LITTLE MEN:
LIFE AT PLUMFIELD WITH JO’S BOYS

By Louisa May Alcott

TO

FREDDY AND JOHNNY,

THE LITTLE MEN

TO WHOM
SHE OWES SOME OF THE BEST AND HAPPIEST

HOURS OF HER LIFE,

THIS BOOK IS GRATEFULLY DEDICATED

BY THEIR LOVING

“AUNT WEEDY”

CONTENTS

LITTLE MEN

CHAPTER I.   NAT

CHAPTER II.   THE BOYS

CHAPTER III.   SUNDAY

CHAPTER IV.   STEPPING-STONES

CHAPTER V.   PATTYPANS

CHAPTER VI.   A FIRE BRAND

CHAPTER VII.   NAUGHTY NAN

CHAPTER VIII.   PRANKS AND PLAYS

CHAPTER IX.   DAISY’S
BALL

CHAPTER X.   HOME
AGAIN

CHAPTER XI.   UNCLE
TEDDY

CHAPTER XII.   HUCKLEBERRIES

CHAPTER XIII.   GOLDILOCKS

CHAPTER XIV.   DAMON
AND PYTHIAS

CHAPTER XV.   IN
THE WILLOW

CHAPTER XVI.   TAMING
THE COLT

CHAPTER XVII.   COMPOSITION
DAY

CHAPTER XVIII.     CROPS

CHAPTER XIX.   JOHN
BROOKE

CHAPTER XX.   ROUND
THE FIRE

CHAPTER XXI.   THANKSGIVING

LITTLE MEN

LIFE AT PLUMFIELD WITH JO’S BOYS

CHAPTER I. NAT

“Please, sir, is this Plumfield?” asked a ragged boy of the man who opened
the great gate at which the omnibus left him.

“Yes. Who sent you?”

“Mr. Laurence. I have got a letter for the lady.”

“All right; go up to the house, and give it to her; she’ll see to you,
little chap.”

The man spoke pleasantly, and the boy went on, feeling much cheered by the
words. Through the soft spring rain that fell on sprouting grass and
budding trees, Nat saw a large square house before him, a
hospitable-looking house, with an old-fashioned porch, wide steps, and
lights shining in many windows. Neither curtains nor shutters hid the
cheerful glimmer; and, pausing a moment before he rang, Nat saw many
little shadows dancing on the walls, heard the pleasant hum of young
voices, and felt that it was hardly possible that the light and warmth and
comfort within could be for a homeless “little chap” like him.

“I hope the lady will see to me,” he thought, and gave a timid rap with
the great bronze knocker, which was a jovial griffin’s head.

A rosy-faced servant-maid opened the door, and smiled as she took the
letter which he silently offered. She seemed used to receiving strange
boys, for she pointed to a seat in the hall, and said, with a nod:

“Sit there and drip on the mat a bit, while I take this in to missis.”

Nat found plenty to amuse him while he waited, and stared about him
curiously, enjoying the view, yet glad to do so unobserved in the dusky
recess by the door.

The house seemed swarming with boys, who were beguiling the rainy twilight
with all sorts of amusements. There were boys everywhere, “up-stairs and
down-stairs and in the lady’s chamber,” apparently, for various open doors
showed pleasant groups of big boys, little boys, and middle-sized boys in
all stages of evening relaxation, not to say effervescence. Two large
rooms on the right were evidently schoolrooms, for desks, maps,
blackboards, and books were scattered about. An open fire burned on the
hearth, and several indolent lads lay on their backs before it, discussing
a new cricket-ground, with such animation that their boots waved in the
air. A tall youth was practising on the flute in one corner, quite
undisturbed by the racket all about him. Two or three others were jumping
over the desks, pausing, now and then, to get their breath and laugh at
the droll sketches of a little wag who was caricaturing the whole
household on a blackboard.

In the room on the left a long supper-table was seen, set forth with great
pitchers of new milk, piles of brown and white bread, and perfect stacks
of the shiny gingerbread so dear to boyish souls. A flavor of toast was in
the air, also suggestions of baked apples, very tantalizing to one hungry
little nose and stomach.

The hall, however, presented the most inviting prospect of all, for a
brisk game of tag was going on in the upper entry. One landing was devoted
to marbles, the other to checkers, while the stairs were occupied by a boy
reading, a girl singing a lullaby to her doll, two puppies, a kitten, and
a constant succession of small boys sliding down the banisters, to the
great detriment of their clothes and danger to their limbs.

So absorbed did Nat become in this exciting race, that he ventured farther
and farther out of his corner; and when one very lively boy came down so
swiftly that he could not stop himself, but fell off the banisters, with a
crash that would have broken any head but one rendered nearly as hard as a
cannon-ball by eleven years of constant bumping, Nat forgot himself, and
ran up to the fallen rider, expecting to find him half-dead. The boy,
however, only winked rapidly for a second, then lay calmly looking up at
the new face with a surprised, “Hullo!”

“Hullo!” returned Nat, not knowing what else to say, and thinking that
form of reply both brief and easy.

“Are you a new boy?” asked the recumbent youth, without stirring.

“Don’t know yet.”

“What’s your name?”

“Nat Blake.”

“Mine’s Tommy Bangs. Come up and have a go, will you?” and Tommy got upon
his legs like one suddenly remembering the duties of hospitality.

“Guess I won’t, till I see whether I’m going to stay or not,” returned
Nat, feeling the desire to stay increase every moment.

“I say, Demi, here’s a new one. Come and see to him;” and the lively
Thomas returned to his sport with unabated relish.

At his call, the boy reading on the stairs looked up with a pair of big
brown eyes, and after an instant’s pause, as if a little shy, he put the
book under his arm, and came soberly down to greet the new-comer, who
found something very attractive in the pleasant face of this slender,
mild-eyed boy.

“Have you seen Aunt Jo?” he asked, as if that was some sort of important
ceremony.

“I haven’t seen anybody yet but you boys; I’m waiting,” answered Nat.

“Did Uncle Laurie send you?” proceeded Demi, politely, but gravely.

“Mr. Laurence did.”

“He is Uncle Laurie; and he always sends nice boys.”

Nat looked gratified at the remark, and smiled, in a way that made his
thin face very pleasant. He did not know what to say next, so the two
stood staring at one another in friendly silence, till the little girl
came up with her doll in her arms. She was very like Demi, only not so
tall, and had a rounder, rosier face, and blue eyes.

“This is my sister, Daisy,” announced Demi, as if presenting a rare and
precious creature.

The children nodded to one another; and the little girl’s face dimpled
with pleasure, as she said affably:

“I hope you’ll stay. We have such good times here; don’t we, Demi?”

“Of course, we do: that’s what Aunt Jo has Plumfield for.”

“It seems a very nice place indeed,” observed Nat, feeling that he must
respond to these amiable young persons.

“It’s the nicest place in the world, isn’t it, Demi?” said Daisy, who
evidently regarded her brother as authority on all subjects.

“No, I think Greenland, where the icebergs and seals are, is more
interesting. But I’m fond of Plumfield, and it is a very nice place to be
in,” returned Demi, who was interested just now in a book on Greenland. He
was about to offer to show Nat the pictures and explain them, when the
servant returned, saying with a nod toward the parlor-door:

“All right; you are to stop.”

“I’m glad; now come to Aunt Jo.” And Daisy took him by the hand with a
pretty protecting air, which made Nat feel at home at once.

Demi returned to his beloved book, while his sister led the new-comer into
a back room, where a stout gentleman was frolicking with two little boys
on the sofa, and a thin lady was just finishing the letter which she
seemed to have been re-reading.

“Here he is, aunty!” cried Daisy.

“So this is my new boy? I am glad to see you, my dear, and hope you’ll be
happy here,” said the lady, drawing him to her, and stroking back the hair
from his forehead with a kind hand and a motherly look, which made Nat’s
lonely little heart yearn toward her.

She was not at all handsome, but she had a merry sort of face that never
seemed to have forgotten certain childish ways and looks, any more than
her voice and manner had; and these things, hard to describe but very
plain to see and feel, made her a genial, comfortable kind of person, easy
to get on with, and generally “jolly,” as boys would say. She saw the
little tremble of Nat’s lips as she smoothed his hair, and her keen eyes
grew softer, but she only drew the shabby figure nearer and said,
laughing:

“I am Mother Bhaer, that gentleman is Father Bhaer, and these are the two
little Bhaers. Come here, boys, and see Nat.”

The three wrestlers obeyed at once; and the stout man, with a chubby child
on each shoulder, came up to welcome the new boy. Rob and Teddy merely
grinned at him, but Mr. Bhaer shook hands, and pointing to a low chair
near the fire, said, in a cordial voice:

“There is a place all ready for thee, my son; sit down and dry thy wet
feet at once.”

“Wet? So they are! My dear, off with your shoes this minute, and I’ll have
some dry things ready for you in a jiffy,” cried Mrs. Bhaer, bustling
about so energetically that Nat found himself in the cosy little chair,
with dry socks and warm slippers on his feet, before he would have had
time to say Jack Robinson, if he had wanted to try. He said “Thank you,
ma’am,” instead; and said it so gratefully that Mrs. Bhaer’s eyes grew
soft again, and she said something merry, because she felt so tender,
which was a way she had.

“There are Tommy Bangs’ slippers; but he never will remember to put them
on in the house; so he shall not have them. They are too big; but that’s
all the better; you can’t run away from us so fast as if they fitted.”

“I don’t want to run away, ma’am.” And Nat spread his grimy little hands
before the comfortable blaze, with a long sigh of satisfaction.

“That’s good! Now I am going to toast you well, and try to get rid of that
ugly cough. How long have you had it, dear?” asked Mrs. Bhaer, as she
rummaged in her big basket for a strip of flannel.

“All winter. I got cold, and it wouldn’t get better, somehow.”

“No wonder, living in that damp cellar with hardly a rag to his poor dear
back!” said Mrs. Bhaer, in a low tone to her husband, who was looking at
the boy with a skillful pair of eyes that marked the thin temples and
feverish lips, as well as the hoarse voice and frequent fits of coughing
that shook the bent shoulders under the patched jacket.

“Robin, my man, trot up to Nursey, and tell her to give thee the
cough-bottle and the liniment,” said Mr. Bhaer, after his eyes had
exchanged telegrams with his wife’s.

Nat looked a little anxious at the preparations, but forgot his fears in a
hearty laugh, when Mrs. Bhaer whispered to him, with a droll look:

“Hear my rogue Teddy try to cough. The syrup I’m going to give you has
honey in it; and he wants some.”

Little Ted was red in the face with his exertions by the time the bottle
came, and was allowed to suck the spoon after Nat had manfully taken a
dose and had the bit of flannel put about his throat.

These first steps toward a cure were hardly completed when a great bell
rang, and a loud tramping through the hall announced supper. Bashful Nat
quaked at the thought of meeting many strange boys, but Mrs. Bhaer held
out her hand to him, and Rob said, patronizingly, “Don’t be ‘fraid; I’ll
take care of you.”

Twelve boys, six on a side, stood behind their chairs, prancing with
impatience to begin, while the tall flute-playing youth was trying to curb
their ardor. But no one sat down till Mrs. Bhaer was in her place behind
the teapot, with Teddy on her left, and Nat on her right.

“This is our new boy, Nat Blake. After supper you can say how do you do?
Gently, boys, gently.”

As she spoke every one stared at Nat, and then whisked into their seats,
trying to be orderly and failing utterly. The Bhaers did their best to
have the lads behave well at meal times, and generally succeeded pretty
well, for their rules were few and sensible, and the boys, knowing that
they tried to make things easy and happy, did their best to obey. But
there are times when hungry boys cannot be repressed without real cruelty,
and Saturday evening, after a half-holiday, was one of those times.

“Dear little souls, do let them have one day in which they can howl and
racket and frolic to their hearts’ content. A holiday isn’t a holiday
without plenty of freedom and fun; and they shall have full swing once a
week,” Mrs. Bhaer used to say, when prim people wondered why
banister-sliding, pillow-fights, and all manner of jovial games were
allowed under the once decorous roof of Plumfield.

It did seem at times as if the aforesaid roof was in danger of flying off,
but it never did, for a word from Father Bhaer could at any time produce a
lull, and the lads had learned that liberty must not be abused. So, in
spite of many dark predictions, the school flourished, and manners and
morals were insinuated, without the pupils exactly knowing how it was
done.

Nat found himself very well off behind the tall pitchers, with Tommy Bangs
just around the corner, and Mrs. Bhaer close by to fill up plate and mug
as fast as he could empty them.

“Who is that boy next the girl down at the other end?” whispered Nat to
his young neighbor under cover of a general laugh.

“That’s Demi Brooke. Mr. Bhaer is his uncle.”

“What a queer name!”

“His real name is John, but they call him Demi-John, because his father is
John too. That’s a joke, don’t you see?” said Tommy, kindly explaining.
Nat did not see, but politely smiled, and asked, with interest:

“Isn’t he a very nice boy?”

“I bet you he is; knows lots and reads like any thing.”

“Who is the fat one next him?”

“Oh, that’s Stuffy Cole. His name is George, but we call him Stuffy ’cause
he eats so much. The little fellow next Father Bhaer is his boy Rob, and
then there’s big Franz his nephew; he teaches some, and kind of sees to
us.”

“He plays the flute, doesn’t he?” asked Nat as Tommy rendered himself
speechless by putting a whole baked apple into his mouth at one blow.

Tommy nodded, and said, sooner than one would have imagined possible under
the circumstances, “Oh, don’t he, though? And we dance sometimes, and do
gymnastics to music. I like a drum myself, and mean to learn as soon as
ever I can.”

“I like a fiddle best; I can play one too,” said Nat, getting confidential
on this attractive subject.

“Can you?” and Tommy stared over the rim of his mug with round eyes, full
of interest. “Mr. Bhaer’s got an old fiddle, and he’ll let you play on it
if you want to.”

“Could I? Oh, I would like it ever so much. You see, I used to go round
fiddling with my father, and another man, till he died.”

“Wasn’t that fun?” cried Tommy, much impressed.

“No, it was horrid; so cold in winter, and hot in summer. And I got tired;
and they were cross sometimes; and I didn’t get enough to eat.” Nat paused
to take a generous bite of gingerbread, as if to assure himself that the
hard times were over; and then he added regretfully: “But I did love my
little fiddle, and I miss it. Nicolo took it away when father died, and
wouldn’t have me any longer, ’cause I was sick.”

“You’ll belong to the band if you play good. See if you don’t.”

“Do you have a band here?” Nat’s eyes sparkled.

“Guess we do; a jolly band, all boys; and they have concerts and things.
You just see what happens to-morrow night.”

After this pleasantly exciting remark, Tommy returned to his supper, and
Nat sank into a blissful reverie over his full plate.

Mrs. Bhaer had heard all they said, while apparently absorbed in filling
mugs, and overseeing little Ted, who was so sleepy that he put his spoon
in his eye, nodded like a rosy poppy, and finally fell fast asleep, with
his cheek pillowed on a soft bun. Mrs. Bhaer had put Nat next to Tommy,
because that roly-poly boy had a frank and social way with him, very
attractive to shy persons. Nat felt this, and had made several small
confidences during supper, which gave Mrs. Bhaer the key to the new boy’s
character, better than if she had talked to him herself.

In the letter which Mr. Laurence had sent with Nat, he had said:

“DEAR JO: Here is a case after your own heart. This poor lad is an orphan
now, sick and friendless. He has been a street-musician; and I found him
in a cellar, mourning for his dead father, and his lost violin. I think
there is something in him, and have a fancy that between us we may give
this little man a lift. You cure his overtasked body, Fritz help his
neglected mind, and when he is ready I’ll see if he is a genius or only a
boy with a talent which may earn his bread for him. Give him a trial, for
the sake of your own boy,

“TEDDY.”

