snake was very interesting, and then a long chase after a lame crow, and its capture,
so absorbed Tommy's mind and time, that he never thought of his money till he was safely
in bed that night.
"Never mind, no one but Nat knows where it is," said the
easy-going lad, and fell asleep untroubled by any anxiety about his property.
Next morning, just as the boys assembled for school, Tommy rushed into the room breathlessly,
demanding,
"I say, who has got my dollar?"
"What are you talking about?" asked Franz.
Tommy explained, and Nat corroborated his statement.
Every one else declared they knew nothing about it, and began to look suspiciously at
Nat, who got more and more alarmed and confused with each denial.
"Somebody must have taken it," said Franz, as Tommy shook his fist at the whole party,
and wrathfully declared that
"By thunder turtles! if I get hold of the thief, I'll give him what he won't forget
in a hurry."
"Keep cool, Tom; we shall find him out; thieves always come to grief," said Dan, as one who
knew something of the matter. "May be some *** slept in the barn and took
it," suggested Ned. "No, Silas don't allow that; besides, a *** wouldn't go looking
in that old machine for money," said Emil, with
scorn.
"Wasn't it Silas himself?" said Jack.
"Well, I like that! Old Si is as honest as daylight. You wouldn't catch him touching
a penny of ours," said Tommy, handsomely defending his chief admirer from suspicion.
"Whoever it was had better tell, and not wait to be found out," said
Demi, looking as if an awful misfortune had befallen the family.
"I know you think it's me," broke out Nat, red and excited. "You are the only one who
knew where it was," said Franz. "I can't help it I didn't take it. I tell
you I didn't I didn't!" cried Nat, in a desperate sort of way.
"Gently, gently, my son! What is all this noise about?" and Mr. Bhaer walked in among
them.
Tommy repeated the story of his loss, and, as he listened, Mr. Bhaer's face grew graver
and graver; for, with all their faults and follies, the lads till now had been honest.
"Take your seats," he said; and, when all were in their places, he added slowly, as
his eye went from face to face with a grieved look, that was harder to bear than a storm
of words,
"Now, boys, I shall ask each one of you a single question, and I want an honest answer.
I am not going to try to frighten, bribe, or surprise the truth out of you, for every
one of you have got a conscience, and know what it is for. Now is the time to undo the
wrong done to Tommy, and set yourselves right before us all. I can forgive the yielding
to sudden temptation much easier than I can deceit. Don't add a lie to the theft, but
confess frankly, and we will all try to help you make us forget and forgive."
He paused a moment, and one might have heard a pin drop, the room was so still; then slowly
and impressively he put the question to each one, receiving the same answer in varying
tones from all. Every face was flushed and excited, so that Mr. Bhaer could not take
color as a witness, and some of the little boys were so frightened that they stammered
over the two short words as if guilty, though it was evident that they could not be. When
he came to Nat, his voice softened, for the poor lad looked so wretched, Mr. Bhaer felt
for him. He believed him to be the culprit, and hoped to save the boy from another lie,
by winning him to tell the truth without fear.
"Now, my son, give me an honest answer. Did you take the money?"
"No, sir!" and Nat looked up at him imploringly. As the words fell from his trembling lips,
somebody hissed. "Stop that!" cried Mr. Bhaer, with a sharp rap on his desk, as he
looked sternly toward the corner whence the sound came.
Ned, Jack, and Emil sat there, and the first two looked ashamed of themselves, but Emil
called out,
"It wasn't me, uncle! I'd be ashamed to hit a fellow when he is down."
"Good for you!" cried Tommy, who was in a sad state of affliction at the trouble his
unlucky dollar had made.
"Silence!" commanded Mr. Bhaer; and when it came, he said soberly,
"I am very sorry, Nat, but evidences are against you, and your old fault makes us more ready
to doubt you than we should be if we could trust you as we do some of the boys, who never
fib. But mind, my child, I do not charge you with this theft; I shall not punish you for
it till I am perfectly sure, nor ask any thing more about it. I shall leave it for you to
settle with your own conscience. If you are guilty, come to me at any hour of the day
or night and confess it, and I will forgive and help you to amend. If you are innocent,
the truth will appear sooner or later, and the instant it does, I will be the first to
beg your pardon for doubting you, and will so gladly do my best to clear your character
before us all."
"I didn't! I didn't!" sobbed Nat, with his head down upon his arms, for he could not
bear the look of distrust and dislike which he read in the many eyes fixed on him.
"I hope not." Mr. Bhaer paused a minute, as if to give the culprit, whoever he might be,
one more chance. Nobody spoke, however, and only sniffs of sympathy from some of the little
fellows broke the silence. Mr. Bhaer shook his head, and added, regretfully,
"There is nothing more to be done, then, and I have but one thing to say: I shall not speak
of this again, and I wish you all to follow my example. I cannot expect you to feel as
kindly toward any one whom you suspect as before this happened, but I do expect and
desire that you will not torment the suspected person in any way, he will have a hard enough
time without that. Now go to your lessons."
"Father Bhaer let Nat off too easy," muttered Ned to Emil, as they got out their books.
"Hold your tongue," growled Emil, who felt that this event was a blot upon the family
honor.
Many of the boys agreed with Ned, but Mr. Bhaer was right, nevertheless; and Nat would
have been wiser to confess on the spot and have the trouble over, for even the hardest
whipping he ever received from his father was far easier to bear than the cold looks,
the avoidance, and general suspicion that met him on all sides. If ever a boy was sent
to Coventry and kept there, it was poor Nat; and he suffered a week of slow torture, though
not a hand was raised against him, and hardly a word said.
That was the worst of it; if they would only have talked it out, or even have thrashed
him all round, he could have stood it better than the silent distrust that made very face
so terrible to meet. Even Mrs. Bhaer's showed traces of it, though her manner was nearly
as kind as ever; but the sorrowful anxious look in Father Bhaer's eyes cut Nat to the
heart, for he loved his teacher dearly, and knew that he had disappointed all his
hopes by this double sin.
Only one person in the house entirely believed in him, and stood
up for him stoutly against all the rest. This was Daisy. She could not explain why she trusted
him against all appearances, she only felt that she could not doubt him, and her warm
sympathy made her strong to take his part. She would not hear a word against him from
any one, and actually slapped her beloved Demi when he tried to convince her that it
must have been Nat, because no one else knew where the money was.
"Maybe the hens ate it; they are greedy old things," she said; and when Demi laughed,
she lost her temper, slapped the amazed boy, and then burst out crying and ran away, still
declaring, "He didn't! he didn't! he didn't!"
Neither aunt nor uncle tried to shake the child's faith in her friend, but only hoped
her innocent instinct might prove sure, and loved her all the better for it. Nat often
said, after it was over, that he couldn't have stood it, if it had not been for Daisy.
When the others shunned him, she clung to him closer than ever, and turned her back
on the rest. She did not sit on the stairs now when he solaced himself with the old fiddle,
but went in and sat beside him, listening with a face so full of confidence
and affection, that Nat forgot disgrace for a time, and was happy. She asked him to help
her with her lessons, she cooked him marvelous messes in her
kitchen, which he ate manfully, no matter what they were, for gratitude gave a sweet
flavor to the most distasteful. She proposed impossible games of cricket and ball, when
she found that he shrank from joining the other boys. She put little nosegays from
her garden on his desk, and tried in every way to show that she was not a fair-weather
friend, but faithful through evil as well as good
repute. Nan soon followed her example, in kindness at least;
curbed her sharp tongue, and kept her scornful little nose from any demonstration of doubt
or dislike, which was good of Madame Giddy-gaddy, for she firmly believed that
Nat took the money.