“Of course we will!” cried Mrs. Bhaer, as she read the letter; and when
she saw Nat she felt at once that, whether he was a genius or not, here
was a lonely, sick boy who needed just what she loved to give, a home and
motherly care. Both she and Mr. Bhaer observed him quietly; and in spite
of ragged clothes, awkward manners, and a dirty face, they saw much about
Nat that pleased them. He was a thin, pale boy, of twelve, with blue eyes,
and a good forehead under the rough, neglected hair; an anxious, scared
face, at times, as if he expected hard words, or blows; and a sensitive
mouth that trembled when a kind glance fell on him; while a gentle speech
called up a look of gratitude, very sweet to see. “Bless the poor dear, he
shall fiddle all day long if he likes,” said Mrs. Bhaer to herself, as she
saw the eager, happy expression on his face when Tommy talked of the band.

So, after supper, when the lads flocked into the schoolroom for more “high
jinks,” Mrs. Jo appeared with a violin in her hand, and after a word with
her husband, went to Nat, who sat in a corner watching the scene with
intense interest.

“Now, my lad, give us a little tune. We want a violin in our band, and I
think you will do it nicely.”

She expected that he would hesitate; but he seized the old fiddle at once,
and handled it with such loving care, it was plain to see that music was
his passion.

“I’ll do the best I can, ma’am,” was all he said; and then drew the bow
across the strings, as if eager to hear the dear notes again.

There was a great clatter in the room, but as if deaf to any sounds but
those he made, Nat played softly to himself, forgetting every thing in his
delight. It was only a simple Negro melody, such as street-musicians play,
but it caught the ears of the boys at once, and silenced them, till they
stood listening with surprise and pleasure. Gradually they got nearer and
nearer, and Mr. Bhaer came up to watch the boy; for, as if he was in his
element now, Nat played away and never minded any one, while his eyes
shone, his cheeks reddened, and his thin fingers flew, as he hugged the
old fiddle and made it speak to all their hearts the language that he
loved.

A hearty round of applause rewarded him better than a shower of pennies,
when he stopped and glanced about him, as if to say:

“I’ve done my best; please like it.”

“I say, you do that first rate,” cried Tommy, who considered Nat his
protege.

“You shall be the first fiddle in my band,” added Franz, with an approving
smile.

Mrs. Bhaer whispered to her husband:

“Teddy is right: there’s something in the child.” And Mr. Bhaer nodded his
head emphatically, as he clapped Nat on the shoulder, saying, heartily:

“You play well, my son. Come now and play something which we can sing.”

It was the proudest, happiest minute of the poor boy’s life when he was
led to the place of honor by the piano, and the lads gathered round, never
heeding his poor clothes, but eying him respectfully and waiting eagerly
to hear him play again.

They chose a song he knew; and after one or two false starts they got
going, and violin, flute, and piano led a chorus of boyish voices that
made the old roof ring again. It was too much for Nat, more feeble than he
knew; and as the final shout died away, his face began to work, he dropped
the fiddle, and turning to the wall sobbed like a little child.

“My dear, what is it?” asked Mrs. Bhaer, who had been singing with all her
might, and trying to keep little Rob from beating time with his boots.

“You are all so kind and it’s so beautiful I can’t help it,” sobbed Nat,
coughing till he was breathless.

“Come with me, dear; you must go to bed and rest; you are worn out, and
this is too noisy a place for you,” whispered Mrs. Bhaer; and took him
away to her own parlor, where she let him cry himself quiet.

Then she won him to tell her all his troubles, and listened to the little
story with tears in her own eyes, though it was not a new one to her.

“My child, you have got a father and a mother now, and this is home. Don’t
think of those sad times any more, but get well and happy; and be sure you
shall never suffer again, if we can help it. This place is made for all
sorts of boys to have a good time in, and to learn how to help themselves
and be useful men, I hope. You shall have as much music as you want, only
you must get strong first. Now come up to Nursey and have a bath, and then
go to bed, and to-morrow we will lay some nice little plans together.”

Nat held her hand fast in his, but had not a word to say, and let his
grateful eyes speak for him, as Mrs. Bhaer led him up to a big room, where
they found a stout German woman with a face so round and cheery that it
looked like a sort of sun, with the wide frill of her cap for rays.

“This is Nursey Hummel, and she will give you a nice bath, and cut your
hair, and make you all ‘comfy,’ as Rob says. That’s the bath-room in
there; and on Saturday nights we scrub all the little lads first, and pack
them away in bed before the big ones get through singing. Now then, Rob,
in with you.”

As she talked, Mrs. Bhaer had whipped off Rob’s clothes and popped him
into a long bath-tub in the little room opening into the nursery.

There were two tubs, besides foot-baths, basins, douche-pipes, and all
manner of contrivances for cleanliness. Nat was soon luxuriating in the
other bath; and while simmering there, he watched the performances of the
two women, who scrubbed, clean night-gowned, and bundled into bed four or
five small boys, who, of course, cut up all sorts of capers during the
operation, and kept every one in a gale of merriment till they were
extinguished in their beds.

By the time Nat was washed and done up in a blanket by the fire, while
Nursey cut his hair, a new detachment of boys arrived and were shut into
the bath-room, where they made as much splashing and noise as a school of
young whales at play.

“Nat had better sleep here, so that if his cough troubles him in the night
you can see that he takes a good draught of flax-seed tea,” said Mrs.
Bhaer, who was flying about like a distracted hen with a large brood of
lively ducklings.

Nursey approved the plan, finished Nat off with a flannel night-gown, a
drink of something warm and sweet, and then tucked him into one of the
three little beds standing in the room, where he lay looking like a
contented mummy and feeling that nothing more in the way of luxury could
be offered him. Cleanliness in itself was a new and delightful sensation;
flannel gowns were unknown comforts in his world; sips of “good stuff”
soothed his cough as pleasantly as kind words did his lonely heart; and
the feeling that somebody cared for him made that plain room seem a sort
of heaven to the homeless child. It was like a cosy dream; and he often
shut his eyes to see if it would not vanish when he opened them again. It
was too pleasant to let him sleep, and he could not have done so if he had
tried, for in a few minutes one of the peculiar institutions of Plumfield
was revealed to his astonished but appreciative eyes.

A momentary lull in the aquatic exercises was followed by the sudden
appearance of pillows flying in all directions, hurled by white goblins,
who came rioting out of their beds. The battle raged in several rooms, all
down the upper hall, and even surged at intervals into the nursery, when
some hard-pressed warrior took refuge there. No one seemed to mind this
explosion in the least; no one forbade it, or even looked surprised.
Nursey went on hanging up towels, and Mrs. Bhaer laid out clean clothes,
as calmly as if the most perfect order reigned. Nay, she even chased one
daring boy out of the room, and fired after him the pillow he had slyly
thrown at her.

“Won’t they hurt ’em?” asked Nat, who lay laughing with all his might.

“Oh dear, no! We always allow one pillow-fight Saturday night. The cases
are changed to-morrow; and it gets up a glow after the boys’ baths; so I
rather like it myself,” said Mrs. Bhaer, busy again among her dozen pairs
of socks.

“What a very nice school this is!” observed Nat, in a burst of admiration.

“It’s an odd one,” laughed Mrs. Bhaer, “but you see we don’t believe in
making children miserable by too many rules, and too much study. I forbade
night-gown parties at first; but, bless you, it was of no use. I could no
more keep those boys in their beds than so many jacks in the box. So I
made an agreement with them: I was to allow a fifteen-minute pillow-fight
every Saturday night; and they promised to go properly to bed every other
night. I tried it, and it worked well. If they don’t keep their word, no
frolic; if they do, I just turn the glasses round, put the lamps in safe
places, and let them rampage as much as they like.”

“It’s a beautiful plan,” said Nat, feeling that he should like to join in
the fray, but not venturing to propose it the first night. So he lay
enjoying the spectacle, which certainly was a lively one.

Tommy Bangs led the assailing party, and Demi defended his own room with a
dogged courage fine to see, collecting pillows behind him as fast as they
were thrown, till the besiegers were out of ammunition, when they would
charge upon him in a body, and recover their arms. A few slight accidents
occurred, but nobody minded, and gave and took sounding thwacks with
perfect good humor, while pillows flew like big snowflakes, till Mrs.
Bhaer looked at her watch, and called out:

“Time is up, boys. Into bed, every man jack, or pay the forfeit!”

“What is the forfeit?” asked Nat, sitting up in his eagerness to know what
happened to those wretches who disobeyed this most peculiar, but
public-spirited school-ma’am.

“Lose their fun next time,” answered Mrs. Bhaer. “I give them five minutes
to settle down, then put out the lights, and expect order. They are
honorable lads, and they keep their word.”

That was evident, for the battle ended as abruptly as it began, a parting
shot or two, a final cheer, as Demi fired the seventh pillow at the
retiring foe, a few challenges for next time, then order prevailed. And
nothing but an occasional giggle or a suppressed whisper broke the quiet
which followed the Saturday-night frolic, as Mother Bhaer kissed her new
boy and left him to happy dreams of life at Plumfield.

CHAPTER II. THE BOYS

While Nat takes a good long sleep, I will tell my little readers something
about the boys, among whom he found himself when he woke up.

To begin with our old friends. Franz was a tall lad, of sixteen now, a
regular German, big, blond, and bookish, also very domestic, amiable, and
musical. His uncle was fitting him for college, and his aunt for a happy
home of his own hereafter, because she carefully fostered in him gentle
manners, love of children, respect for women, old and young, and helpful
ways about the house. He was her right-hand man on all occasions, steady,
kind, and patient; and he loved his merry aunt like a mother, for such she
had tried to be to him.

Emil was quite different, being quick-tempered, restless, and
enterprising, bent on going to sea, for the blood of the old vikings
stirred in his veins, and could not be tamed. His uncle promised that he
should go when he was sixteen, and set him to studying navigation, gave
him stories of good and famous admirals and heroes to read, and let him
lead the life of a frog in river, pond, and brook, when lessons were done.
His room looked like the cabin of a man-of-war, for every thing was
nautical, military, and shipshape. Captain Kyd was his delight, and his
favorite amusement was to rig up like that piratical gentleman, and roar
out sanguinary sea-songs at the top of his voice. He would dance nothing
but sailors’ hornpipes, rolled in his gait, and was as nautical in
conversation to his uncle would permit. The boys called him “Commodore,”
and took great pride in his fleet, which whitened the pond and suffered
disasters that would have daunted any commander but a sea-struck boy.

Demi was one of the children who show plainly the effect of intelligent
love and care, for soul and body worked harmoniously together. The natural
refinement which nothing but home influence can teach, gave him sweet and
simple manners: his mother had cherished an innocent and loving heart in
him; his father had watched over the physical growth of his boy, and kept
the little body straight and strong on wholesome food and exercise and
sleep, while Grandpa March cultivated the little mind with the tender
wisdom of a modern Pythagoras, not tasking it with long, hard lessons,
parrot-learned, but helping it to unfold as naturally and beautifully as
sun and dew help roses bloom. He was not a perfect child, by any means,
but his faults were of the better sort; and being early taught the secret
of self-control, he was not left at the mercy of appetites and passions,
as some poor little mortals are, and then punished for yielding to the
temptations against which they have no armor. A quiet, quaint boy was
Demi, serious, yet cheery, quite unconscious that he was unusually bright
and beautiful, yet quick to see and love intelligence or beauty in other
children. Very fond of books, and full of lively fancies, born of a strong
imagination and a spiritual nature, these traits made his parents anxious
to balance them with useful knowledge and healthful society, lest they
should make him one of those pale precocious children who amaze and
delight a family sometimes, and fade away like hot-house flowers, because
the young soul blooms too soon, and has not a hearty body to root it
firmly in the wholesome soil of this world.

So Demi was transplanted to Plumfield, and took so kindly to the life
there, that Meg and John and Grandpa felt satisfied that they had done
well. Mixing with other boys brought out the practical side of him, roused
his spirit, and brushed away the pretty cobwebs he was so fond of spinning
in that little brain of his. To be sure, he rather shocked his mother when
he came home, by banging doors, saying “by George” emphatically, and
demanding tall thick boots “that clumped like papa’s.” But John rejoiced
over him, laughed at his explosive remarks, got the boots, and said
contentedly,

“He is doing well; so let him clump. I want my son to be a manly boy, and
this temporary roughness won’t hurt him. We can polish him up by and by;
and as for learning, he will pick that up as pigeons do peas. So don’t
hurry him.”

Daisy was as sunshiny and charming as ever, with all sorts of
womanlinesses budding in her, for she was like her gentle mother, and
delighted in domestic things. She had a family of dolls, whom she brought
up in the most exemplary manner; she could not get on without her little
work-basket and bits of sewing, which she did so nicely, that Demi
frequently pulled out his handkerchief to display her neat stitches, and Baby
Josy had a flannel petticoat beautifully made by Sister Daisy. She like to
quiddle about the china-closet, prepare the salt-cellars, put the spoons
straight on the table; and every day went round the parlor with her brush,
dusting chairs and tables. Demi called her a “Betty,” but was very glad to
have her keep his things in order, lend him her nimble fingers in all
sorts of work, and help him with his lessons, for they kept abreast there,
and had no thought of rivalry.

The love between them was as strong as ever; and no one could laugh Demi
out of his affectionate ways with Daisy. He fought her battles valiantly,
and never could understand why boys should be ashamed to say “right out,”
that they loved their sisters. Daisy adored her twin, thought “my brother”
the most remarkable boy in the world, and every morning, in her little
wrapper, trotted to tap at his door with a motherly “Get up, my dear, it’s
‘most breakfast time; and here’s your clean collar.”

Rob was an energetic morsel of a boy, who seemed to have discovered the
secret of perpetual motion, for he never was still. Fortunately, he was
not mischievous, nor very brave; so he kept out of trouble pretty well,
and vibrated between father and mother like an affectionate little
pendulum with a lively tick, for Rob was a chatterbox.

Teddy was too young to play a very important part in the affairs of
Plumfield, yet he had his little sphere, and filled it beautifully. Every
one felt the need of a pet at times, and Baby was always ready to
accommodate, for kissing and cuddling suited him excellently. Mrs. Jo
seldom stirred without him; so he had his little finger in all the
domestic pies, and every one found them all the better for it, for they
believed in babies at Plumfield.

Dick Brown, and Adolphus or Dolly Pettingill, were two eight year-olds.
Dolly stuttered badly, but was gradually getting over it, for no one was
allowed to mock him and Mr. Bhaer tried to cure it, by making him talk
slowly. Dolly was a good little lad, quite uninteresting and ordinary, but
he flourished here, and went through his daily duties and pleasures with
placid content and propriety.

Dick Brown’s affliction was a crooked back, yet he bore his burden so
cheerfully, that Demi once asked in his queer way, “Do humps make people
good-natured? I’d like one if they do.” Dick was always merry, and did his
best to be like other boys, for a plucky spirit lived in the feeble little
body. When he first came, he was very sensitive about his misfortune, but
soon learned to forget it, for no one dared remind him of it, after Mr.
Bhaer had punished one boy for laughing at him.

“God don’t care; for my soul is straight if my back isn’t,” sobbed Dick to
his tormentor on that occasion; and, by cherishing this idea, the Bhaers
soon led him to believe that people also loved his soul, and did not mind
his body, except to pity and help him to bear it.

Playing menagerie once with the others, some one said,

“What animal will you be, Dick?”

“Oh, I’m the dromedary; don’t you see the hump on my back?” was the
laughing answer.