Most of the boys let him severely alone, but Dan, though he said he despised him for being
a coward, watched over him with a grim sort of protection, and promptly cuffed any lad
who dared to *** his mate or make him afraid. His idea
of friendship was as high as Daisy's, and, in his own rough way, he lived up to it as
loyally.
Sitting by the brook one afternoon, absorbed in the study of the domestic habits of water-spiders,
he overheard a bit of conversation on the other side of the wall. Ned, who was intensely
inquisitive, had been on tenterhooks to know certainly who was
the culprit; for of late one or two of the boys had begun to think that they were wrong,
Nat was so steadfast in his denials, and so meek in his endurance of their neglect. This
doubt had teased Ned past bearing, and he had several times privately beset Nat with
questions, regardless of Mr. Bhaer's express command. Finding Nat reading alone on the
shady side of the wall, Ned could not resist stopping for a nibble at the forbidden subject.
He had worried Nat for some ten minutes before Dan
arrived, and the first words the spider-student heard were these, in Nat's patient,
pleading voice,
"Don't, Ned! oh, don't! I can't tell you because I don't know, and it's
mean of you to keep nagging at me on the sly, when Father Bhaer told you not to plague me.
You wouldn't dare to if Dan was round."
"I ain't afraid of Dan; he's nothing but an old bully. Don't believe but what he took
Tom's money, and you know it, and won't tell. Come, now!"
"He didn't, but, if he did, I would stand up for him, he has always been so good to
me," said Nat, so earnestly that Dan forgot his spiders, and rose quickly to thank him,
but Ned's next words arrested him.
"I know Dan did it, and gave the money to you. Shouldn't wonder if he got his living
picking pockets before he came here, for nobody knows any thing about him but you," said Ned,
not believing his own words, but hoping to get the truth out of Nat by making him angry.
He succeeded in a part of his ungenerous wish, for Nat cried out, fiercely,
"If you say that again I'll go and tell Mr. Bhaer all about it. I don't want to tell tales,
but, by George! I will, if you don't let Dan alone."
"Then you'll be a sneak, as well as a liar and a thief," began Ned, with a jeer, for
Nat had borne insult to himself so meekly, the
other did not believe he would dare to face the master just to stand up for Dan.
What he might have added I cannot tell, for the words were hardly out of his mouth when
a long arm from behind took him by the collar, and, jerking him over the wall in a most promiscuous
way, landed him with a splash in the middle of the brook.
"Say that again and I'll duck you till you can't see!" cried Dan, looking like a modern
Colossus of Rhodes as he stood, with a foot on either side of the narrow stream, glaring
down at the discomfited youth in the water.
"I was only in fun," said Ned.
"You are a sneak yourself to badger Nat round the corner. Let me catch you at it again,
and I'll *** you in the river next time. Get up, and clear out!" thundered Dan, in
a rage.
Ned fled, dripping, and his impromptu sitz-bath evidently did him good, for he was very respectful
to both the boys after that, and seemed to have left his curiosity in the brook. As he
vanished Dan jumped over the wall, and found Nat lying, as if quite worn out
and bowed down with his troubles.
"He won't pester you again, I guess. If he does, just tell me, and I'll see to him,"
said Dan, trying to cool down.
"I don't mind what he says about me so much, I've got used to it," answered Nat sadly;
"but I hate to have him pitch into you."
"How do you know he isn't right?" asked Dan, turning his face away.
"What, about the money?" cried Nat, looking up with a startled air. "Yes."
"But I don't believe it! You don't care for money; all you want is your old bugs and things,"
and Nat laughed, incredulously.
"I want a butterfly net as much as you want a fiddle; why shouldn't I steal the money
for it as much as you?" said Dan, still turning away, and busily punching holes in the turf
with his stick.
"I don't think you would. You like to fight and knock folks round sometimes, but you don't
lie, and I don't believe you'd steal," and Nat shook his head decidedly.
"I've done both. I used to fib like fury; it's too much trouble now;
and I stole things to eat out of gardens when I ran away from Page, so you see I am a bad
lot," said Dan, speaking in the rough, reckless way which he had been learning to
drop lately.
"O Dan! don't say it's you! I'd rather have it any of the other boys," cried Nat, in such
a distressed tone that Dan looked pleased, and showed that he did, by turning round with
a *** expression in his face, though he only answered,
"I won't say any thing about it. But don't you fret, and we'll pull through somehow,
see if we don't."
Something in his face and manner gave Nat a new idea; and he said, pressing his hands
together, in the eagerness of his appeal,
"I think you know who did it. If you do, beg him to tell, Dan. It's so hard to have 'em
all hate me for nothing. I don't think I can bear it much longer. If I had any place to
go to, I'd run away, though I love Plumfield dearly; but I'm not brave and big like you,
so I must stay and wait till some one shows them that I haven't lied."
As he spoke, Nat looked so broken and despairing, that Dan could not bear it, and, muttered
huskily,
"You won't wait long," and he walked rapidly away, and was seen no more for hours.
"What is the matter with Dan?" asked the boys of one another several times during the Sunday
that followed a week which seemed as if it would never end. Dan was often moody, but
that day he was so sober and silent that no one could get any thing out of him. When they
walked he strayed away from the rest, and came home late. He took no part in the evening
conversation, but sat in the shadow, so busy with his own thoughts that he scarcely seemed
to hear what was going on. When Mrs. Jo showed him an unusually good report in the Conscience
Book, he looked at it without a smile, and said, wistfully,
"You think I am getting on, don't you?"
"Excellently, Dan! and I am so pleased, because I always thought you only needed a little
help to make you a boy to be proud of."
He looked up at her with a strange expression in his black eyes an expression of mingled
pride and love and sorrow which she could not understand then but remembered afterward.
"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed, but I do try," he said, shutting the book with no
sign of pleasure in the page that he usually liked so much to read over and talk about.
"Are you sick, dear?" asked Mrs. Jo, with her hand on his shoulder. "My foot aches a
little; I guess I'll go to bed. Good-night, mother,"
he added, and held the hand against his cheek a minute, then went away looking as if he
had said good-bye to something dear.
"Poor Dan! he takes Nat's disgrace to heart sadly. He is a strange boy; I wonder if I
ever shall understand him thoroughly?" said Mrs. Jo to herself, as she thought over Dan's
late improvement with real satisfaction, yet felt that there was more in the lad than she
had at first suspected.
One of things which cut Nat most deeply was an act of Tommy's, for after his loss Tommy
had said to him, kindly, but firmly,
"I don't wish to hurt you, Nat, but you see I can't afford to lose my money, so I guess
we won't be partners any longer;" and with that Tommy rubbed out the sign, "T. Bangs
& Co."
Nat had been very proud of the "Co.," and had hunted eggs industriously, kept his accounts
all straight, and had added a good sum to his income from the sale of his share of stock
in trade.
"O Tom! must you?" he said, feeling that his good name was gone for ever in the business
world if this was done.