“So you are, my nice little one that don’t carry loads, but marches by the
elephant first in the procession,” said Demi, who was arranging the
spectacle.

“I hope others will be as kind to the poor dear as my boys have learned to
be,” said Mrs. Jo, quite satisfied with the success of her teaching, as
Dick ambled past her, looking like a very happy, but a very feeble little
dromedary, beside stout Stuffy, who did the elephant with ponderous
propriety.

Jack Ford was a sharp, rather a sly lad, who was sent to this school,
because it was cheap. Many men would have thought him a smart boy, but Mr.
Bhaer did not like his way of illustrating that Yankee word, and thought
his unboyish keenness and money-loving as much of an affliction as Dolly’s
stutter, or Dick’s hump.

Ned Barker was like a thousand other boys of fourteen, all legs, blunder,
and bluster. Indeed the family called him the “Blunderbuss,” and always
expected to see him tumble over the chairs, bump against the tables, and
knock down any small articles near him. He bragged a good deal about what
he could do, but seldom did any thing to prove it, was not brave, and a
little given to tale-telling. He was apt to bully the small boys, and
flatter the big ones, and without being at all bad, was just the sort of
fellow who could very easily be led astray.

George Cole had been spoilt by an over-indulgent mother, who stuffed him
with sweetmeats till he was sick, and then thought him too delicate to
study, so that at twelve years old, he was a pale, puffy boy, dull,
fretful, and lazy. A friend persuaded her to send him to Plumfield, and
there he soon got waked up, for sweet things were seldom allowed, much
exercise required, and study made so pleasant, that Stuffy was gently
lured along, till he quite amazed his anxious mamma by his improvement,
and convinced her that there was really something remarkable in Plumfield
air.

Billy Ward was what the Scotch tenderly call an “innocent,” for though
thirteen years old, he was like a child of six. He had been an unusually
intelligent boy, and his father had hurried him on too fast, giving him
all sorts of hard lessons, keeping at his books six hours a day, and
expecting him to absorb knowledge as a Strasburg goose does the food
crammed down its throat. He thought he was doing his duty, but he nearly
killed the boy, for a fever gave the poor child a sad holiday, and when he
recovered, the overtasked brain gave out, and Billy’s mind was like a
slate over which a sponge has passed, leaving it blank.

It was a terrible lesson to his ambitious father; he could not bear the
sight of his promising child, changed to a feeble idiot, and he sent him
away to Plumfield, scarcely hoping that he could be helped, but sure that
he would be kindly treated. Quite docile and harmless was Billy, and it
was pitiful to see how hard he tried to learn, as if groping dimly after
the lost knowledge which had cost him so much.

Day after day, he pored over the alphabet, proudly said A and B, and
thought that he knew them, but on the morrow they were gone, and all the
work was to be done over again. Mr. Bhaer had infinite patience with him,
and kept on in spite of the apparent hopelessness of the task, not caring
for book lessons, but trying gently to clear away the mists from the
darkened mind, and give it back intelligence enough to make the boy less a
burden and an affliction.

Mrs. Bhaer strengthened his health by every aid she could invent, and the
boys all pitied and were kind to him. He did not like their active plays,
but would sit for hours watching the doves, would dig holes for Teddy till
even that ardent grubber was satisfied, or follow Silas, the man, from
place to place seeing him work, for honest Si was very good to him, and
though he forgot his letters Billy remembered friendly faces.

Tommy Bangs was the scapegrace of the school, and the most trying
scapegrace that ever lived. As full of mischief as a monkey, yet so
good-hearted that one could not help forgiving his tricks; so
scatter-brained that words went by him like the wind, yet so penitent for
every misdeed, that it was impossible to keep sober when he vowed
tremendous vows of reformation, or proposed all sorts of queer punishments
to be inflicted upon himself. Mr. and Mrs. Bhaer lived in a state of
preparation for any mishap, from the breaking of Tommy’s own neck, to the
blowing up of the entire family with gunpowder; and Nursey had a
particular drawer in which she kept bandages, plasters, and salves for his
especial use, for Tommy was always being brought in half dead; but nothing
ever killed him, and he arose from every downfall with redoubled vigor.

The first day he came, he chopped the top off one finger in the
hay-cutter, and during the week, fell from the shed roof, was chased by an
angry hen who tried to pick his out because he examined her chickens, got
run away with, and had his ears boxed violent by Asia, who caught him
luxuriously skimming a pan of cream with half a stolen pie. Undaunted,
however, by any failures or rebuffs, this indomitable youth went on
amusing himself with all sorts of tricks till no one felt safe. If he did
not know his lessons, he always had some droll excuse to offer, and as he
was usually clever at his books, and as bright as a button in composing
answers when he did not know them, he go on pretty well at school. But out
of school, Ye gods and little fishes! how Tommy did carouse!

He wound fat Asia up in her own clothes line against the post, and left
here there to fume and scold for half an hour one busy Monday morning. He
dropped a hot cent down Mary Ann’s back as that pretty maid was waiting at
table one day when there were gentlemen to dinner, whereat the poor girl
upset the soup and rushed out of the room in dismay, leaving the family to
think that she had gone mad. He fixed a pail of water up in a tree, with a
bit of ribbon fastened to the handle, and when Daisy, attracted by the gay
streamer, tried to pull it down, she got a douche bath that spoiled her
clean frock and hurt her little feelings very much. He put rough white
pebbles in the sugar-bowl when his grandmother came to tea, and the poor
old lady wondered why they didn’t melt in her cup, but was too polite to
say anything. He passed around snuff in church so that five of the boys
sneezed with such violence they had to go out. He dug paths in winter
time, and then privately watered them so that people should tumble down.
He drove poor Silas nearly wild by hanging his big boots in conspicuous
places, for his feet were enormous, and he was very much ashamed of them.
He persuaded confiding little Dolly to tie a thread to one of his loose
teeth, and leave the string hanging from his mouth when he went to sleep,
so that Tommy could pull it out without his feeling the dreaded operation.
But the tooth wouldn’t come at the first tweak, and poor Dolly woke up in
great anguish of spirit, and lost all faith in Tommy from that day forth.

The last prank had been to give the hens bread soaked in rum, which made
them tipsy and scandalized all the other fowls, for the respectable old
biddies went staggering about, pecking and clucking in the most maudlin
manner, while the family were convulsed with laughter at their antics,
till Daisy took pity on them and shut them up in the hen-house to sleep
off their intoxication.

These were the boys and they lived together as happy as twelve lads could,
studying and playing, working and squabbling, fighting faults and
cultivating virtues in the good old-fashioned way. Boys at other schools
probably learned more from books, but less of that better wisdom which
makes good men. Latin, Greek, and mathematics were all very well, but in
Professor Bhaer’s opinion, self knowledge, self-help, and self-control
were more important, and he tried to teach them carefully. People shook
their heads sometimes at his ideas, even while they owned that the boys
improved wonderfully in manners and morals. But then, as Mrs. Jo said to
Nat, “it was an odd school.”

CHAPTER III. SUNDAY

The moment the bell rang next morning Nat flew out of bed, and dressed
himself with great satisfaction in the suit of clothes he found on the
chair. They were not new, being half-worn garments of one of the
well-to-do boys; but Mrs. Bhaer kept all such cast-off feathers for the
picked robins who strayed into her nest. They were hardly on when Tommy
appeared in a high state of clean collar, and escorted Nat down to
breakfast.

The sun was shining into the dining-room on the well-spread table, and the
flock of hungry, hearty lads who gathered round it. Nat observed that they
were much more orderly than they had been the night before, and every one
stood silently behind his chair while little Rob, standing beside his
father at the head of the table, folded his hands, reverently bent his
curly head, and softly repeated a short grace in the devout German
fashion, which Mr. Bhaer loved and taught his little son to honor. Then
they all sat down to enjoy the Sunday-morning breakfast of coffee, steak,
and baked potatoes, instead of the bread and milk fare with which they
usually satisfied their young appetites. There was much pleasant talk
while the knives and forks rattled briskly, for certain Sunday lessons
were to be learned, the Sunday walk settled, and plans for the week
discussed. As he listened, Nat thought it seemed as if this day must be a
very pleasant one, for he loved quiet, and there was a cheerful sort of
hush over every thing that pleased him very much; because, in spite of his
rough life, the boy possessed the sensitive nerves which belong to a
music-loving nature.

“Now, my lads, get your morning jobs done, and let me find you ready for
church when the ‘bus comes round,” said Father Bhaer, and set the example
by going into the school-room to get books ready for the morrow.

Every one scattered to his or her task, for each had some little daily
duty, and was expected to perform it faithfully. Some brought wood and
water, brushed the steps, or ran errands for Mrs. Bhaer. Others fed the
pet animals, and did chores about the barn with Franz. Daisy washed the
cups, and Demi wiped them, for the twins liked to work together, and Demi
had been taught to make himself useful in the little house at home. Even
Baby Teddy had his small job to do, and trotted to and fro, putting
napkins away, and pushing chairs into their places. For half and hour the
lads buzzed about like a hive of bees, then the ‘bus drove round, Father
Bhaer and Franz with the eight older boys piled in, and away they went for
a three-mile drive to church in town.

Because of the troublesome cough Nat prefered to stay at home with the
four small boys, and spent a happy morning in Mrs. Bhaer’s room, listening
to the stories she read them, learning the hymns she taught them, and then
quietly employing himself pasting pictures into an old ledger.

“This is my Sunday closet,” she said, showing him shelves filled with
picture-books, paint-boxes, architectural blocks, little diaries, and
materials for letter-writing. “I want my boys to love Sunday, to find it a
peaceful, pleasant day, when they can rest from common study and play, yet
enjoy quiet pleasures, and learn, in simple ways, lessons more important
than any taught in school. Do you understand me?” she asked, watching
Nat’s attentive face.

“You mean to be good?” he said, after hesitating a minute.

“Yes; to be good, and to love to be good. It is hard work sometimes, I
know very well; but we all help one another, and so we get on. This is one
of the ways in which I try to help my boys,” and she took down a thick
book, which seemed half-full of writing, and opened at a page on which
there was one word at the top.

“Why, that’s my name!” cried Nat, looking both surprised and interested.

“Yes; I have a page for each boy. I keep a little account of how he gets
on through the week, and Sunday night I show him the record. If it is bad
I am sorry and disappointed, if it is good I am glad and proud; but,
whichever it is, the boys know I want to help them, and they try to do
their best for love of me and Father Bhaer.”

“I should think they would,” said Nat, catching a glimpse of Tommy’s name
opposite his own, and wondering what was written under it.

Mrs. Bhaer saw his eye on the words, and shook her head, saying, as she
turned a leaf,

“No, I don’t show my records to any but the one to whom each belongs. I
call this my conscience book; and only you and I will ever know what is to
be written on the page below your name. Whether you will be pleased or
ashamed to read it next Sunday depends on yourself. I think it will be a
good report; at any rate, I shall try to make things easy for you in this
new place, and shall be quite contented if you keep our few rules, live
happily with the boys, and learn something.”

“I’ll try ma’am;” and Nat’s thin face flushed up with the earnestness of
his desire to make Mrs. Bhaer “glad and proud,” not “sorry and
disappointed.” “It must be a great deal of trouble to write about so
many,” he added, as she shut her book with an encouraging pat on the
shoulder.

“Not to me, for I really don’t know which I like best, writing or boys,”
she said, laughing to see Nat stare with astonishment at the last item.
“Yes, I know many people think boys are a nuisance, but that is because
they don’t understand them. I do; and I never saw the boy yet whom I could
not get on capitally with after I had once found the soft spot in his
heart. Bless me, I couldn’t get on at all without my flock of dear, noisy,
naughty, harum-scarum little lads, could I, my Teddy?” and Mrs. Bhaer
hugged the young rogue, just in time to save the big inkstand from going
into his pocket.

Nat, who had never heard anything like this before, really did not know
whether Mother Bhaer was a trifle crazy, or the most delightful woman he
had ever met. He rather inclined to the latter opinion, in spite of her
peculiar tastes, for she had a way of filling up a fellow’s plate before
he asked, of laughing at his jokes, gently tweaking him by the ear, or
clapping him on the shoulder, that Nat found very engaging.

“Now, I think you would like to go into the school-room and practise some
of the hymns we are to sing to-night,” she said, rightly guessing the
thing of all others that he wanted to do.

Alone with the beloved violin and the music-book propped up before him in
the sunny window, while Spring beauty filled the world outside, and
Sabbath silence reigned within, Nat enjoyed an hour or two of genuine
happiness, learning the sweet old tunes, and forgetting the hard past in
the cheerful present.

When the church-goers came back and dinner was over, every one read, wrote
letters home, said their Sunday lessons, or talked quietly to one another,
sitting here and there about the house. At three o’clock the entire family
turned out to walk, for all the active young bodies must have exercise;
and in these walks the active young minds were taught to see and love the
providence of God in the beautiful miracles which Nature was working
before their eyes. Mr. Bhaer always went with them, and in his simple,
fatherly way, found for his flock, “Sermons in stones, books in the
running brooks, and good in everything.”

Mrs. Bhaer with Daisy and her own two boys drove into town, to pay the
weekly visit to Grandma, which was busy Mother Bhaer’s one holiday and
greatest pleasure. Nat was not strong enough for the long walk, and asked
to stay at home with Tommy, who kindly offered to do the honors of
Plumfield. “You’ve seen the house, so come out and have a look at the
garden, and the barn, and the menagerie,” said Tommy, when they were left
alone with Asia, to see that they didn’t get into mischief; for, though
Tommy was one of the best-meaning boys who ever adorned knickerbockers,
accidents of the most direful nature were always happening to him, no one
could exactly tell how.

“What is your menagerie?” asked Nat, as they trotted along the drive that
encircled the house.

“We all have pets, you see, and we keep ’em in the corn-barn, and call it
the menagerie. Here you are. Isn’t my guinea-pig a beauty?” and Tommy
proudly presented one of the ugliest specimens of that pleasing animal
that Nat ever saw.

“I know a boy with a dozen of ’em, and he said he’d give me one, only I
hadn’t any place to keep it, so I couldn’t have it. It was white, with
black spots, a regular rouser, and maybe I could get it for you if you’d
like it,” said Nat, feeling it would be a delicate return for Tommy’s
attentions.

“I’d like it ever so much, and I’ll give you this one, and they can live
together if they don’t fight. Those white mice are Rob’s, Franz gave ’em
to him. The rabbits are Ned’s, and the bantams outside are Stuffy’s. That
box thing is Demi’s turtle-tank, only he hasn’t begun to get ’em yet. Last
year he had sixty-two, whackers some of ’em. He stamped one of ’em with
his name and the year, and let it go; and he says maybe he will find it
ever so long after and know it. He read about a turtle being found that
had a mark on it that showed it must be hundreds of years old. Demi’s such
a funny chap.”

“What is in this box?” asked Nat, stopping before a large deep one,
half-full of earth.

“Oh, that’s Jack Ford’s worm-shop. He digs heaps of ’em and keeps ’em
here, and when we want any to go afishing with, we buy some of him. It
saves lots of trouble, only he charged too much for ’em. Why, last time we
traded I had to pay two cents a dozen, and then got little ones. Jack’s
mean sometimes, and I told him I’d dig for myself if he didn’t lower his
prices. Now, I own two hens, those gray ones with top knots, first-rate
ones they are too, and I sell Mrs. Bhaer the eggs, but I never ask her
more than twenty-five cents a dozen, never! I’d be ashamed to do it,”
cried Tommy, with a glance of scorn at the worm-shop.