"I must," returned Tommy, firmly. "Emil says that when one man
'bezzles (believe that's the word it means to take money and cut away with it) the property
of a firm, the other one sues him, or pitches into him somehow, and won't have any
thing more to do with him. Now you have 'bezzled my property; I shan't sue you,
and I shan't pitch into you, but I must dissolve the partnership, because I can't trust you,
and I don't wish to fail."
"I can't make you believe me, and you won't take my money, though I'd be thankful to give
all my dollars if you'd only say you don't think I took your money. Do let me hunt for
you, I won't ask any wages, but do it for nothing. I know all the places, and I like
it," pleaded Nat.
But Tommy shook his head, and his jolly round face looked suspicious and hard as he said,
shortly, "Can't do it; wish you didn't know the places. Mind you don't go hunting on the
sly, and
speculate in my eggs."
Poor Nat was so hurt that he could not get over it. He felt that he had lost not only
his partner and patron, but that he was bankrupt in honor, and an outlaw from the business
community. No one trusted his word, written or spoken, in spite of his efforts to
redeem the past falsehood; the sign was down, the firm broken up, and he a ruined man. The
barn, which was the boys' Wall Street, knew him no more. Cockletop and her sisters
cackled for him in vain, and really seemed to take his misfortune
to heart, for eggs were fewer, and some of the biddies retired in disgust to new nests,
which Tommy could not find.
"They trust me," said Nat, when he heard of it; and though the boys shouted at the idea,
Nat found comfort in it, for when one is down in the world, the confidence of even a speckled
hen is most consoling.
Tommy took no new partner, however, for distrust had entered in, and poisoned the peace of
his once confiding soul. Ned offered to join him, but he declined, saying, with a sense
of justice that did him honor,
"It might turn out that Nat didn't take my money, and then we could be partners again.
I don't think it will happen, but I will give him a chance, and keep the place open a little
longer."
Billy was the only person whom Bangs felt he could trust in his shop, and Billy was
trained to hunt eggs, and hand them over unbroken, being quite satisfied with an apple or a sugar-plum
for wages. The morning after Dan's gloomy Sunday, Billy said to his employer, as he
displayed the results of a long hunt,
"Only two."
"It gets worse and worse; I never saw such provoking old hens," growled Tommy, thinking
of the days when he often had six to rejoice over. "Well, put 'em in my hat and give me
a new bit of chalk; I must mark 'em up, any way."
Billy mounted a peck-measure, and looked into the top of the machine, where Tommy kept his
writing materials.
"There's lots of money in here," said Billy.
"No, there isn't. Catch me leaving my cash round again," returned
Tommy.
"I see 'em one, four, eight, two dollars," persisted Billy, who had not yet mastered
the figures correctly.
"What a jack you are!" and Tommy hopped up to get the chalk for himself, but nearly tumbled
down again, for there actually were four bright quarters in a row, with a bit of paper on
them directed to "Tom Bangs," that there might be no mistake.
"Thunder turtles!" cried Tommy, and seizing them he dashed into
the house, bawling wildly, "It's all right! Got my money! Where's
Nat?"
He was soon found, and his surprise and pleasure were so genuine that few doubted his word
when he now denied all knowledge of the money.
"How could I put it back when I didn't take it? Do believe me now, and be good to me again,"
he said, so imploringly, that Emil slapped him on the back, and declared he would for
one.
"So will I, and I'm jolly glad it's not you. But who the dickens is it?" said Tommy, after
shaking hands heartily with Nat.
"Never mind, as long as it's found," said Dan with his eyes fixed on
Nat's happy face.
"Well, I like that! I'm not going to have my things hooked, and then brought back like
the juggling man's tricks," cried Tommy, looking at his money as if he suspected witchcraft.
"We'll find him out somehow, though he was sly enough to print this so his writing wouldn't
be known," said Franz, examining the paper.
"Demi prints tip-top," put in Rob, who had not a very clear idea what the fuss was all
about.
"You can't make me believe it's him, not if you talk till you are
blue," said Tommy, and the others hooted at the mere idea; for the little deacon, as they
called him, was above suspicion.
Nat felt the difference in the way they spoke of Demi and himself, and would have given
all he had or ever hoped to have to be so trusted; for he had learned how easy it is
to lose the confidence of others, how very, very hard to win it back, and truth became
to him a precious thing since he had suffered from neglecting it.
Mr. Bhaer was very glad one step had been taken in the right direction, and waited hopefully
for yet further revelations. They came sooner than he expected, and in a way that surprised
and grieved him very much. As they sat at supper that night, a square parcel was handed
to Mrs. Bhaer from Mrs. Bates, a neighbor. A note accompanied the parcel, and, while
Mr. Bhaer read it, Demi pulled off the wrapper, exclaiming, as he saw its contents,
"Why, it's the book Uncle Teddy gave Dan!"
"The devil!" broke from Dan, for he had not yet quite cured himself of swearing, though
he tried very hard.
Mr. Bhaer looked up quickly at the sound. Dan tried to meet his eyes, but could not;
his own fell, and he sat biting his lips, getting redder and redder till he was the
picture of shame.
"What is it?" asked Mrs. Bhaer, anxiously.
"I should have preferred to talk about this in private, but Demi has spoilt that plan,
so I may as well have it out now," said Mr. Bhaer, looking a little stern, as he always
did when any meanness or deceit came up for judgment.
"The note is from Mrs. Bates, and she says that her boy Jimmy told her he bought this
book of Dan last Saturday. She saw that it was worth much more than a dollar, and thinking
there was some mistake, has sent it to me. Did you sell it, Dan?"
"Yes, sir," was the slow answer. "Why?" "Wanted money." "For what?"
"To pay somebody."
"To whom did you owe it?" "Tommy." "Never borrowed a cent of me in his life,"
cried Tommy, looked scared, for he guessed what was coming now, and felt that on the
whole he would have preferred witchcraft, for he admired Dan immensely.
"Perhaps he took it," cried Ned, who owed Dan a grudge for the ducking, and, being a
mortal boy, liked to pay it off.
"O Dan!" cried Nat, clasping his hands, regardless of the bread and butter in them.
"It is a hard thing to do, but I must have this settled, for I cannot have you watching
each other like detectives, and the whole school disturbed in this way. did you put
that dollar in the barn this morning?" asked Mr. Bhaer.
Dan looked him straight in the face, and answered steadily, "Yes, I
did."
A murmur went round the table, Tommy dropped his mug with a crash; Daisy cried out, "I
knew it wasn't Nat;" Nan began to cry, and Mrs. Jo left the room, looking so disappointed,
sorry, and ashamed that Dan could not bear it. He hid his face in his hands a moment,
then threw up his head, squared his shoulders as if settling some load upon them, and said,
with the dogged look, and half-resolute, half-reckless tone he had used when he first came
"I did it; now you may do what you like to me, but I won't say another word about it."
"Not even that you are sorry?" asked Mr. Bhaer, troubled by the change in him.
"I ain't sorry."
"I'll forgive him without asking," said Tommy, feeling that it was harder somehow to see
brave Dan disgraced than timid Nat.
"Don't want to be forgiven," returned Dan, gruffly.
"Perhaps you will when you have thought about it quietly by yourself, I won't tell you now
how surprised and disappointed I am, but by and by I will come up and talk to you in your
room."