“Who owns the dogs?” asked Nat, much interested in these commercial
transactions, and feeling that T. Bangs was a man whom it would be a
privilege and a pleasure to patronize.

“The big dog is Emil’s. His name is Christopher Columbus. Mrs. Bhaer named
him because she likes to say Christopher Columbus, and no one minds it if
she means the dog,” answered Tommy, in the tone of a show-man displaying
his menagerie. “The white pup is Rob’s, and the yellow one is Teddy’s. A
man was going to drown them in our pond, and Pa Bhaer wouldn’t let him.
They do well enough for the little chaps, I don’t think much of ’em
myself. Their names are Castor and Pollux.”

“I’d like Toby the donkey best, if I could have anything, it’s so nice to
ride, and he’s so little and good,” said Nat, remembering the weary tramps
he had taken on his own tired feet.

“Mr. Laurie sent him out to Mrs. Bhaer, so she shouldn’t carry Teddy on
her back when we go to walk. We’re all fond of Toby, and he’s a first-rate
donkey, sir. Those pigeons belong to the whole lot of us, we each have our
pet one, and go shares in all the little ones as they come along. Squabs
are great fun; there ain’t any now, but you can go up and take a look at
the old fellows, while I see if Cockletop and Granny have laid any eggs.”

Nat climbed up a ladder, put his head through a trap door and took a long
look at the pretty doves billing and cooing in their spacious loft. Some
on their nests, some bustling in and out, and some sitting at their doors,
while many went flying from the sunny housetop to the straw-strewn
farmyard, where six sleek cows were placidly ruminating.

“Everybody has got something but me. I wish I had a dove, or a hen, or
even a turtle, all my own,” thought Nat, feeling very poor as he saw the
interesting treasures of the other boys. “How do you get these things?” he
asked, when he joined Tommy in the barn.

“We find ’em or buy ’em, or folks give ’em to us. My father sends me mine;
but as soon as I get egg money enough, I’m going to buy a pair of ducks.
There’s a nice little pond for ’em behind the barn, and people pay well
for duck-eggs, and the little duckies are pretty, and it’s fun to see ’em
swim,” said Tommy, with the air of a millionaire.

Nat sighed, for he had neither father nor money, nothing in the wide world
but an old empty pocketbook, and the skill that lay in his ten finger
tips. Tommy seemed to understand the question and the sigh which followed
his answer, for after a moment of deep thought, he suddenly broke out,

“Look here, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you will hunt eggs for me, I
hate it, I’ll give you one egg out of every dozen. You keep account, and
when you’ve had twelve, Mother Bhaer will give you twenty-five cents for
’em, and then you can buy what you like, don’t you see?”

“I’ll do it! What a kind feller you are, Tommy!” cried Nat, quite dazzled
by this brilliant offer.

“Pooh! that is not anything. You begin now and rummage the barn, and I’ll
wait here for you. Granny is cackling, so you’re sure to find one
somewhere,” and Tommy threw himself down on the hay with a luxurious sense
of having made a good bargain, and done a friendly thing.

Nat joyfully began his search, and went rustling from loft to loft till he
found two fine eggs, one hidden under a beam, and the other in an old peck
measure, which Mrs. Cockletop had appropriated.

“You may have one and I’ll have the other, that will just make up my last
dozen, and to-morrow we’ll start fresh. Here, you chalk your accounts up
near mine, and then we’ll be all straight,” said Tommy, showing a row of
mysterious figures on the side of an old winnowing machine.

With a delightful sense of importance, the proud possessor of one egg
opened his account with his friend, who laughingly wrote above the figures
these imposing words,

“T. Bangs & Co.”

Poor Nat found them so fascinating that he was with difficulty persuaded
to go and deposit his first piece of portable property in Asia’s
store-room. Then they went on again, and having made the acquaintance of
the two horses, six cows, three pigs, and one Alderney “Bossy,” as calves
are called in New England, Tommy took Nat to a certain old willow-tree
that overhung a noisy little brook. From the fence it was an easy scramble
into a wide niche between the three big branches, which had been cut off
to send out from year to year a crowd of slender twigs, till a green
canopy rustled overhead. Here little seats had been fixed, and a hollow
place a closet made big enough to hold a book or two, a dismantled boat,
and several half-finished whistles.

“This is Demi’s and my private place; we made it, and nobody can come up
unless we let ’em, except Daisy, we don’t mind her,” said Tommy, as Nat
looked with delight from the babbling brown water below to the green arch
above, where bees were making a musical murmur as they feasted on the long
yellow blossoms that filled the air with sweetness.

“Oh, it’s just beautiful!” cried Nat. “I do hope you’ll let me up
sometimes. I never saw such a nice place in all my life. I’d like to be a
bird, and live here always.”

“It is pretty nice. You can come if Demi don’t mind, and I guess he won’t,
because he said last night that he liked you.”

“Did he?” and Nat smiled with pleasure, for Demi’s regard seemed to be
valued by all the boys, partly because he was Father Bhaer’s nephew, and
partly because he was such a sober, conscientious little fellow.

“Yes; Demi likes quiet chaps, and I guess he and you will get on if you
care about reading as he does.”

Poor Nat’s flush of pleasure deepened to a painful scarlet at those last
words, and he stammered out,

“I can’t read very well; I never had any time; I was always fiddling
round, you know.”

“I don’t love it myself, but I can do it well enough when I want to,” said
Tommy, after a surprised look, which said as plainly as words, “A boy
twelve years old and can’t read!”

“I can read music, anyway,” added Nat, rather ruffled at having to confess
his ignorance.

“I can’t;” and Tommy spoke in a respectful tone, which emboldened Nat to
say firmly,

“I mean to study real hard and learn every thing I can, for I never had a
chance before. Does Mr. Bhaer give hard lessons?”

“No; he isn’t a bit cross; he sort of explains and gives you a boost over
the hard places. Some folks don’t; my other master didn’t. If we missed a
word, didn’t we get raps on the head!” and Tommy rubbed his own pate as if
it tingled yet with the liberal supply of raps, the memory of which was
the only thing he brought away after a year with his “other master.”

“I think I could read this,” said Nat, who had been examining the books.

“Read a bit, then; I’ll help you,” resumed Tommy, with a patronizing air.

So Nat did his best, and floundered through a page with may friendly
“boosts” from Tommy, who told him he would soon “go it” as well as
anybody. Then they sat and talked boy-fashion about all sorts of things,
among others, gardening; for Nat, looking down from his perch, asked what
was planted in the many little patches lying below them on the other side
of the brook.

“These are our farms,” said Tommy. “We each have our own patch, and raise
what we like in it, only have to choose different things, and can’t change
till the crop is in, and we must keep it in order all summer.”

“What are you going to raise this year?”

“Wal, I cattleated to hev beans, as they are about the easiest crop
a-goin’.”

Nat could not help laughing, for Tommy had pushed back his hat, put his
hands in his pockets, and drawled out his words in unconscious imitation
of Silas, the man who managed the place for Mr. Bhaer.

“Come, you needn’t laugh; beans are ever so much easier than corn or
potatoes. I tried melons last year, but the bugs were a bother, and the
old things wouldn’t get ripe before the frost, so I didn’t have but one
good water and two little ‘mush mellions,’” said Tommy, relapsing into a
“Silasism” with the last word.

“Corn looks pretty growing,” said Nat, politely, to atone for his laugh.

“Yes, but you have to hoe it over and over again. Now, six weeks’ beans
only have to be done once or so, and they get ripe soon. I’m going to try
’em, for I spoke first. Stuffy wanted ’em, but he’s got to take peas; they
only have to be picked, and he ought to do it, he eats such a lot.”

“I wonder if I shall have a garden?” said Nat, thinking that even
corn-hoeing must be pleasant work.

“Of course you will,” said a voice from below, and there was Mr. Bhaer
returned from his walk, and come to find them, for he managed to have a
little talk with every one of the lads some time during the day, and found
that these chats gave them a good start for the coming week.

Sympathy is a sweet thing, and it worked wonders here, for each boy knew
that Father Bhaer was interested in him, and some were readier to open
their hearts to him than to a woman, especially the older ones, who liked
to talk over their hopes and plans, man to man. When sick or in trouble
they instinctively turned to Mrs. Jo, while the little ones made her their
mother-confessor on all occasions.

In descending from their nest, Tommy fell into the brook; being used to
it, he calmly picked himself out and retired to the house to be dried.
This left Nat to Mr. Bhaer, which was just what he wished, and, during the
stroll they took among the garden plots, he won the lad’s heart by giving
him a little “farm,” and discussing crops with him as gravely as if the
food for the family depended on the harvest. From this pleasant topic they
went to others, and Nat had many new and helpful thoughts put into a mind
that received them as gratefully as the thirsty earth had received the
warm spring rain. All supper time he brooded over them, often fixing his
eyes on Mr. Bhaer with an inquiring look, that seemed to say, “I like
that, do it again, sir.” I don’t know whether the man understood the
child’s mute language or not, but when the boys were all gathered together
in Mrs. Bhaer’s parlor for the Sunday evening talk, he chose a subject
which might have been suggested by the walk in the garden.

As he looked about him Nat thought it seemed more like a great family than
a school, for the lads were sitting in a wide half-circle round the fire,
some on chairs, some on the rug, Daisy and Demi on the knees of Uncle
Fritz, and Rob snugly stowed away in the back of his mother’s easy-chair,
where he could nod unseen if the talk got beyond his depth.

Every one looked quite comfortable, and listened attentively, for the long
walk made rest agreeable, and as every boy there knew that he would be
called upon for his views, he kept his wits awake to be ready with an
answer.

“Once upon a time,” began Mr. Bhaer, in the dear old-fashioned way, “there
was a great and wise gardener who had the largest garden ever seen. A
wonderful and lovely place it was, and he watched over it with the
greatest skill and care, and raised all manner of excellent and useful
things. But weeds would grow even in this fine garden; often the ground
was bad and the good seeds sown in it would not spring up. He had many
under gardeners to help him. Some did their duty and earned the rich wages
he gave them; but others neglected their parts and let them run to waste,
which displeased him very much. But he was very patient, and for thousands
and thousands of years he worked and waited for his great harvest.”

“He must have been pretty old,” said Demi, who was looking straight into
Uncle Fritz’s face, as if to catch every word.

“Hush, Demi, it’s a fairy story,” whispered Daisy.

“No, I think it’s an arrygory,” said Demi.

“What is a arrygory?” called out Tommy, who was of an inquiring turn.

“Tell him, Demi, if you can, and don’t use words unless you are quite sure
you know what they mean,” said Mr. Bhaer.

“I do know, Grandpa told me! A fable is a arrygory; it’s a story that
means something. My ‘Story without an end’ is one, because the child in it
means a soul; don’t it, Aunty?” cried Demi, eager to prove himself right.

“That’s it, dear; and Uncle’s story is an allegory, I am quite sure; so
listen and see what it means,” returned Mrs. Jo, who always took part in
whatever was going on, and enjoyed it as much as any boy among them.

Demi composed himself, and Mr. Bhaer went on in his best English, for he
had improved much in the last five years, and said the boys did it.

“This great gardener gave a dozen or so of little plots to one of his
servants, and told him to do his best and see what he could raise. Now
this servant was not rich, nor wise, nor very good, but he wanted to help
because the gardener had been very kind to him in many ways. So he gladly
took the little plots and fell to work. They were all sorts of shapes and
sizes, and some were very good soil, some rather stony, and all of them
needed much care, for in the rich soil the weeds grew fast, and in the
poor soil there were many stones.”

“What was growing in them besides the weeds, and stones?” asked Nat; so
interested, he forgot his shyness and spoke before them all.

“Flowers,” said Mr. Bhaer, with a kind look. “Even the roughest, most
neglected little bed had a bit of heart’s-ease or a sprig of mignonette in
it. One had roses, sweet peas, and daisies in it,” here he pinched the
plump cheek of the little girl leaning on his arm. “Another had all sorts
of curious plants in it, bright pebbles, a vine that went climbing up like
Jack’s beanstalk, and many good seeds just beginning to sprout; for, you
see, this bed had been taken fine care of by a wise old man, who had
worked in gardens of this sort all his life.”

At this part of the “arrygory,” Demi put his head on one side like an
inquisitive bird, and fixed his bright eye on his uncle’s face, as if he
suspected something and was on the watch. But Mr. Bhaer looked perfectly
innocent, and went on glancing from one young face to another, with a
grave, wistful look, that said much to his wife, who knew how earnestly he
desired to do his duty in these little garden plots.

“As I tell you, some of these beds were easy to cultivate, that means to
take care of Daisy, and others were very hard. There was one particularly
sunshiny little bed that might have been full of fruits and vegetables as
well as flowers, only it wouldn’t take any pains, and when the man sowed,
well, we’ll say melons in this bed, they came to nothing, because the
little bed neglected them. The man was sorry, and kept on trying, though
every time the crop failed, all the bed said, was, ‘I forgot.’”

Here a general laugh broke out, and every one looked at Tommy, who had
pricked up his ears at the word “melons,” and hung down his head at the
sound of his favorite excuse.

“I knew he meant us!” cried Demi, clapping his hands. “You are the man,
and we are the little gardens; aren’t we, Uncle Fritz?”

“You have guessed it. Now each of you tell me what crop I shall try to sow
in you this spring, so that next autumn I may get a good harvest out of my
twelve, no, thirteen, plots,” said Mr. Bhaer, nodding at Nat as he
corrected himself.

“You can’t sow corn and beans and peas in us. Unless you mean we are to
eat a great many and get fat,” said Stuffy, with a sudden brightening of
his round, dull face as the pleasing idea occurred to him.

“He don’t mean that kind of seeds. He means things to make us good; and
the weeds are faults,” cried Demi, who usually took the lead in these
talks, because he was used to this sort of thing, and liked it very much.

“Yes, each of you think what you need most, and tell me, and I will help
you to grow it; only you must do your best, or you will turn out like
Tommy’s melons, all leaves and no fruit. I will begin with the oldest, and
ask the mother what she will have in her plot, for we are all parts of the
beautiful garden, and may have rich harvests for our Master if we love Him
enough,” said Father Bhaer.

“I shall devote the whole of my plot to the largest crop of patience I can
get, for that is what I need most,” said Mrs. Jo, so soberly that the lads
fell to thinking in good earnest what they should say when their turns
came, and some among them felt a twinge of remorse, that they had helped
to use up Mother Bhaer’s stock of patience so fast.

Franz wanted perseverance, Tommy steadiness, Ned went in for good temper,
Daisy for industry, Demi for “as much wiseness as Grandpa,” and Nat
timidly said he wanted so many things he would let Mr. Bhaer choose for
him. The others chose much the same things, and patience, good temper, and
generosity seemed the favorite crops. One boy wished to like to get up
early, but did not know what name to give that sort of seed; and poor
Stuffy sighed out,

“I wish I loved my lessons as much as I do my dinner, but I can’t.”

“We will plant self-denial, and hoe it and water it, and make it grow so
well that next Christmas no one will get ill by eating too much dinner. If
you exercise your mind, George, it will get hungry just as your body does,
and you will love books almost as much as my philosopher here,” said Mr.
Bhaer; adding, as he stroked the hair off Demi’s fine forehead, “You are
greedy also, my son, and you like to stuff your little mind full of fairy
tales and fancies, as well as George likes to fill his little stomach with
cake and candy. Both are bad, and I want you to try something better.
Arithmetic is not half so pleasant as ‘Arabian Nights,’ I know, but it is
a very useful thing, and now is the time to learn it, else you will be
ashamed and sorry by and by.”

“But, ‘Harry and Lucy,’ and ‘Frank,’ are not fairy books, and they are all
full of barometers, and bricks, and shoeing horses, and useful things, and
I’m fond of them; ain’t I, Daisy?” said Demi, anxious to defend himself.

“So they are; but I find you reading ‘Roland and Maybird,’ a great deal
oftener than ‘Harry and Lucy,’ and I think you are not half so fond of
‘Frank’ as you are of ‘Sinbad.’ Come, I shall make a little bargain with
you both, George shall eat but three times a day, and you shall read but
one story-book a week, and I will give you the new cricket-ground; only,
you must promise to play in it,” said Uncle Fritz, in his persuasive way,
for Stuffy hated to run about, and Demi was always reading in play hours.

“But we don’t like cricket,” said Demi.

“Perhaps not now, but you will when you know it. Besides, you do like to
be generous, and the other boys want to play, and you can give them the
new ground if you choose.”

This was taken them both on the right side, and they agreed to the
bargain, to the great satisfaction of the rest.

There was a little more talk about the gardens, and then they all sang
together. The band delighted Nat, for Mrs. Bhaer played the piano, Franz
the flute, Mr. Bhaer a bass viol, and he himself the violin. A very simple
little concert, but all seemed to enjoy it, and old Asia, sitting in the
corner, joined at times with the sweetest voice of any, for in this
family, master and servant, old and young, black and white, shared in the
Sunday song, which went up to the Father of them all. After this they each
shook hands with Father Bhaer; Mother Bhaer kissed them every one from
sixteen-year-old Franz to little Rob, how kept the tip of her nose for his
own particular kisses, and then they trooped up to bed.

The light of the shaded lamp that burned in the nursery shone softly on a
picture hanging at the foot of Nat’s bed. There were several others on the
walls, but the boy thought there must be something peculiar about this
one, for it had a graceful frame of moss and cones about it, and on a
little bracket underneath stood a vase of wild flowers freshly gathered
from the spring woods. It was the most beautiful picture of them all, and
Nat lay looking at it, dimly feeling what it meant, and wishing he knew
all about it.

“That’s my picture,” said a little voice in the room. Nat popped up his
head, and there was Demi in his night-gown pausing on his way back from
Aunt Jo’s chamber, whither he had gone to get a cot for a cut finger.

“What is he doing to the children?” asked Nat.

“That is Christ, the Good Man, and He is blessing the children. Don’t you
know about Him?” said Demi, wondering.

“Not much, but I’d like to, He looks so kind,” answered Nat, whose chief
knowledge of the Good Man consisted in hearing His name taken in vain.

“I know all about it, and I like it very much, because it is true,” said
Demi.

“Who told you?”

“My Grandpa, he knows every thing, and tells the best stories in the
world. I used to play with his big books, and make bridges, and railroads,
and houses, when I was a little boy,” began Demi.

“How old are you now?” asked Nat, respectfully.

“’Most ten.”

“You know a lot of things, don’t you?”

“Yes; you see my head is pretty big, and Grandpa says it will take a good
deal to fill it, so I keep putting pieces of wisdom into it as fast as I
can,” returned Demi, in his quaint way.

Nat laughed, and then said soberly,

“Tell on, please.”

And Demi gladly told on without pause or punctuation. “I found a very
pretty book one day and wanted to play with it, but Grandpa said I
mustn’t, and showed me the pictures, and told me about them, and I liked
the stories very much, all about Joseph and his bad brothers, and the
frogs that came up out of the sea, and dear little Moses in the water, and
ever so many more lovely ones, but I liked about the Good Man best of all,
and Grandpa told it to me so many times that I learned it by heart, and he
gave me this picture so I shouldn’t forget, and it was put up here once
when I was sick, and I left it for other sick boys to see.”’

“What makes Him bless the children?” asked Nat, who found something very
attractive in the chief figure of the group.

“Because He loved them.”

“Were they poor children?” asked Nat, wistfully.

“Yes, I think so; you see some haven’t got hardly any clothes on, and the
mothers don’t look like rich ladies. He liked poor people, and was very
good to them. He made them well, and helped them, and told rich people
they must not be cross to them, and they loved Him dearly, dearly,” cried
Demi, with enthusiasm.

“Was He rich?”

“Oh no! He was born in a barn, and was so poor He hadn’t any house to live
in when He grew up, and nothing to eat sometimes, but what people gave
Him, and He went round preaching to everybody, and trying to make them
good, till the bad men killed Him.”

“What for?” and Nat sat up in his bed to look and listen, so interested
was he in this man who cared for the poor so much.

“I’ll tell you all about it; Aunt Jo won’t mind;” and Demi settled himself
on the opposite bed, glad to tell his favorite story to so good a
listener.

Nursey peeped in to see if Nat was asleep, but when she saw what was going
on, she slipped away again, and went to Mrs. Bhaer, saying with her kind
face full of motherly emotion,

“Will the dear lady come and see a pretty sight? It’s Nat listening with
all his heart to Demi telling the story of the Christ-child, like a little
white angel as he is.”

Mrs. Bhaer had meant to go and talk with Nat a moment before he slept, for
she had found that a serious word spoken at this time often did much good.
But when she stole to the nursery door, and saw Nat eagerly drinking in
the words of his little friends, while Demi told the sweet and solemn
story as it had been taught him, speaking softly as he sat with his
beautiful eyes fixed on the tender face above them, her own filled with
tears, and she went silently away, thinking to herself,

“Demi is unconsciously helping the poor boy better than I can; I will not
spoil it by a single word.”

The murmur of the childish voice went on for a long time, as one innocent
heart preached that great sermon to another, and no one hushed it. When it
ceased at last, and Mrs. Bhaer went to take away the lamp, Demi was gone
and Nat fast asleep, lying with his face toward the picture, as if he had
already learned to love the Good Man who loved little children, and was a
faithful friend to the poor. The boy’s face was very placid, and as she
looked at it she felt that if a single day of care and kindness had done
so much, a year of patient cultivation would surely bring a grateful
harvest from this neglected garden, which was already sown with the best
of all seed by the little missionary in the night-gown.

CHAPTER IV. STEPPING-STONES

When Nat went into school on Monday morning, he quaked inwardly, for now
he thought he should have to display his ignorance before them all. But
Mr. Bhaer gave him a seat in the deep window, where he could turn his back
on the others, and Franz heard him say his lessons there, so no one could
hear his blunders or see how he blotted his copybook. He was truly
grateful for this, and toiled away so diligently that Mr. Bhaer said,
smiling, when he saw his hot face and inky fingers:

“Don’t work so hard, my boy; you will tire yourself out, and there is time
enough.”

“But I must work hard, or I can’t catch up with the others. They know
heaps, and I don’t know anything,” said Nat, who had been reduced to a
state of despair by hearing the boys recite their grammar, history, and
geography with what he thought amazing ease and accuracy.

“You know a good many things which they don’t,” said Mr. Bhaer, sitting
down beside him, while Franz led a class of small students through the
intricacies of the multiplication table.

“Do I?” and Nat looked utterly incredulous.

“Yes; for one thing, you can keep your temper, and Jack, who is quick at
numbers, cannot; that is an excellent lesson, and I think you have learned
it well. Then, you can play the violin, and not one of the lads can,
though they want to do it very much. But, best of all, Nat, you really
care to learn something, and that is half the battle. It seems hard at
first, and you will feel discouraged, but plod away, and things will get
easier and easier as you go on.”

Nat’s face had brightened more and more as he listened, for, small as the
list of his learning was, it cheered him immensely to feel that he had
anything to fall back upon. “Yes, I can keep my temper father’s beating
taught me that; and I can fiddle, though I don’t know where the Bay of
Biscay is,” he thought, with a sense of comfort impossible to express.
Then he said aloud, and so earnestly that Demi heard him:

“I do want to learn, and I will try. I never went to school, but I
couldn’t help it; and if the fellows don’t laugh at me, I guess I’ll get
on first rate you and the lady are so good to me.”

“They shan’t laugh at you; if they do, I’ll I’ll tell them not to,” cried
Demi, quite forgetting where he was.

The class stopped in the middle of 7 times 9, and everyone looked up to
see what was going on.

Thinking that a lesson in learning to help one another was better than
arithmetic just then, Mr. Bhaer told them about Nat, making such an
interesting and touching little story out of it that the good-hearted lads
all promised to lend him a hand, and felt quite honored to be called upon
to impart their stores of wisdom to the chap who fiddled so capitally.
This appeal established the right feeling among them, and Nat had few
hindrances to struggle against, for every one was glad to give him a
“boost” up the ladder of learning.

Till he was stronger, much study was not good for him, however, and Mrs.
Jo found various amusements in the house for him while others were at
their books. But his garden was his best medicine, and he worked away like
a beaver, preparing his little farm, sowing his beans, watching eagerly to
see them grow, and rejoicing over each green leaf and slender stock that
shot up and flourished in the warm spring weather. Never was a garden more
faithfully hoed; Mr. Bhaer really feared that nothing would find time to
grow, Nat kept up such a stirring of the soil; so he gave him easy jobs in
the flower garden or among the strawberries, where he worked and hummed as
busily as the bees booming all about him.

“This is the crop I like best,” Mrs. Bhaer used to say, as she pinched the
once thin cheeks, now getting plump and ruddy, or stroked the bent
shoulders that were slowly straightening up with healthful work, good
food, and the absence of that heavy burden, poverty.

Demi was his little friend, Tommy his patron, and Daisy the comforter of
all his woes; for, though the children were younger than he, his timid
spirit found a pleasure in their innocent society, and rather shrunk from
the rough sports of the elder lads. Mr. Laurence did not forget him, but
sent clothes and books, music and kind messages, and now and then came out
to see how his boy was getting on, or took him into town to a concert; on
which occasions Nat felt himself translated into the seventh heaven of
bliss, for he went to Mr. Laurence’s great house, saw his pretty wife and
little fairy of a daughter, had a good dinner, and was made so
comfortable, that he talked and dreamed of it for days and nights
afterward.

It takes so little to make a child happy that it is a pity, in a world so
full of sunshine and pleasant things, that there should be any wistful
faces, empty hands, or lonely little hearts. Feeling this, the Bhaers
gathered up all the crumbs they could find to feed their flock of hungry
sparrows, for they were not rich, except in charity. Many of Mrs. Jo’s
friends who had nurseries sent her they toys of which their children so
soon tired, and in mending these Nat found an employment that just suited
him. He was very neat and skillful with those slender fingers of his, and
passed many a rainy afternoon with his gum-bottle, paint-box, and knife,
repairing furniture, animals, and games, while Daisy was dressmaker to the
dilapidated dolls. As fast as the toys were mended, they were put
carefully away in a certain drawer which was to furnish forth a
Christmas-tree for all the poor children of the neighborhood, that being
the way the Plumfield boys celebrated the birthday of Him who loved the
poor and blessed the little ones.

Demi was never tired of reading and explaining his favorite books, and
many a pleasant hour did they spend in the old willow, revelling over
“Robinson Crusoe,” “Arabian Nights,” “Edgeworth’s Tales,” and the other
dear immortal stories that will delight children for centuries to come.
This opened a new world to Nat, and his eagerness to see what came next in
the story helped him on till he could read as well as anybody, and felt so
rich and proud with his new accomplishment, that there was danger of his
being as much of a bookworm as Demi.

Another helpful thing happened in a most unexpected and agreeable manner.
Several of the boys were “in business,” as they called it, for most of
them were poor, and knowing that they would have their own way to make by
and by, the Bhaers encouraged any efforts at independence. Tommy sold his
eggs; Jack speculated in live stock; Franz helped in the teaching, and was
paid for it; Ned had a taste for carpentry, and a turning-lathe was set up
for him in which he turned all sorts of useful or pretty things, and sold
them; while Demi constructed water-mills, whirligigs, and unknown machines
of an intricate and useless nature, and disposed of them to the boys.

“Let him be a mechanic if he likes,” said Mr. Bhaer. “Give a boy a trade,
and he is independent. Work is wholesome, and whatever talent these lads
possess, be it for poetry or ploughing, it shall be cultivated and made
useful to them if possible.”

So, when Nat came running to him one day to ask with an excited face:

“Can I go and fiddle for some people who are to have a picnic in our
woods? They will pay me, and I’d like to earn some money as the other boys
do, and fiddling is the only way I know how to do it.”

Mr. Bhaer answered readily:

“Go, and welcome. It is an easy and a pleasant way to work, and I am glad
it is offered you.”

Nat went, and did so well that when he came home he had two dollars in his
pocket, which he displayed with intense satisfaction, as he told how much
he had enjoyed the afternoon, how kind the young people were, and how they
had praised his dance music, and promised to have him again.

“It is so much nicer than fiddling in the street, for then I got none of
the money, and now I have it all, and a good time besides. I’m in business
now as well as Tommy and Jack, and I like it ever so much,” said Nat,
proudly patting the old pocketbook, and feeling like a millionaire
already.

He was in business truly, for picnics were plenty as summer opened, and
Nat’s skill was in great demand. He was always at liberty to go if lessons
were not neglected, and if the picnickers were respectable young people.
For Mr. Bhaer explained to him that a good plain education is necessary
for everyone, and that no amount of money should hire him to go where he
might be tempted to do wrong. Nat quite agreed to this, and it was a
pleasant sight to see the innocent-hearted lad go driving away in the gay
wagons that stopped at the gate for him, or to hear him come fiddling home
tired but happy, with his well-earned money in one pocket, and some
“goodies” from the feast for Daisy or little Ted, whom he never forgot.

“I’m going to save up till I get enough to buy a violin for myself, and
then I can earn my own living, can’t I?” he used to say, as he brought his
dollars to Mr. Bhaer to keep.

“I hope so, Nat; but we must get you strong and hearty first, and put a
little more knowledge into this musical head of yours. Then Mr. Laurie
will find you a place somewhere, and in a few years we will all come to
hear you play in public.”

With much congenial work, encouragement, and hope, Nat found life getting
easier and happier every day, and made such progress in his music lessons
that his teacher forgave his slowness in some other things, knowing very
well that where the heart is the mind works best. The only punishment the
boy ever needed for neglect of more important lessons was to hang up the
fiddle and the bow for a day. The fear of losing his bosom friend entirely
made him go at his books with a will; and having proved that he could
master the lessons, what was the use of saying “I can’t?”

Daisy had a great love of music, and a great reverence for any one who
could make it, and she was often found sitting on the stairs outside Nat’s
door while he was practising. This pleased him very much, and he played
his best for that one quiet little listener; for she never would come in,
but preferred to sit sewing her gay patchwork, or tending one of her many
dolls, with an expression of dreamy pleasure on her face that made Aunt Jo
say, with tears in her eyes: “So like my Beth,” and go softly by, lest
even her familiar presence mar the child’s sweet satisfaction.

Nat was very fond of Mrs. Bhaer, but found something even more attractive
in the good professor, who took fatherly care of the shy feeble boy, who
had barely escaped with his life from the rough sea on which his little
boat had been tossing rudderless for twelve years. Some good angel must
have been watching over him, for, though his body had suffered, his soul
seemed to have taken little harm, and came ashore as innocent as a
shipwrecked baby. Perhaps his love of music kept it sweet in spite of the
discord all about him; Mr. Laurie said so, and he ought to know. However
that might be, Father Bhaer took pleasure in fostering poor Nat’s virtues,
and in curing his faults, finding his new pupil as docile and affectionate
as a girl. He often called Nat his “daughter” when speaking of him to Mrs.
Jo, and she used to laugh at his fancy, for Madame liked manly boys, and
thought Nat amiable but weak, though you never would have guessed it, for
she petted him as she did Daisy, and he thought her a very delightful
woman.