"Won't make any difference," said Dan, trying to speak defiantly, but failing as he looked
at Mr. Bhaer's sorrowful face; and, taking his words for a dismissal, Dan left the room
as if he found it impossible to stay.
It would have done him good if he had stayed; for the boys talked the matter over with such
sincere regret, and pity, and wonder, it might have touched and won him to ask pardon. No
one was glad to find that it was he, not even Nat; for, spite of all his faults, and they
were many, every one liked Dan now, because under his rough exterior lay some of the manly
virtues which we most admire and love. Mrs. Jo had been the chief prop, as well as cultivator,
of Dan; and she took it sadly to heart that her last and most interesting boy had turned
out so ill. The theft was bad, but the lying about it, and allowing another to suffer so
much from an unjust suspicion was worse; and most discouraging of all was the attempt to
restore the money in an underhand way, for it showed not only a want of courage, but
a power of deceit that boded ill for the future. Still more trying was his steady refusal to
talk of the matter, to ask pardon, or express any remorse.
Days passed; and he went about his lessons and his work, silent, grim, and unrepentant.
As if taking warning by their treatment of Nat, he asked no
sympathy of any one, rejected the advances of the boys, and spent his leisure hours roaming
about the fields and woods, trying to find playmates in the birds and beasts, and succeeding
better than most boys would have done, because he knew and loved them so well.
"If this goes on much longer, I'm afraid he will run away again, for he is too young to
stand a life like this," said Mr. Bhaer, quite dejected at the failure of all his efforts.
"A little while ago I should have been quite sure that nothing would tempt him away, but
now I am ready of any thing, he is so changed," answered poor Mrs. Jo, who mourned over her
boy and could not be comforted, because he shunned her more than any one else, and only
looked at her with the half-fierce, half-imploring eyes of a wild animal caught
in a trap, when she tried to talk to him alone.
Nat followed him about like a shadow, and Dan did not repulse
him as rudely as he did others, but said, in his blunt way, "You are all right; don't
worry about me. I can stand it better than you did."
"But I don't like to have you all alone," Nat would say, sorrowfully. "I like it;" and
Dan would *** away, stifling a sigh sometimes,
for he was lonely.
Passing through the birch grove one day, he came up on several of the boys, who were amusing
themselves by climbing up the trees and swinging down again, as they slender elastic stems
bent till their tops touched the ground. Dan paused a minute to watch the fun, without
offering to join in it, and as he stood there Jack took
his turn. He had unfortunately chosen too large a tree; for when he swung off, it only
bent a little way, and left him hanging at a dangerous height.
"Go back; you can't do it!" called Ned from below.
Jack tried, but the twigs slipped from his hands, and he could not get his legs round
the trunk. He kicked, and squirmed, and clutched in vain, then gave it up, and hung breathless,
saying helplessly,
"Catch me! help me! I must drop!" "You'll be killed if you do," cried Ned, frightened
out of his wits. "Hold on!" shouted Dan; and up the tree he went, crashing his way
along till he nearly reached Jack, whose face looked up at him, full of fear and hope.
"You'll both come down," said Ned, dancing with excitement on
the slope underneath, while Nat held out his arms, in the wild hope of breaking the fall.
"That's what I want; stand from under," answered Dan, coolly; and, as he spoke, his added weight
bent the tree many feet nearer the earth.
Jack dropped safely; but the birch, lightened of half its load, flew up again so suddenly,
that Dan, in the act of swinging round to drop feet foremost, lost his hold and fell
heavily.
"I'm not hurt, all right in a minute," he said, sitting up, a little pale and dizzy,
as the boys gathered round him, full of admiration and alarm.
"You're a trump, Dan, and I'm ever so much obliged to you," cried
Jack, gratefully.
"It wasn't any thing," muttered Dan, rising slowly.
"I say it was, and I'll shake hands with you, though you are ," Ned checked the unlucky
word on his tongue, and held out his hand, feeling that it was a handsome thing on his
part.
"But I won't shake hands with a sneak;" and Dan turned his back with a look of scorn,
that caused Ned to remember the brook, and retire with undignified haste.
"Come home, old chap; I'll give you a lift;" and Nat walked away with him leaving the others
to talk over the feat together, to
wonder when Dan would "come round," and to wish one and all that Tommy's "confounded
money had been in Jericho before it made such a fuss."
When Mr. Bhaer came into school next morning, he looked so happy, that the boys wondered
what had happened to him, and really thought he had lost his mind when they saw him go
straight to Dan, and, taking him by both hands, say all in one breath, as he shook them heartily,
"I know all about it, and I beg your pardon. It was like you to do it, and I love you for
it, though it's never right to tell lies, even for a friend."
"What is it?" cried Nat, for Dan said not a word, only lifted up his head, as if a weight
of some sort had fallen off his back.
"Dan did not take Tommy's money;" and Mr. Bhaer quite shouted it, he was so glad.
"Who did?" cried the boys in a chorus.
Mr. Bhaer pointed to one empty seat, and every eye followed his finger, yet no one spoke
for a minute, they were so surprised.
"Jack went home early this morning, but he left this behind him;" and in the silence
Mr. Bhaer read the note which he had found tied to his door-handle when he rose.
"I took Tommy's dollar. I was peeking in through a crack and saw him put it there. I was afraid
to tell before, though I wanted to. I didn't care so much about Nat, but Dan is
a trump, and I can't stand it any longer. I never spent the money; it's under the carpet
in my room, right behind the washstand. I'm awful
sorry. I am going home, and don't think I shall ever come back,
so Dan may have my things.
"JACK"
It was not an elegant confession, being badly written, much blotted, and very short; but
it was a precious paper to Dan; and, when Mr. Bhaer paused, the boy went to him, saying,
in a rather broken voice, but with clear eyes, and the frank, respectful manner they had
tried to teach him,
"I'll say I'm sorry now, and ask you to forgive me, sir."
"It was a kind lie, Dan, and I can't help forgiving it; but you see it
did no good," said Mr. Bhaer, with a hand on either shoulder, and a face full of relief
and affection.
"It kept the boys from plaguing Nat. That's what I did it for. It
made him right down miserable. I didn't care so much," explained
Dan, as if glad to speak out after his hard silence.
"How could you do it? You are always so kind to me," faltered
Nat, feeling a strong desire to hug his friend and cry. Two girlish
performances, which would have scandalized Dan to the last degree.
"It's all right now, old fellow, so don't be a fool," he said, swallowing the lump in
his throat, and laughing out as he had not done for weeks. "Does Mrs. Bhaer know?" he
asked, eagerly.
"Yes; and she is so happy I don't know what she will do to you," began Mr. Bhaer, but
got no farther, for here the boys came crowding about Dan in a tumult of pleasure and curiosity;
but before he had answered more than a dozen questions,
a voice cried out,
"Three cheers for Dan!" and there was Mrs. Jo in the doorway waving her dish-towel, and
looking as if she wanted to dance a jig for joy, as she used to do when a girl.
"Now then," cried Mr. Bhaer, and led off a rousing hurrah, which startled Asia in the
kitchen, and made old Mr. Roberts shake his head as he drove by, saying,
"Schools are not what they were when I was young!"
Dan stood it pretty well for a minute, but the sight of Mrs. Jo's delight upset him,
and he suddenly bolted across the hall into the parlor, whither she instantly followed,
and neither were seen for half an hour.
Mr. Bhaer found it very difficult to calm his excited flock; and,
seeing that lessons were an impossibility for a time, he caught their attention by telling
them the fine old story of the friends whose fidelity to one another has made their names
immortal. The lads listened and remembered, for just then their hearts were touched
by the loyalty of a humbler pair of friends. The lie was wrong, but the love that prompted
it and the courage that bore in silence the disgrace which belonged to another, made Dan
a hero in their eyes. Honesty and honor had a new meaning now; a good name was
more precious than gold; for once lost money could not buy it back; and faith in one another
made life smooth and happy as nothing else could do.
Tommy proudly restored the name of the firm; Nat was devoted to Dan; and all the boys tried
to atone to both for former suspicion and neglect. Mrs. Jo rejoiced over her flock,
and Mr. Bhaer was never tired of telling the story of his young Damon and Pythias.
CHAPTER XV IN THE WILLOW
The old tree saw and heard a good many little scenes and confidences that summer, because
it became the favorite retreat of all the children, and the willow seemed to enjoy it,
for a pleasant welcome always met them, and the quiet hours spent in its arms
did them all good. It had a great deal of company one Saturday afternoon, and some little
bird reported what went on there.
First came Nan and Daisy with their small tubs and bits of soap, for now and then they
were seized with a tidy fit, and washed up
all their dolls' clothes in the brook. Asia would not have them "slopping round" in her
kitchen, and the bath-room was forbidden since Nan forgot to turn off the water till it overflowed
and came gently dripping down through the ceiling. Daisy went systematically to work,
washing first the white and then the colored things, rinsing them nicely, and hanging them
to dry on a cord fastened from one barberry-bush to another,
and pinning them up with a set of tiny clothes-pins Ned had turned for her. But Nan
put all her little things to soak in the same tub, and then forgot
them while she collected thistledown to stuff a pillow for
Semiramis, Queen of Babylon, as one doll was named. This took some time, and when Mrs.
Giddy-gaddy came to take out her clothes, deep green stains appeared on every
thing, for she had forgotten the green silk lining of a certain
cape, and its color had soaked nicely into the pink and blue gowns, the little chemises,
and even the best ruffled petticoat.
"Oh me! what a mess!" sighed Nan.
"Lay them on the grass to bleach," said Daisy, with an air of experience.
"So I will, and we can sit up in the nest and watch that they don't blow away."
The Queen of Babylon's wardrobe was spread forth upon the bank, and, turning up their
tubs to dry, the little washerwomen climbed into the nest, and fell to talking, as ladies
are apt to do in the pauses of domestic labor.
"I'm going to have a feather-bed to go with my new pillow," said Mrs. Giddy-gaddy, as
she transferred the thistledown from her pocket to her handkerchief, losing about half in
the process.
"I wouldn't; Aunt Jo says feather-beds aren't healthy. I never let my children sleep on
any thing but a mattress," returned Mrs. Shakespeare Smith, decidedly.
"I don't care; my children are so strong they often sleep on the floor, and don't mind it,"
(which was quite true). "I can't afford nine mattresses, and I like to make beds myself."
"Won't Tommy charge for the feathers?"
"May be he will, but I shan't pay him, and he won't care," returned Mrs. G., taking a
base advantage of the well-known good nature of T. Bangs.
"I think the pink will fade out of that dress sooner than the green mark will," observed
Mrs. S., looking down from her perch, and changing the subject, for she and her gossip
differed on many points, and Mrs. Smith was a discreet lady.
"Never mind; I'm tired of dolls, and I guess I shall put them all away and attend to my
farm; I like it rather better than playing house," said Mrs. G., unconsciously expressing
the desire of many older ladies, who cannot dispose of their families so easily
however.
"But you mustn't leave them; they will die without their mother," cried the tender Mrs.
Smith.
"Let 'em die then; I'm tired of fussing over babies, and I'm going to play with the boys;
they need me to see to 'em," returned the strong-minded lady.
Daisy knew nothing about women's rights; she quietly took all she wanted, and no one denied
her claim, because she did not undertake what she could not carry out, but unconsciously
used the all-powerful right of her own influence to win from others any privilege for which
she had proved her fitness. Nan attempted all sorts of things, undaunted by direful
failures, and clamored fiercely to be allowed to do every thing that
the boys did. They laughed at her, hustled her out of the way, and protested against
her meddling with their affairs. But she would not be quenched and she would be heard, for
her will was strong, and she had the spirit of a rampant reformer. Mrs. Bhaer sympathized
with her, but tired to curb her frantic desire for entire liberty, showing her that she must
wait a little, learn self-control, and be ready to use her
freedom before she asked for it. Nan had meek moments when she agreed to this, and the influences
at work upon her were gradually taking effect. She no longer declared that
she would be engine-driver or a blacksmith, but turned
her mind to farming, and found in it a vent for the energy bottled up in her active little
body. It did not quite satisfy her, however; for
her sage and sweet marjoram were dumb things, and could not thank her for her care.
She wanted something human to love, work for, and protect, and was never happier than when
the little boys brought their cut fingers, bumped heads, or bruised joints for
her to "mend-up." Seeing this, Mrs. Jo proposed that she should learn how to do it
nicely, and Nursey had an apt pupil in bandaging, plastering, and fomenting. The boys began
to call her "Dr. Giddy-gaddy," and she liked it so well that Mrs. Jo one day said
to the Professor
"Fritz, I see what we can do for that child. She wants something to live for even now,
and will be one of the sharp, strong, discontented women if she does not have it. Don't let us
snub her restless little nature, but do our best to give her the work she likes, and by
and by persuade her father to let her study medicine. She will make a capital doctor,
for she has courage, strong nerves, a tender heart, and an intense love and pity for the
weak and suffering."
Mr. Bhaer smiled at first, but agreed to try, and gave Nan an herb-garden, teaching her
the various healing properties of the plants she tended, and letting her try their virtues
on the children in the little illnesses they had from time to time. She learned fast, remembered
well, and showed a sense and interest most encouraging to her Professor, who did not
shut his door in her face because she was a little woman.
She was thinking of this, as she sat in the willow that day, and when Daisy said in her
gentle way
"I love to keep house, and mean to have a nice one for Demi when we grow up and live
together."
Nan replied with decision
"Well, I haven't got any brother, and I don't want any house to fuss over. I shall have
an office, with lots of bottles and drawers and pestle things in it, and I shall drive
round in a horse and chaise and cure sick people. That will be such fun."
"Ugh! how can you bear the bad-smelling stuff and the nasty little powders and castor-oil
and senna and hive syrup?" cried Daisy, with a shudder.
"I shan't have to take any, so I don't care. Besides, they make people well, and I like
to cure folks. Didn't my sage-tea make Mother Bhaer's headache go away, and my hops stop
Ned's toothache in five hours? So now!"
"Shall you put leeches on people, and cut off legs and pull out teeth?" asked Daisy,
quaking at the thought.
"Yes, I shall do every thing; I don't care if the people are all smashed up, I shall
mend them. My grandpa was a doctor, and I saw him sew a great cut in a man's cheek,
and I held the sponge, and wasn't frightened a bit, and Grandpa said I was a brave girl."