One fault of Nat’s gave the Bhaers much anxiety, although they saw how it
had been strengthened by fear and ignorance. I regret to say that Nat
sometimes told lies. Not very black ones, seldom getting deeper than gray,
and often the mildest of white fibs; but that did not matter, a lie is a
lie, and though we all tell many polite untruths in this queer world of
ours, it is not right, and everybody knows it.

“You cannot be too careful; watch your tongue, and eyes, and hands, for it
is easy to tell, and look, and act untruth,” said Mr. Bhaer, in one of the
talks he had with Nat about his chief temptation.

“I know it, and I don’t mean to, but it’s so much easier to get along if
you ain’t very fussy about being exactly true. I used to tell ’em because
I was afraid of father and Nicolo, and now I do sometimes because the boys
laugh at me. I know it’s bad, but I forget,” and Nat looked much depressed
by his sins.

“When I was a little lad I used to tell lies! Ach! what fibs they were,
and my old grandmother cured me of it how, do you think? My parents had
talked, and cried, and punished, but still did I forget as you. Then said
the dear old grandmother, ‘I shall help you to remember, and put a check
on this unruly part,’ with that she drew out my tongue and snipped the end
with her scissors till the blood ran. That was terrible, you may believe,
but it did me much good, because it was sore for days, and every word I
said came so slowly that I had time to think. After that I was more
careful, and got on better, for I feared the big scissors. Yet the dear
grandmother was most kind to me in all things, and when she lay dying far
away in Nuremberg, she prayed that little Fritz might love God and tell
the truth.”

“I never had any grandmothers, but if you think it will cure me, I’ll let
you snip my tongue,” said Nat, heroically, for he dreaded pain, yet did
wish to stop fibbing.

Mr. Bhaer smiled, but shook his head.

“I have a better way than that, I tried it once before and it worked well.
See now, when you tell a lie I will not punish you, but you shall punish
me.”

“How?” asked Nat, startled at the idea.

“You shall ferule me in the good old-fashioned way; I seldom do it myself,
but it may make you remember better to give me pain than to feel it
yourself.”

“Strike you? Oh, I couldn’t!” cried Nat.

“Then mind that tripping tongue of thine. I have no wish to be hurt, but I
would gladly bear much pain to cure this fault.”

This suggestion made such an impression on Nat, that for a long time he
set a watch upon his lips, and was desperately accurate, for Mr. Bhaer
judged rightly, that love of him would be more powerful with Nat that fear
for himself. But alas! one sad day Nat was off his guard, and when peppery
Emil threatened to thrash him, if it was he who had run over his garden
and broken down his best hills of corn, Nat declared he didn’t, and then
was ashamed to own up that he did do it, when Jack was chasing him the
night before.

He thought no one would find it out, but Tommy happened to see him, and
when Emil spoke of it a day or two later, Tommy gave his evidence, and Mr.
Bhaer heard it. School was over, and they were all standing about in the
hall, and Mr. Bhaer had just set down on the straw settee to enjoy his
frolic with Teddy; but when he heard Tommy and saw Nat turn scarlet, and
look at him with a frightened face, he put the little boy down, saying,
“Go to thy mother, bubchen, I will come soon,” and taking Nat by the hand
led him into the school and shut the door.

The boys looked at one another in silence for a minute, then Tommy slipped
out and peeping in at the half-closed blinds, beheld a sight that quite
bewildered him. Mr. Bhaer had just taken down the long rule that hung over
his desk, so seldom used that it was covered with dust.

“My eye! He’s going to come down heavy on Nat this time. Wish I hadn’t
told,” thought good-natured Tommy, for to be feruled was the deepest
disgrace at this school.

“You remember what I told you last time?” said Mr. Bhaer, sorrowfully, not
angrily.

“Yes; but please don’t make me, I can’t bear it,” cried Nat, backing up
against the door with both hands behind him, and a face full of distress.

“Why don’t he up and take it like a man? I would,” thought Tommy, though
his heart beat fast at the sight.

“I shall keep my word, and you must remember to tell the truth. Obey me,
Nat, take this and give me six good strokes.”

Tommy was so staggered by this last speech that he nearly tumbled down the
bank, but saved himself, and hung onto the window ledge, staring in with
eyes as round as the stuffed owl’s on the chimney-piece.

Nat took the rule, for when Mr. Bhaer spoke in that tone everyone obeyed
him, and, looking as scared and guilty as if about to stab his master, he
gave two feeble blows on the broad hand held out to him. Then he stopped
and looked up half-blind with tears, but Mr. Bhaer said steadily:

“Go on, and strike harder.”

As if seeing that it must be done, and eager to have the hard task soon
over, Nat drew his sleeve across his eyes and gave two more quick hard
strokes that reddened the hand, yet hurt the giver more.

“Isn’t that enough?” he asked in a breathless sort of tone.

“Two more,” was all the answer, and he gave them, hardly seeing where they
fell, then threw the rule all across the room, and hugging the kind hand
in both his own, laid his face down on it sobbing out in a passion of
love, and shame, and penitence:

“I will remember! Oh! I will!”

Then Mr. Bhaer put an arm about him, and said in a tone as compassionate
as it had just now been firm:

“I think you will. Ask the dear God to help you, and try to spare us both
another scene like this.”

Tommy saw no more, for he crept back to the hall, looking so excited and
sober that the boys crowded round him to ask what was being done to Nat.

In a most impressive whisper Tommy told them, and they looked as if the
sky was about to fall, for this reversing the order of things almost took
their breath away.

“He made me do the same thing once,” said Emil, as if confessing a crime
of the deepest dye.

“And you hit him? dear old Father Bhaer? By thunder, I’d just like to see
you do it now!” said Ned, collaring Emil in a fit of righteous wrath.

“It was ever so long ago. I’d rather have my head cut off than do it now,”
and Emil mildly laid Ned on his back instead of cuffing him, as he would
have felt it his duty to do on any less solemn occasion.

“How could you?” said Demi, appalled at the idea.

“I was hopping mad at the time, and thought I shouldn’t mind a bit, rather
like it perhaps. But when I’d hit uncle one good crack, everything he had
ever done for me came into my head all at once somehow, and I couldn’t go
on. No sir! If he’d laid me down and walked on me, I wouldn’t have minded,
I felt so mean,” and Emil gave himself a good thump in the chest to
express his sense of remorse for the past.

“Nat’s crying like anything, and feels no end sorry, so don’t let’s say a
word about it; will we?” said tender-hearted Tommy.

“Of course we won’t, but it’s awful to tell lies,” and Demi looked as if
he found the awfulness much increased when the punishment fell not upon
the sinner, but his best Uncle Fritz.

“Suppose we all clear out, so Nat can cut upstairs if he wants to,”
proposed Franz, and led the way to the barn, their refuge in troublous
times.

Nat did not come to dinner, but Mrs. Jo took some up to him, and said a
tender word, which did him good, though he could not look at her. By and
by the lads playing outside heard the violin, and said among themselves:
“He’s all right now.” He was all right, but felt shy about going down,
till opening his door to slip away into the woods, he found Daisy sitting
on the stairs with neither work nor doll, only her little handkerchief in
her hand, as if she had been mourning for her captive friend.

“I’m going to walk; want to come?” asked Nat, trying to look as if nothing
was the matter, yet feeling very grateful for her silent sympathy, because
he fancied everyone must look upon him as a wretch.

“Oh yes!” and Daisy ran for her hat, proud to be chosen as a companion by
one of the big boys.

The others saw them go, but no one followed, for boys have a great deal
more delicacy than they get credit for, and the lads instinctively felt
that, when in disgrace, gentle little Daisy was their most congenial
friend.

The walk did Nat good, and he came home quieter than usual, but looking
cheerful again, and hung all over with daisy-chains made by his little
playmate while he lay on the grass and told her stories.

No one said a word about the scene of the morning, but its effect was all
the more lasting for that reason, perhaps. Nat tried his very best, and
found much help, not only from the earnest little prayers he prayed to his
Friend in heaven, but also in the patient care of the earthly friend whose
kind hand he never touched without remembering that it had willingly borne
pain for his sake.

CHAPTER V. PATTYPANS

“What’s the matter, Daisy?”

“The boys won’t let me play with them.”

“Why not?”

“They say girls can’t play football.”

“They can, for I’ve done it!” and Mrs. Bhaer laughed at the remembrance of
certain youthful frolics.

“I know I can play; Demi and I used to, and have nice times, but he won’t
let me now because the other boys laugh at him,” and Daisy looked deeply
grieved at her brother’s hardness of heart.

“On the whole, I think he is right, deary. It’s all very well when you two
are alone, but it is too rough a game for you with a dozen boys; so I’d
find some nice little play for myself.”

“I’m tired of playing alone!” and Daisy’s tone was very mournful.

“I’ll play with you by and by, but just now I must fly about and get
things ready for a trip into town. You shall go with me and see mamma, and
if you like you can stay with her.”

“I should like to go and see her and Baby Josy, but I’d rather come back,
please. Demi would miss me, and I love to be here, Aunty.”

“You can’t get on without your Demi, can you?” and Aunt Jo looked as if
she quite understood the love of the little girl for her only brother.

“’Course I can’t; we’re twins, and so we love each other more than other
people,” answered Daisy, with a brightening face, for she considered being
a twin one of the highest honors she could ever receive.

“Now, what will you do with your little self while I fly around?” asked
Mrs. Bhaer, who was whisking piles of linen into a wardrobe with great
rapidity.

“I don’t know, I’m tired of dolls and things; I wish you’d make up a new
play for me, Aunty Jo,” said Daisy, swinging listlessly on the door.

“I shall have to think of a brand new one, and it will take me some time;
so suppose you go down and see what Asia has got for your lunch,”
suggested Mrs. Bhaer, thinking that would be a good way in which to
dispose of the little hindrance for a time.

“Yes, I think I’d like that, if she isn’t cross,” and Daisy slowly
departed to the kitchen, where Asia, the black cook, reigned undisturbed.

In five minutes, Daisy was back again, with a wide-awake face, a bit of
dough in her hand and a dab of flour on her little nose.

“Oh aunty! Please could I go and make gingersnaps and things? Asia isn’t
cross, and she says I may, and it would be such fun, please do,” cried
Daisy, all in one breath.

“Just the thing, go and welcome, make what you like, and stay as long as
you please,” answered Mrs. Bhaer, much relieved, for sometimes the one
little girl was harder to amuse than the dozen boys.

Daisy ran off, and while she worked, Aunt Jo racked her brain for a new
play. All of a sudden she seemed to have an idea, for she smiled to
herself, slammed the doors of the wardrobe, and walked briskly away,
saying, “I’ll do it, if it’s a possible thing!”

What it was no one found out that day, but Aunt Jo’s eyes twinkled so when
she told Daisy she had thought of a new play, and was going to buy it,
that Daisy was much excited and asked questions all the way into town,
without getting answers that told her anything. She was left at home to
play with the new baby, and delight her mother’s eyes, while Aunt Jo went
off shopping. When she came back with all sorts of queer parcels in
corners of the carry-all, Daisy was so full of curiosity that she wanted
to go back to Plumfield at once. But her aunt would not be hurried, and
made a long call in mamma’s room, sitting on the floor with baby in her
lap, making Mrs. Brooke laugh at the pranks of the boys, and all sorts of
droll nonsense.

How her aunt told the secret Daisy could not imagine, but her mother
evidently knew it, for she said, as she tied on the little bonnet and
kissed the rosy little face inside, “Be a good child, my Daisy, and learn
the nice new play aunty has got for you. It’s a most useful and
interesting one, and it is very kind of her to play it with you, because
she does not like it very well herself.”

This last speech made the two ladies laugh heartily, and increased Daisy’s
bewilderment. As they drove away something rattled in the back of the
carriage.

“What’s that?” asked Daisy, pricking up her ears.

“The new play,” answered Mrs. Jo, solemnly.

“What is it made of?” cried Daisy.

“Iron, tin, wood, brass, sugar, salt, coal, and a hundred other things.”

“How strange! What color is it?”

“All sorts of colors.”

“Is it large?”

“Part of it is, and a part isn’t.”

“Did I ever see one?”

“Ever so many, but never one so nice as this.”

“Oh! what can it be? I can’t wait. When shall I see it?” and Daisy bounced
up and down with impatience.

“To-morrow morning, after lessons.”

“Is it for the boys, too?”

“No, all for you and Bess. The boys will like to see it, and want to play
one part of it. But you can do as you like about letting them.”

“I’ll let Demi, if he wants to.”

“No fear that they won’t all want to, especially Stuffy,” and Mrs. Bhaer’s
eyes twinkled more than ever as she patted a queer knobby bundle in her
lap.

“Let me feel just once,” prayed Daisy.

“Not a feel; you’d guess in a minute and spoil the fun.”

Daisy groaned and then smiled all over her face, for through a little hole
in the paper she caught a glimpse of something bright.

“How can I wait so long? Couldn’t I see it today?”

“Oh dear, no! It has got to be arranged, and ever so many parts fixed in
their places. I promised Uncle Teddy that you shouldn’t see it till it was
all in apple-pie order.”

“If uncle knows about it then it must be splendid!” cried Daisy, clapping
her hands; for this kind, rich, jolly uncle of hers was as good as a fairy
godmother to the children, and was always planning merry surprises, pretty
gifts, and droll amusements for them.

“Yes; Teddy went and bought it with me, and we had such fun in the shop
choosing the different parts. He would have everything fine and large, and
my little plan got regularly splendid when he took hold. You must give him
your very best kiss when he comes, for he is the kindest uncle that ever
went and bought a charming little coo Bless me! I nearly told you what it
was!” and Mrs. Bhaer cut that most interesting word short off in the
middle, and began to look over her bills, as if afraid she would let the
cat out of the bag if she talked any more. Daisy folded her hands with an
air of resignation, and sat quite still trying to think what play had a
“coo” in it.

When they got home she eyed every bundle that was taken out, and one large
heavy one, which Franz took straight upstairs and hid in the nursery,
filled her with amazement and curiosity. Something very mysterious went on
up there that afternoon, for Franz was hammering, and Asia trotting up and
down, and Aunt Jo flying around like a will-o’-the-wisp, with all sort of
things under her apron, while little Ted, who was the only child admitted,
because he couldn’t talk plain, babbled and laughed, and tried to tell
what the “sumpin pitty” was.

All this made Daisy half-wild, and her excitement spread among the boys,
who quite overwhelmed Mother Bhaer with offers of assistance, which she
declined by quoting their own words to Daisy:

“Girls can’t play with boys. This is for Daisy, and Bess, and me, so we
don’t want you.” Whereupon the young gentlemen meekly retired, and invited
Daisy to a game of marbles, horse, football, anything she liked, with a
sudden warmth and politeness which astonished her innocent little soul.

Thanks to these attentions, she got through the afternoon, went early to
bed, and next morning did her lessons with an energy which made Uncle
Fritz wish that a new game could be invented every day. Quite a thrill
pervaded the school-room when Daisy was dismissed at eleven o’clock, for
everyone knew that now she was going to have the new and mysterious play.

Many eyes followed her as she ran away, and Demi’s mind was so distracted
by this event that when Franz asked him where the desert of Sahara was, he
mournfully replied, “In the nursery,” and the whole school laughed at him.

“Aunt Jo, I’ve done all my lessons, and I can’t wait one single minute
more!” cried Daisy, flying into Mrs. Bhaer’s room.

“It’s all ready, come on;” and tucking Ted under one arm, and her
workbasket under the other, Aunt Jo promptly led the way upstairs.

“I don’t see anything,” said Daisy, staring about her as she got inside
the nursery door.

“Do you hear anything?” asked Aunt Jo, catching Ted back by his little
frock as he was making straight for one side of the room.