"How could you? I'm sorry for sick people, and I like to nurse them, but it makes my
legs shake so I have to run away. I'm not a brave girl," sighed Daisy.
"Well, you can be my nurse, and cuddle my patients when I have given them the physic
and cut off their legs," said Nan, whose practice was evidently to be of the heroic kind.
"Ship ahoy! Where are you, Nan?" called a voice from below. "Here we are."
"Ay, ay!" said the voice, and Emil appeared holding one hand in the other, with his face
puckered up as if in pain.
"Oh, what's the matter?" cried Daisy, anxiously.
"A confounded splinter in my thumb. Can't get it out. Take a pick at it, will you, Nanny?"
"It's in very deep, and I haven't any needle," said Nan, examining a tarry thumb with interest.
"Take a pin," said Emil, in a hurry.
"No, it's too big and hasn't got a sharp point."
Here Daisy, who had dived into her pocket, presented a neat little housewife with four
needles in it.
"You are the Posy who always has what we want," said Emil; and Nan resolved to have a needle-book
in her own pocket henceforth, for just such cases as this were always occurring in her
practice.
Daisy covered her eyes, but Nan probed and picked with a steady hand, while Emil gave
directions not down in any medical work or record.
"Starboard now! Steady, boys, steady! Try another tack. Heave ho!
there she is!"
"Suck it," ordered the Doctor, surveying the splinter with an experienced eye.
"Too dirty," responded the patient, shaking his bleeding hand. "Wait; I'll tie it up if
you have got a handkerchief." "Haven't; take one of those rags down there."
"Gracious! no, indeed; they are doll's clothes," cried Daisy, indignantly.
"Take one of mine; I'd like to have you," said Nan; and swinging himself down, Emil
caught up the first "rag" he saw. It happened to be the frilled skirt; but Nan tore it up
without a murmur; and when the royal petticoat was turned into a
neat little bandage, she dismissed her patient with the command
"Keep it wet, and let it alone; then it will heal right up, and not be sore."
"What do you charge?" asked the Commodore, laughing.
"Nothing; I keep a 'spensary; that is a place where poor people are doctored free gratis
for nothing," explained Nan, with an air.
"Thank you, Doctor Giddy-gaddy. I'll always call you in when I come to grief;" and Emil
departed, but looked back to say for one good turn deserves another "Your duds are blowing
away, Doctor."
Forgiving the disrespectful word, "duds," the ladies hastily descended, and, gathering
up their wash, retired to the house to fire up the little stove, and go to ironing.
A passing breath of air shook the old willow, as if it laughed softly at the childish chatter
which went on in the nest, and it had hardly composed itself when another pair of birds
alighted for a confidential twitter.
"Now, I'll tell you the secret," began Tommy, who was "swellin' wisibly" with the importance
of his news.
"Tell away," answered Nat, wishing he had brought his fiddle, it was so shady and quiet
here.
"Well, we fellows were talking over the late interesting case of
circumstantial evidence," said Tommy, quoting at random from a speech Franz had made at
the club, "and I proposed giving Dan something to make up for our suspecting him, to show
our respect, and so on, you know something handsome and useful, that he could keep always
and be proud of. What do you think we chose?"
"A butterfly-net; he wants one ever so much," said Nat, looking a little disappointed, for
he meant to get it himself.
"No, sir; it's to be a microscope, a real swell one, that we see
what-do-you-call-'ems in water with, and stars, and ant-eggs, and all sorts of games, you
know. Won't it be a jolly good present?" said Tommy, rather confusing microscopes and
telescopes in his remarks.
"Tip-top! I'm so glad! Won't it cost a heap, though?" cried Nat, feeling that his friend
was beginning to be appreciated.
"Of course it will; but we are all going to give something. I headed the paper with my
five dollars; for if it is done at all, it must be done handsome."
"What! all of it? I never did see such a generous chap as you are;" and Nat beamed upon him
with sincere admiration.
"Well, you see, I've been so bothered with my property, that I'm tired of it, and don't
mean to save up any more, but give it away as I go along, and then nobody will envy me,
or want to steal it, and I shan't be suspecting folks and worrying about my old cash,"
replied Tommy, on whom the cares and anxieties of a millionaire weighed heavily.
"Will Mr. Bhaer let you do it?"
"He thought it was a first-rate plan, and said that some of the best men he knew preferred
to do good with their money instead of laying it up to be squabbled over when they died."
"Your father is rich; does he do that way?"
"I'm not sure; he gives me all I want; I know that much. I'm going to talk to him about
it when I go home. Anyhow, I shall set him a good example;" and Tommy was so serious,
that Nat did not dare to laugh, but said, respectfully
"You will be able to do ever so much with your money, won't you?"
"So Mr. Bhaer said, and he promised to advise me about useful ways of spending it. I'm going
to begin with Dan; and next time I get a dollar or so, I shall do something for ***, he's
such a good little chap, and only has a cent a week for pocket-money. He can't earn much,
you know; so I'm going to kind of see to him;" and good-hearted Tommy quite longed to begin.
"I think that's a beautiful plan, and I'm not going to try to buy a fiddle any more;
I'm going to get Dan his net all myself, and if
there is any money left, I'll do something to please poor Billy. He's fond of me, and
though he isn't poor, he'd like some little thing from me, because I can make out what
he wants better than the rest of you." And Nat fell to wondering how much happiness could
be got out of his precious three dollars.
"So I would. Now come and ask Mr. Bhaer if you can't go in town with me on Monday afternoon,
so you can get the net, while I get the microscope. Franz and Emil are going too, and we'll have
a jolly time larking round among the shops."
The lads walked away arm-in-arm, discussing the new plans with droll importance, yet beginning
already to feel the sweet satisfaction which comes to those who try, no matter how humbly,
to be earthly providences to the poor and helpless, and gild their mite with the gold
of charity before it is laid up where thieves cannot break through and steal.
"Come up and rest while we sort the leaves; it's so cool and pleasant here," said Demi,
as he and Dan came sauntering home from a long walk in the woods.
"All right!" answered Dan, who was a boy of few words, and up they went.
"What makes birch leaves shake so much more than the others?" asked inquiring Demi, who
was always sure of an answer from Dan.
"They are hung differently. Don't you see the stem where it joins the leaf is sort of
pinched one way, and where it joins the twig, it is pinched another. This makes it waggle
with the least bit of wind, but the elm leaves hang straight, and keep stiller."
"How curious! will this do so?" and Demi held up a sprig of
acacia, which he had broken from a little tree on the lawn, because it was so pretty.
"No; that belongs to the sort that shuts up when you touch it. Draw your finger down the
middle of the stem, and see if the leaves don't curl up," said Dan, who was examining
a bit of mica.
Demi tried it, and presently the little leaves did fold together, till the spray showed a
single instead of a double line of leaves.
"I like that; tell me about the others. What do these do?" asked
Demi, taking up a new branch.
"Feed silk-worms; they live on mulberry leaves, till they begin to spin themselves up. I was
in a silk-factory once, and there were rooms full of shelves all covered with leaves, and
worms eating them so fast that it made a rustle. Sometimes they eat so much they die. Tell
that to Stuffy," and Dan laughed, as he took up another bit of rock with a lichen on it.
"I know one thing about this mullein leaf: the fairies use them for blankets," said Demi,
who had not quite given up his faith in the
existence of the little folk in green.