Daisy did hear an odd crackling, and then a purry little sound as of a
kettle singing. These noises came from behind a curtain drawn before a
deep bay window. Daisy snatched it back, gave one joyful, “Oh!” and then
stood gazing with delight at what do you think?

A wide seat ran round the three sides of the window; on one side hung and
stood all sorts of little pots and pans, gridirons and skillets; on the
other side a small dinner and tea set; and on the middle part a
cooking-stove. Not a tin one, that was of no use, but a real iron stove,
big enough to cook for a large family of very hungry dolls. But the best
of it was that a real fire burned in it, real steam came out of the nose
of the little tea-kettle, and the lid of the little boiler actually danced
a jig, the water inside bubbled so hard. A pane of glass had been taken
out and replaced by a sheet of tin, with a hole for the small funnel, and
real smoke went sailing away outside so naturally, that it did one’s heart
good to see it. The box of wood with a hod of charcoal stood near by; just
above hung dust-pan, brush and broom; a little market basket was on the
low table at which Daisy used to play, and over the back of her little
chair hung a white apron with a bib, and a droll mob cap. The sun shone in
as if he enjoyed the fun, the little stove roared beautifully, the kettle
steamed, the new tins sparkled on the walls, the pretty china stood in
tempting rows, and it was altogether as cheery and complete a kitchen as
any child could desire.

Daisy stood quite still after the first glad “Oh!” but her eyes went
quickly from one charming object to another, brightening as they looked,
till they came to Aunt Jo’s merry face; there they stopped as the happy
little girl hugged her, saying gratefully:

“Oh aunty, it’s a splendid new play! Can I really cook at the dear stove,
and have parties and mess, and sweep, and make fires that truly burn? I
like it so much! What made you think of it?”

“Your liking to make gingersnaps with Asia made me think of it,” said Mrs.
Bhaer, holding Daisy, who frisked as if she would fly. “I knew Asia
wouldn’t let you mess in her kitchen very often, and it wouldn’t be safe
at this fire up here, so I thought I’d see if I could find a little stove
for you, and teach you to cook; that would be fun, and useful too. So I
travelled round among the toy shops, but everything large cost too much
and I was thinking I should have to give it up, when I met Uncle Teddy. As
soon as he knew what I was about, he said he wanted to help, and insisted
on buying the biggest toy stove we could find. I scolded, but he only
laughed, and teased me about my cooking when we were young, and said I
must teach Bess as well as you, and went on buying all sorts of nice
little things for my ‘cooking class’ as he called it.”

“I’m so glad you met him!” said Daisy, as Mrs. Jo stopped to laugh at the
memory of the funny time she had with Uncle Teddy.

“You must study hard and learn to make all kinds of things, for he says he
shall come out to tea very often, and expects something uncommonly nice.”

“It’s the sweetest, dearest kitchen in the world, and I’d rather study
with it than do anything else. Can’t I learn pies, and cake, and macaroni,
and everything?” cried Daisy, dancing round the room with a new saucepan
in one hand and the tiny poker in the other.

“All in good time. This is to be a useful play, I am to help you, and you
are to be my cook, so I shall tell you what to do, and show you how. Then
we shall have things fit to eat, and you will be really learning how to
cook on a small scale. I’ll call you Sally, and say you are a new girl
just come,” added Mrs. Jo, settling down to work, while Teddy sat on the
floor sucking his thumb, and staring at the stove as if it was a live
thing, whose appearance deeply interested him.

“That will be so lovely! What shall I do first?” asked Sally, with such a
happy face and willing air that Aunt Jo wished all new cooks were half as
pretty and pleasant.

“First of all, put on this clean cap and apron. I am rather old-fashioned,
and I like my cook to be very tidy.”

Sally tucked her curly hair into the round cap, and put on the apron
without a murmur, though usually she rebelled against bibs.

“Now, you can put things in order, and wash up the new china. The old set
needs washing also, for my last girl was apt to leave it in a sad state
after a party.”

Aunt Jo spoke quite soberly, but Sally laughed, for she knew who the
untidy girl was who had left the cups sticky. Then she turned up her
cuffs, and with a sigh of satisfaction began to stir about her kitchen,
having little raptures now and then over the “sweet rolling pin,” the
“darling dish-tub,” or the “cunning pepper-pot.”

“Now, Sally, take your basket and go to market; here is the list of things
I want for dinner,” said Mrs. Jo, giving her a bit of paper when the
dishes were all in order.

“Where is the market?” asked Daisy, thinking that the new play got more
and more interesting every minute.

“Asia is the market.”

Away went Sally, causing another stir in the schoolroom as she passed the
door in her new costume, and whispered to Demi, with a face full of
delight, “It’s a perfectly splendid play!”

Old Asia enjoyed the joke as much as Daisy, and laughed jollily as the
little girl came flying into the room with her cap all on one side, the
lids of her basket rattling like castanets and looking like a very crazy
little cook.

“Mrs. Aunt Jo wants these things, and I must have them right away,” said
Daisy, importantly.

“Let’s see, honey; here’s two pounds of steak, potatoes, squash, apples,
bread, and butter. The meat ain’t come yet; when it does I’ll send it up.
The other things are all handy.”

Then Asia packed one potato, one apple, a bit of squash, a little pat of
butter, and a roll, into the basket, telling Sally to be on the watch for
the butcher’s boy, because he sometimes played tricks.

“Who is he?” and Daisy hoped it would be Demi.

“Put everything but the apple into the store-closet for the present,” said
Mrs. Jo, when the cook got home.

There was a cupboard under the middle shelf, and on opening the door fresh
delights appeared. One half was evidently the cellar, for wood, coal, and
kindlings were piled there. The other half was full of little jars, boxes,
and all sorts of droll contrivances for holding small quantities of flour,
meal, sugar, salt, and other household stores. A pot of jam was there, a
little tin box of gingerbread, a cologne bottle full of currant wine, and
a tiny canister of tea. But the crowning charm was two doll’s pans of new
milk, with cream actually rising on it, and a wee skimmer all ready to
skim it with. Daisy clasped her hands at this delicious spectacle, and
wanted to skim it immediately. But Aunt Jo said:

“Not yet; you will want the cream to eat on your apple pie at dinner, and
must not disturb it till then.”

“Am I going to have pie?” cried Daisy, hardly believing that such bliss
could be in store for her.

“Yes; if your oven does well we will have two pies, one apple and one
strawberry,” said Mrs. Jo, who was nearly as much interested in the new
play as Daisy herself.

“Oh, what next?” asked Sally, all impatience to begin.

“Shut the lower draught of the stove, so that the oven may heat. Then wash
your hands and get out the flour, sugar, salt, butter, and cinnamon. See
if the pie-board is clean, and pare your apple ready to put in.”

Daisy got things together with as little noise and spilling as could be
expected, from so young a cook.

“I really don’t know how to measure for such tiny pies; I must guess at
it, and if these don’t succeed, we must try again,” said Mrs. Jo, looking
rather perplexed, and very much amused with the small concern before her.
“Take that little pan full of flour, put in a pinch of salt, and then rub
in as much butter as will go on that plate. Always remember to put your
dry things together first, and then the wet. It mixes better so.”

“I know how; I saw Asia do it. Don’t I butter the pie plates too? She did,
the first thing,” said Daisy, whisking the flour about at a great rate.

“Quite right! I do believe you have a gift for cooking, you take to it so
cleverly,” said Aunt Jo, approvingly. “Now a dash of cold water, just
enough to wet it; then scatter some flour on the board, work in a little,
and roll the paste out; yes, that’s the way. Now put dabs of butter all
over it, and roll it out again. We won’t have our pastry very rich, or the
dolls will get dyspeptic.”

Daisy laughed at the idea, and scattered the dabs with a liberal hand.
Then she rolled and rolled with her delightful little pin, and having got
her paste ready proceeded to cover the plates with it. Next the apple was
sliced in, sugar and cinnamon lavishly sprinkled over it, and then the top
crust put on with breathless care.

“I always wanted to cut them round, and Asia never would let me. How nice
it is to do it all my ownty donty self!” said Daisy, as the little knife
went clipping round the doll’s plate poised on her hand.

All cooks, even the best, meet with mishaps sometimes, and Sally’s first
one occurred then, for the knife went so fast that the plate slipped,
turned a somersault in the air, and landed the dear little pie upside down
on the floor. Sally screamed, Mrs. Jo laughed, Teddy scrambled to get it,
and for a moment confusion reigned in the new kitchen.

“It didn’t spill or break, because I pinched the edges together so hard;
it isn’t hurt a bit, so I’ll prick holes in it, and then it will be
ready,” said Sally, picking up the capsized treasure and putting it into
shape with a child-like disregard of the dust it had gathered in its fall.

“My new cook has a good temper, I see, and that is such a comfort,” said
Mrs. Jo. “Now open the jar of strawberry jam, fill the uncovered pie, and
put some strips of paste over the top as Asia does.”

“I’ll make a D in the middle, and have zigzags all round, that will be so
interesting when I come to eat it,” said Sally, loading the pie with
quirls and flourishes that would have driven a real pastry cook wild. “Now
I put them in!” she exclaimed; when the last grimy knob had been carefully
planted in the red field of jam, and with an air of triumph she shut them
into the little oven.

“Clear up your things; a good cook never lets her utensils collect. Then
pare your squash and potatoes.”

“There is only one potato,” giggled Sally.

“Cut it in four pieces, so it will go into the little kettle, and put the
bits into cold water till it is time to cook them.”

“Do I soak the squash too?”

“No, indeed! Just pare it and cut it up, and put in into the steamer over
the pot. It is drier so, though it takes longer to cook.”

Here a scratching at the door caused Sally to run and open it, when Kit
appeared with a covered basket in his mouth.

“Here’s the butcher boy!” cried Daisy, much tickled at the idea, as she
relieved him of his load, whereat he licked his lips and began to beg,
evidently thinking that it was his own dinner, for he often carried it to
his master in that way. Being undeceived, he departed in great wrath and
barked all the way downstairs, to ease his wounded feelings.

In the basket were two bits of steak (doll’s pounds), a baked pear, a
small cake, and paper with them on which Asia had scrawled, “For Missy’s
lunch, if her cookin’ don’t turn out well.”

“I don’t want any of her old pears and things; my cooking will turn out
well, and I’ll have a splendid dinner; see if I don’t!” cried Daisy,
indignantly.

“We may like them if company should come. It is always well to have
something in the storeroom,” said Aunt Jo, who had been taught this
valuable fact by a series of domestic panics.

“Me is hundry,” announced Teddy, who began to think what with so much
cooking going on it was about time for somebody to eat something. His
mother gave him her workbasket to rummage, hoping to keep him quiet till
dinner was ready, and returned to her housekeeping.

“Put on your vegetables, set the table, and then have some coals kindling
ready for the steak.”

What a thing it was to see the potatoes bobbing about in the little pot;
to peep at the squash getting soft so fast in the tiny steamer; to whisk
open the oven door every five minutes to see how the pies got on, and at
last when the coals were red and glowing, to put two real steaks on a
finger-long gridiron and proudly turn them with a fork. The potatoes were
done first, and no wonder, for they had boiled frantically all the while.
The were pounded up with a little pestle, had much butter and no salt put
in (cook forgot it in the excitement of the moment), then it was made into
a mound in a gay red dish, smoothed over with a knife dipped in milk, and
put in the oven to brown.

So absorbed in these last performances had Sally been, that she forgot her
pastry till she opened the door to put in the potato, then a wail arose,
for alas! alas! the little pies were burnt black!

“Oh, my pies! My darling pies! They are all spoilt!” cried poor Sally,
wringing her dirty little hands as she surveyed the ruin of her work. The
tart was especially pathetic, for the quirls and zigzags stuck up in all
directions from the blackened jelly, like the walls and chimney of a house
after a fire.

“Dear, dear, I forgot to remind you to take them out; it’s just my luck,”
said Aunt Jo, remorsefully. “Don’t cry, darling, it was my fault; we’ll
try again after dinner,” she added, as a great tear dropped from Sally’s
eyes and sizzled on the hot ruins of the tart.

More would have followed, if the steak had not blazed up just then, and so
occupied the attention of cook, that she quickly forgot the lost pastry.

“Put the meat-dish and your own plates down to warm, while you mash the
squash with butter, salt, and a little pepper on the top,” said Mrs. Jo,
devoutly hoping that the dinner would meet with no further disasters.

The “cunning pepper-pot” soothed Sally’s feelings, and she dished up her
squash in fine style. The dinner was safely put upon the table; the six
dolls were seated three on a side; Teddy took the bottom, and Sally the
top. When all were settled, it was a most imposing spectacle, for one doll
was in full ball costume, another in her night-gown; Jerry, the worsted
boy, wore his red winter suit, while Annabella, the noseless darling, was
airily attired in nothing but her own kid skin. Teddy, as father of the
family, behaved with great propriety, for he smilingly devoured everything
offered him, and did not find a single fault. Daisy beamed upon her
company like the weary, warm, but hospitable hostess so often to be seen
at larger tables than this, and did the honors with an air of innocent
satisfaction, which we do not often see elsewhere.

The steak was so tough that the little carving-knife would not cut it; the
potato did not go round, and the squash was very lumpy; but the guests
appeared politely unconscious of these trifles; and the master and
mistress of the house cleared the table with appetites that anyone might
envy them. The joy of skimming a jug-full of cream mitigated the anguish
felt for the loss of the pies, and Asia’s despised cake proved a treasure
in the way of dessert.

“That is the nicest lunch I ever had; can’t I do it every day?” asked
Daisy as she scraped up and ate the leavings all round.

“You can cook things every day after lessons, but I prefer that you should
eat your dishes at your regular meals, and only have a bit of gingerbread
for lunch. To-day, being the first time, I don’t mind, but we must keep
our rules. This afternoon you can make something for tea if you like,”
said Mrs. Jo, who had enjoyed the dinner-party very much, though no one
had invited her to partake.

“Do let me make flapjacks for Demi, he loves them so, and it’s such fun to
turn them and put sugar in between,” cried Daisy, tenderly wiping a yellow
stain off Annabella’s broken nose, for Bella had refused to eat squash
when it was pressed upon her as good for “lumatism,” a complaint which it
is no wonder she suffered from, considering the lightness of her attire.

“But if you give Demi goodies, all the others will expect some also, and
then you will have your hands full.”

“Couldn’t I have Demi come up to tea alone just this one time? And after
that I could cook things for the others if they were good,” proposed
Daisy, with a sudden inspiration.

“That is a capital idea, Posy! We will make your little messes rewards for
the good boys, and I don’t know one among them who would not like
something nice to eat more than almost anything else. If little men are
like big ones, good cooking will touch their hearts and soothe their
tempers delightfully,” added Aunt Jo, with a merry nod toward the door,
where stood Papa Bhaer, surveying the scene with a face full of amusement.

“That last hit was for me, sharp woman. I accept it, for it is true; but
if I had married thee for thy cooking, heart’s dearest, I should have
fared badly all these years,” answered the professor, laughing as he
tossed Teddy, who became quite apoplectic in his endeavors to describe the
feast he had just enjoyed.

Daisy proudly showed her kitchen, and rashly promised Uncle Fritz as many
flapjacks as he could eat. She was just telling about the new rewards when
the boys, headed by Demi, burst into the room snuffing the air like a pack
of hungry hounds, for school was out, dinner was not ready, and the
fragrance of Daisy’s steak led them straight to the spot.