"If I had a microscope, I'd show you something prettier than fairies," said Dan, wondering
if he should ever own that coveted treasure. "I knew an old woman who used mullein leaves
for a night-cap because she had face-ache. She sewed them together, and wore it all the
time."
"How funny! was she your grandmother?"
"Never had any. She was a *** old woman, and lived alone in a little tumble-down house
with nineteen cats. Folks called her a witch, but she wasn't, though she looked like an
old rag-bag. She was real kind to me when I lived in that place, and used to let me
get warm at her fire when the folks at the poorhouse were *** me."
"Did you live in a poorhouse?"
"A little while. Never mind that I didn't mean to speak of it;" and
Dan stopped short in his unusual fit of communicativeness.
"Tell about the cats, please," said Demi, feeling that he had asked an unpleasant question,
and sorry for it.
"Nothing to tell; only she had a lot of 'em, and kept 'em in a barrel nights; and I used
to go and tip over the barrel sometimes, and let
'em out all over the house, and then she'd scold, and chase 'em and put 'em in again,
spitting and yowling like fury."
"Was she good to them?" asked Demi, with a hearty child's laugh, pleasant to hear.
"Guess she was. Poor old soul! she took in all the lost and sick cats in the town; and
when anybody wanted one they went to Marm Webber, and she let 'em pick any kind and
color they wanted, and only asked ninepence, she was glad to have her *** get a good
home."
"I should like to see Marm Webber. Could I, if I went to that place?"
"She's dead. All my folks are," said Dan, briefly.
"I'm sorry;" and Demi sat silent a minute, wondering what subject would be safe to try
next. He felt delicate about speaking of the departed lady, but was very curious about
the cats, and could not resist asking softly
"Did she cure the sick ones?"
"Sometimes. One had a broken leg, and she tied it up to a stick, and it got well; and
another had fits, and she doctored it with yarbs till it was cured. But some of 'em died,
and she buried 'em; and when they couldn't get well, she killed 'em easy."
"How?" asked Demi, feeling that there was a peculiar charm about
this old woman, and some sort of joke about the cats, because Dan was smiling to himself.
"A kind lady, who was fond of cats, told her how, and gave her some stuff, and sent all
her own *** to be killed that way. Marm used to put a sponge wet with ether, in the
bottom of an old boot, then poke *** in head downwards. The ether put her to sleep in a
jiffy, and she was drowned in warm water before she woke up."
"I hope the cats didn't feel it. I shall tell Daisy about that. You have known a great many
interesting things, haven't you?" asked Demi, and fell to meditating on the vast experience
of a boy who had run away more than once, and taken care of himself in a big city.
"Wish I hadn't sometimes."
"Why? Don't remembering them feel good?" "No." "It's very singular how hard it is to manage
your mind," said Demi, clasping his hands round his knees, and looking up at the sky
as if for information upon his favorite topic.
"Devilish hard no, I don't mean that;" and Dan bit his lips, for the forbidden word slipped
out in spite of him, and he wanted to be more careful with Demi than with any of the other
boys.
"I'll play I didn't hear it," said Demi; "and you won't do it again, I'm sure."
"Not if I can help it. That's one of the things I don't want to remember. I keep pegging away,
but it don't seem to do much good;" and Dan looked discouraged.
"Yes, it does. You don't say half so many bad words as you used to; and Aunt Jo is pleased,
because she said it was a hard habit to break up."
"Did she?" and Dan cheered up a bit.
"You must put swearing away in your fault-drawer, and lock it up;
that's the way I do with my badness."
"What do you mean?" asked Dan, looking as if he found Demi almost as amusing as a new
sort of cockchafer or beetle.
"Well, it's one of my private plays, and I'll tell you, but I think
you'll laugh at it," began Demi, glad to hold forth on this congenial subject. "I play that
my mind is a round room, and my soul is a little sort of creature with wings that lives
in it. The walls are full of shelves and drawers, and in them I keep
my thoughts, and my goodness and badness, and all sorts of things. The goods I keep
where I can see them, and the bads I lock up tight, but they get out,
and I have to keep putting them in and squeezing them down, they are so strong. The thoughts
I play with when I am alone or in bed,
and I make up and do what I like with them. Every Sunday I put my room in order, and talk
with the little spirit that lives there, and tell him what to do. He is very bad sometimes,
and won't mind me, and I have to scold him, and take him to Grandpa. He always makes him
behave, and be sorry for his faults, because Grandpa likes this play, and gives me nice
things to put in the drawers, and tells me how to shut up the naughties. Hadn't you better
try that way? It's a very good one;" and Demi looked so earnest and full of faith, that
Dan did not laugh at his quaint fancy, but said, soberly,
"I don't think there is a lock strong enough to keep my badness shut up. Any way my room
is in such a clutter I don't know how to clear it up."
"You keep your drawers in the cabinet all spandy nice; why can't you do the others?"
"I ain't used to it. Will you show me how?" and Dan looked as if inclined to try Demi's
childish way of keeping a soul in order.
"I'd love to, but I don't know how, except to talk as Grandpa does. I
can't do it good like him, but I'll try."
"Don't tell any one; only now and then we'll come here and talk things over, and I'll pay
you for it by telling all I know about my sort of things. Will that do?" and Dan held
out his big, rough hand.
Demi gave his smooth, little hand readily, and the league was made; for in the happy,
peaceful world where the younger boy lived, lions and lambs played together, and little
children innocently taught their elders.
"Hush!" said Dan, pointing toward the house, as Demi was about
to indulge in another discourse on the best way of getting badness down, and keeping it
down; and peeping from their perch, they saw Mrs. Jo strolling slowly along, reading
as she went, while Teddy trotted behind her, dragging a little
cart upside down.
"Wait till they see us," whispered Demi, and both sat still as the pair came nearer, Mrs.
Jo so absorbed in her book that she would have walked into the brook if Teddy had not
stopped her by saying
"Marmar, I wanter fis."
Mrs. Jo put down the charming book which she had been trying to read for a week, and looked
about her for a fishing-pole, being used to making toys out of nothing. Before she had
broken one from the hedge, a slender willow bough fell at her feet; and, looking up, she
saw the boys laughing in the nest.
"Up! up!" cried Teddy, stretching his arms and flapping his skirts as if about to fly.
"I'll come down and you come up. I must go to Daisy now;" and Demi departed to rehearse
the tale of the nineteen cats, with the exciting boot-and-barrel episodes.
Teddy was speedily whisked up; and then Dan said, laughing, "Come, too; there's plenty
of room. I'll lend you a hand."
Mrs. Jo glanced over her shoulder, but no one was in sight; and rather liking the joke
of the thing, she laughed back, saying, "Well, if you won't mention it, I think I will;"
and with two nimble steps was in the willow.
"I haven't climbed a tree since I was married. I used to be very fond of it when I was a
girl," she said, looking well-pleased with her shady perch.
"Now, you read if you want to, and I'll take care of Teddy," proposed Dan, beginning to
make a fishing-rod for impatient Baby.
"I don't think I care about it now. What were you and Demi at up here?" asked Mrs. Jo, thinking,
from the sober look on Dan's face, that he had something on his mind.
"Oh! we were talking. I'd been telling him about leaves and things, and he was telling
me some of his *** plays. Now, then, Major, fish away;" and Dan finished off his work
by putting a big blue fly on the bent pin which hung at the end of the
cord he had tied to the willow-rod.
Teddy leaned down from the tree, and was soon wrapt up in watching for the fish which he
felt sure would come. Dan held him by his little petticoats, lest he should take a "header"
into the brook, and Mrs. Jo soon won him to talk by doing so herself.
"I am so glad you told Demi about 'leaves and things;' it is just what he needs; and
I wish you would teach him, and take him to walk with you."
"I'd like to, he is so bright; but " "But what?"
"I didn't think you'd trust me." "Why not?" "Well, Demi is so kind of precious, and so
good, and I'm such a bad lot, I thought you'd keep him away from me."
"But you are not a 'bad lot,' as you say; and I do trust you, Dan, entirely, because
you honestly try to improve, and do better and better every week."
"Really?" and Dan looked up at her with the cloud of despondency lifting from his face.
"Yes; don't you feel it?"
"I hoped so, but I didn't know."
"I have been waiting and watching quietly, for I thought I'd give
you a good trial first; and if you stood it, I would give you the best reward I had. You
have stood it well; and now I'm going to trust not only Demi, but my own boy, to you, because
you can teach them some things better than any of us."
"Can I?" and Dan looked amazed at the idea.
"Demi has lived among older people so much that he needs just what you have knowledge
of common things, strength, and courage. He thinks you are the bravest boy he ever saw,
and admires your strong way of doing things. Then you know a great deal about natural objects,
and can tell him more wonderful tales of birds, and bees, and leaves, and animals, than his
story-books give him; and, being true, these stories will
teach and do him good. Don't you see now how much you can help him, and why I like to have
him with you?"
"But I swear sometimes, and might tell him something wrong. I wouldn't mean to, but it
might slip out, just as 'devil' did a few minutes ago," said Dan, anxious to do his
duty, and let her know his shortcomings.
"I know you try not to say or do any thing to harm the little fellow, and here is where
I think Demi will help you, because he is so innocent and wise in his small way, and
has what I am trying to give you, dear, good principles. It is never too early to try and
plant them in a child, and never too late to cultivate them in the most neglected person.
You are only boys yet; you can teach one another. Demi will unconsciously strengthen
your moral sense, you will strengthen his common sense, and I shall feel as if I had
helped you both."
Words could not express how pleased and touched Dan was by this confidence and praise. No
one had ever trusted him before, no one had cared to find out and foster the good in him,
and no one had suspected how much there was hidden away in the breast of the neglected
boy, going fast to ruin, yet quick to feel and value sympathy and help. No honor that
he might earn hereafter would ever be half so precious as the right to teach his few
virtues and small store of learning to the child whom he most respected; and
no more powerful restraint could have been imposed upon him than the innocent companion
confided to his care. He found courage now to tell Mrs. Jo of the plan already
made with Demi, and she was glad that the first step had been
so naturally taken. Every thing seemed to be working well for Dan, and she rejoiced
over him, because it had seemed a hard task, yet, working on with a firm belief in the
possibility of reformation in far older and worse subjects than he, there had come this
quick and hopeful change to encourage her. He felt that he had friends now and a
place in the world, something to live and work for, and, though he said little, all
that was best and bravest in a character made old by
a hard experience responded to the love and faith bestowed on him, and Dan's salvation
was assured.
Their quiet talk was interrupted by a shout of delight from Teddy, who, to the surprise
of every one, did actually catch a trout where no trout had been seen for years. He was so
enchanted with his
splendid success that he insisted on showing his prize to the family before Asia cooked
it for supper; so the three descended and went happily away together, all satisfied
with the work of that half hour.
Ned was the next visitor to the tree, but he only made a short stay, sitting there at
his ease while *** and Dolly caught a pailful of grasshoppers and crickets for him. He wanted
to play a joke on Tommy, and intended to tuck up a few dozen of the lively
creatures in his bed, so that when Bangs got in he would speedily tumble out again, and
pass a portion of the night in chasing "hopper-grasses" round the room. The hunt
was soon over, and having paid the hunters with a few peppermints
apiece Ned retired to make Tommy's bed.
For an hour the old willow sighed and sung to itself, talked with
the brook, and watched the lengthening shadows as the sun went down. The first rosy color
was touching its graceful branches when a boy came stealing up the avenue, across
the lawn, and, spying Billy by the brook-side, went to him, saying,
in a mysterious tone,
"Go and tell Mr. Bhaer I want to see him down here, please. Don't let any one hear."
Billy nodded and ran off, while the boy swung himself up into the tree, and sat there looking
anxious, yet evidently feeling the charm of the place and hour. In five minutes, Mr. Bhaer
appeared, and, stepping up on the fence, leaned into the nest, saying, kindly,
"I am glad to see you, Jack; but why not come in and meet us all at once?"
"I wanted to see you first, please, sir. Uncle made me come back. I
know I don't deserve any thing, but I hope the fellows won't be hard upon me."
Poor Jack did not get on very well, but it was evident that he was sorry and ashamed,
and wanted to be received as easily as possible; for his Uncle had thrashed him well and scolded
him soundly for following the example he himself set. Jack had begged not to be sent back,
but the school was cheap, and Mr. Ford insisted, so the boy returned as quietly as possible,
and took refuge behind Mr. Bhaer.
"I hope not, but I can't answer for them, though I will see that they are not unjust.
I think, as Dan and Nat have suffered so much, being innocent, you should suffer something,
being guilty. Don't you?" asked Mr. Bhaer, pitying Jack, yet feeling he deserved punishment
for a fault which had so little excuse.
"I suppose so, but I sent Tommy's money back, and I said I was sorry, isn't that enough?"
said Jack, rather sullenly; for the boy who could do so mean a thing was not brave enough
to bear the consequences well.
"No; I think you should ask pardon of all three boys, openly and honestly. You cannot
expect them to respect and trust you for a time, but you can live down this disgrace
if you try, and I will help
you. Stealing and lying are detestable sins, and I hope this will be a lesson to you. I
am glad you are ashamed, it is a good sign; bear it patiently, and do your best to earn
a better reputation."
"I'll have an auction, and sell off all my goods dirt cheap," said
Jack, showing his repentance in the most characteristic way.
"I think it would be better to give them away, and begin on a new foundation. Take 'Honesty
is the best policy' for your motto, and live up to it in act, and word, and thought, and
though you don't make a cent of money this summer, you will be a rich boy in the autumn,"
said Mr. Bhaer, earnestly.
It was hard, but Jack consented, for he really felt that cheating didn't pay, and wanted
to win back the friendship of the boys. His heart clung to his possessions, and he groaned
inwardly at the thought of actually giving away certain precious things. Asking pardon
publicly was easy compared to this; but then he began to discover that certain other things,
invisible, but most valuable, were better property than knives, fish-hooks, or even
money itself. So he decided to buy up a little integrity, even at a high price, and secure
the respect of his playmates, though it was not a salable article.
"Well, I'll do it," he said, with a sudden air of resolution, which pleased Mr. Bhaer.
"Good! and I'll stand by you. Now come and begin at once."
And Father Bhaer led the bankrupt boy back into the little world, which received him
coldly at first, but slowly warmed to him, when he showed that he had profited by the
lesson, and was sincerely anxious to go into a better business with a new
stock-in-trade.