A prouder little damsel was never seen than Sally as she displayed her
treasures and told the lads what was in store for them. Several rather
scoffed at the idea of her cooking anything fit to eat, but Stuffy’s heart
was won at once. Nat and Demi had firm faith in her skill, and the others
said they would wait and see. All admired the kitchen, however, and
examined the stove with deep interest. Demi offered to buy the boiler on
the spot, to be used in a steam-engine which he was constructing; and Ned
declared that the best and biggest saucepan was just the thing to melt his
lead in when he ran bullets, hatchets, and such trifles.

Daisy looked so alarmed at these proposals, that Mrs. Jo then and there
made and proclaimed a law that no boy should touch, use, or even approach
the sacred stove without a special permit from the owner thereof. This
increased its value immensely in the eyes of the gentlemen, especially as
any infringement of the law would be punished by forfeiture of all right
to partake of the delicacies promised to the virtuous.

At this point the bell rang, and the entire population went down to
dinner, which meal was enlivened by each of the boys giving Daisy a list
of things he would like to have cooked for him as fast as he earned them.
Daisy, whose faith in her stove was unlimited, promised everything, if
Aunt Jo would tell her how to make them. This suggestion rather alarmed
Mrs. Jo, for some of the dishes were quite beyond her skill wedding-cake,
for instance, bull’s-eye candy; and cabbage soup with herrings and
cherries in it, which Mr. Bhaer proposed as his favorite, and immediately
reduced his wife to despair, for German cookery was beyond her.

Daisy wanted to begin again the minute dinner was done, but she was only
allowed to clear up, fill the kettle ready for tea, and wash out her
apron, which looked as if she had a Christmas feast. She was then sent out
to play till five o’clock, for Uncle Fritz said that too much study, even
at cooking stoves, was bad for little minds and bodies, and Aunt Jo knew
by long experience how soon new toys lose their charm if they are not
prudently used.

Everyone was very kind to Daisy that afternoon. Tommy promised her the
first fruits of his garden, though the only visible crop just then was
pigweed; Nat offered to supply her with wood, free of charge; Stuffy quite
worshipped her; Ned immediately fell to work on a little refrigerator for
her kitchen; and Demi, with a punctuality beautiful to see in one so
young, escorted her to the nursery just as the clock struck five. It was
not time for the party to begin, but he begged so hard to come in and help
that he was allowed privileges few visitors enjoy, for he kindled the
fire, ran errands, and watched the progress of his supper with intense
interest. Mrs. Jo directed the affair as she came and went, being very
busy putting up clean curtains all over the house.

“Ask Asia for a cup of sour cream, then your cakes will be light without
much soda, which I don’t like,” was the first order.

Demi tore downstairs, and returned with the cream, also a puckered-up
face, for he had tasted it on his way, and found it so sour that he
predicted the cakes would be uneatable. Mrs. Jo took this occasion to
deliver a short lecture from the step-ladder on the chemical properties of
soda, to which Daisy did not listen, but Demi did, and understood it, as
he proved by the brief but comprehensive reply:

“Yes, I see, soda turns sour things sweet, and the fizzling up makes them
light. Let’s see you do it, Daisy.”

“Fill that bowl nearly full of flour and add a little salt to it,”
continued Mrs. Jo.

“Oh dear, everything has to have salt in it, seems to me,” said Sally, who
was tired of opening the pill-box in which it was kept.

“Salt is like good-humor, and nearly every thing is better for a pinch of
it, Posy,” and Uncle Fritz stopped as he passed, hammer in hand, to drive
up two or three nails for Sally’s little pans to hang on.

“You are not invited to tea, but I’ll give you some cakes, and I won’t be
cross,” said Daisy, putting up her floury little face to thank him with a
kiss.

“Fritz, you must not interrupt my cooking class, or I’ll come in and
moralize when you are teaching Latin. How would you like that?” said Mrs.
Jo, throwing a great chintz curtain down on his head.

“Very much, try it and see,” and the amiable Father Bhaer went singing and
tapping about the house like a mammoth woodpecker.

“Put the soda into the cream, and when it ‘fizzles,’ as Demi says, stir it
into the flour, and beat it up as hard as ever you can. Have your griddle
hot, butter it well, and then fry away till I come back,” and Aunt Jo
vanished also.

Such a clatter as the little spoon made, and such a beating as the batter
got, it quite foamed, I assure you; and when Daisy poured some on to the
griddle, it rose like magic into a puffy flapjack that made Demi’s mouth
water. To be sure, the first one stuck and scorched, because she forgot
the butter, but after that first failure all went well, and six capital
little cakes were safely landed in a dish.

“I think I like maple-syrup better than sugar,” said Demi, from his
arm-chair where he had settled himself after setting the table in a new
and peculiar manner.

“Then go and ask Asia for some,” answered Daisy, going into the bath-room
to wash her hands.

While the nursery was empty something dreadful happened. You see, Kit had
been feeling hurt all day because he had carried meat safely and yet got
none to pay him. He was not a bad dog, but he had his little faults like
the rest of us, and could not always resist temptation. Happening to
stroll into the nursery at that moment, he smelt the cakes, saw them
unguarded on the low table, and never stopping to think of consequences,
swallowed all six at one mouthful. I am glad to say that they were very
hot, and burned him so badly that he could not repress a surprised yelp.
Daisy heard it, ran in, saw the empty dish, also the end of a yellow tail
disappearing under the bed. Without a word she seized that tail, pulled
out the thief, and shook him till his ears flapped wildly, then bundled
him down-stairs to the shed, where he spent a lonely evening in the
coal-bin.

Cheered by the sympathy which Demi gave her, Daisy made another bowlful of
batter, and fried a dozen cakes, which were even better than the others.
Indeed, Uncle Fritz after eating two sent up word that he had never tasted
any so nice, and every boy at the table below envied Demi at the flapjack
party above.

It was a truly delightful supper, for the little teapot lid only fell off
three times and the milk jug upset but once; the cakes floated in syrup,
and the toast had a delicious beef-steak flavor, owing to cook’s using the
gridiron to make it on. Demi forgot philosophy, and stuffed like any
carnal boy, while Daisy planned sumptuous banquets, and the dolls looked
on smiling affably.

“Well, dearies, have you had a good time?” asked Mrs. Jo, coming up with
Teddy on her shoulder.

“A very good time. I shall come again soon,” answered Demi, with emphasis.

“I’m afraid you have eaten too much, by the look of that table.”

“No, I haven’t; I only ate fifteen cakes, and they were very little ones,”
protested Demi, who had kept his sister busy supplying his plate.

“They won’t hurt him, they are so nice,” said Daisy, with such a funny
mixture of maternal fondness and housewifely pride that Aunt Jo could only
smile and say:

“Well, on the whole, the new game is a success then?”

“I like it,” said Demi, as if his approval was all that was necessary.

“It is the dearest play ever made!” cried Daisy, hugging her little
dish-tub as she proposed to wash up the cups. “I just wish everybody had a
sweet cooking stove like mine,” she added, regarding it with affection.

“This play out to have a name,” said Demi, gravely removing the syrup from
his countenance with his tongue.

“It has.”

“Oh, what?” asked both children eagerly.

“Well, I think we will call it Pattypans,” and Aunt Jo retired, satisfied
with the success of her last trap to catch a sunbeam.

CHAPTER VI. A FIRE BRAND

“Please, ma’am, could I speak to you? It is something very important,”
said Nat, popping his head in at the door of Mrs. Bhaer’s room.

It was the fifth head which had popped in during the last half-hour; but
Mrs. Jo was used to it, so she looked up, and said, briskly,

“What is it, my lad?”

Nat came in, shut the door carefully behind him, and said in an eager,
anxious tone,

“Dan has come.”

“Who is Dan?”

“He’s a boy I used to know when I fiddled round the streets. He sold
papers, and he was kind to me, and I saw him the other day in town, and
told him how nice it was here, and he’s come.”

“But, my dear boy, that is rather a sudden way to pay a visit.”

“Oh, it isn’t a visit; he wants to stay if you will let him!” said Nat
innocently.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” began Mrs. Bhaer, rather startled by the
coolness of the proposition.

“Why, I thought you liked to have poor boys come and live with you, and be
kind to ’em as you were to me,” said Nat, looking surprised and alarmed.

“So I do, but I like to know something about them first. I have to choose
them, because there are so many. I have not room for all. I wish I had.”

“I told him to come because I thought you’d like it, but if there isn’t
room he can go away again,” said Nat, sorrowfully.

The boy’s confidence in her hospitality touched Mrs. Bhaer, and she could
not find the heart to disappoint his hope, and spoil his kind little plan,
so she said,

“Tell me about this Dan.”

“I don’t know any thing, only he hasn’t got any folks, and he’s poor, and
he was good to me, so I’d like to be good to him if I could.”

“Excellent reasons every one; but really, Nat, the house is full, and I
don’t know where I could put him,” said Mrs. Bhaer, more and more inclined
to prove herself the haven of refuge he seemed to think her.

“He could have my bed, and I could sleep in the barn. It isn’t cold now,
and I don’t mind, I used to sleep anywhere with father,” said Nat,
eagerly.

Something in his speech and face made Mrs. Jo put her hand on his
shoulder, and say in her kindest tone:

“Bring in your friend, Nat; I think we must find room for him without
giving him your place.”

Nat joyfully ran off, and soon returned followed by a most unprepossessing
boy, who slouched in and stood looking about him, with a half bold, half
sullen look, which made Mrs. Bhaer say to herself, after one glance,

“A bad specimen, I am afraid.”

“This is Dan,” said Nat, presenting him as if sure of his welcome.

“Nat tells me you would like to come and stay with us,” began Mrs. Jo, in
a friendly tone.

“Yes,” was the gruff reply.

“Have you no friends to take care of you?”

“No.”

“Say, ‘No, ma’am,’” whispered Nat.

“Shan’t neither,” muttered Dan.

“How old are you?”

“About fourteen.”

“You look older. What can you do?”

“’Most anything.”

“If you stay here we shall want you to do as the others do, work and study
as well as play. Are you willing to agree to that?”

“Don’t mind trying.”

“Well, you can stay a few days, and we will see how we get on together.
Take him out, Nat, and amuse him till Mr. Bhaer comes home, when we will
settle about the matter,” said Mrs. Jo, finding it rather difficult to get
on with this cool young person, who fixed his big black eyes on her with a
hard, suspicious expression, sorrowfully unboyish.

“Come on, Nat,” he said, and slouched out again.

“Thank you, ma’am,” added Nat, as he followed him, feeling without quite
understanding the difference in the welcome given to him and to his
ungracious friend.

“The fellows are having a circus out in the barn; don’t you want to come
and see it?” he asked, as they came down the wide steps on to the lawn.

“Are they big fellows?” said Dan.

“No; the big ones are gone fishing.”

“Fire away, then,” said Dan.

Nat led him to the great barn and introduced him to his set, who were
disporting themselves among the half-empty lofts. A large circle was
marked out with hay on the wide floor, and in the middle stood Demi with a
long whip, while Tommy, mounted on the much-enduring Toby, pranced about
the circle playing being a monkey.

“You must pay a pin apiece, or you can’t see the show,” said Stuffy, who
stood by the wheelbarrow in which sat the band, consisting of a
pocket-comb blown upon by Ned, and a toy drum beaten spasmodically by Rob.

“He’s company, so I’ll pay for both,” said Nat, handsomely, as he stuck
two crooked pins in the dried mushroom which served as money-box.

With a nod to the company they seated themselves on a couple of boards,
and the performance went on. After the monkey act, Ned gave them a fine
specimen of his agility by jumping over an old chair, and running up and
down ladders, sailor fashion. Then Demi danced a jig with a gravity
beautiful to behold. Nat was called upon to wrestle with Stuffy, and
speedily laid that stout youth upon the ground. After this, Tommy proudly
advanced to turn a somersault, an accomplishment which he had acquired by
painful perseverance, practising in private till every joint of his little
frame was black and blue. His feats were received with great applause, and
he was about to retire, flushed with pride and a rush of blood to the
head, when a scornful voice in the audience was heard to say,

“Ho! that ain’t any thing!”

“Say that again, will you?” and Tommy bristled up like an angry
turkey-cock.

“Do you want to fight?” said Dan, promptly descending from the barrel and
doubling up his fists in a business-like manner.

“No, I don’t;” and the candid Thomas retired a step, rather taken aback by
the proposition.

“Fighting isn’t allowed!” cried the others, much excited.

“You’re a nice lot,” sneered Dan.

“Come, if you don’t behave, you shan’t stay,” said Nat, firing up at that
insult to his friends.

“I’d like to see him do better than I did, that’s all,” observed Tommy,
with a swagger.

“Clear the way, then,” and without the slightest preparation Dan turned
three somersaults one after the other and came up on his feet.

“You can’t beat that, Tom; you always hit your head and tumble flat,” said
Nat, pleased at his friend’s success.

Before he could say any more the audience were electrified by three more
somersaults backwards, and a short promenade on the hands, head down, feet
up. This brought down the house, and Tommy joined in the admiring cries
which greeted the accomplished gymnast as he righted himself, and looked
at them with an air of calm superiority.

“Do you think I could learn to do it without its hurting me very much?”
Tom meekly asked, as he rubbed the elbows which still smarted after the
last attempt.

“What will you give me if I’ll teach you?” said Dan.

“My new jack-knife; it’s got five blades, and only one is broken.”

“Give it here, then.”

Tommy handed it over with an affectionate look at its smooth handle. Dan
examined it carefully, then putting it into his pocket, walked off, saying
with a wink,

“Keep it up till you learn, that’s all.”

A howl of wrath from Tommy was followed by a general uproar, which did not
subside till Dan, finding himself in a minority, proposed that they should
play stick-knife, and whichever won should have the treasure. Tommy
agreed, and the game was played in a circle of excited faces, which all
wore an expression of satisfaction, when Tommy won and secured the knife
in the depth of his safest pocket.

“You come off with me, and I’ll show you round,” said Nat, feeling that he
must have a little serious conversation with his friend in private.

What passed between them no one knew, but when they appeared again, Dan
was more respectful to every one, though still gruff in his speech, and
rough in his manner; and what else could be expected of the poor lad who
had been knocking about the world all his short life with no one to teach
him any better?

The boys had decided that they did not like him, and so they left him to
Nat, who soon felt rather oppressed by the responsibility, but too
kind-hearted to desert him.

Tommy, however, felt that in spite of the jack-knife transaction, there
was a bond of sympathy between them, and longed to return to the
interesting subject of somersaults. He soon found an opportunity, for Dan,
seeing how much he admired him, grew more amiable, and by the end of the
first week was quite intimate with the lively Tom.

Mr. Bhaer, when he heard the story and saw Dan, shook his head, but only
said quietly,

“The experiment may cost us something, but we will try it.”

If Dan felt any gratitude for his protection, he did not show it, and took
without thanks all that was give him. He was ignorant, but very quick to
learn when he chose; had sharp eyes to watch what went on about him; a
saucy tongue, rough manners, and a temper that was fierce and sullen by
turns. He played with all his might, and played well at almost all the
games. He was silent and gruff before grown people, and only now and then
was thoroughly sociable among the lads. Few of them really liked him, but
few could help admiring his courage and strength, for nothing daunted him,
and he knocked tall Franz flat on one occasion with an ease that caused
all the others to keep at a respectful distance from his fists. Mr. Bhaer
watched him silently, and did his best to tame the “Wild Boy,” as they
called him, but in private the worthy man shook his head, and said
soberly, “I hope the experiment will turn out well, but I am a little
afraid it may cost too much.”

Mrs. Bhaer lost her patience with him half a dozen times a day, yet never
gave him up, and always insisted that there was something good in the lad,
after all; for he was kinder to animals than to people, he liked to rove
about in the woods, and, best of all, little Ted was fond of him. What the
secret was no one could discover, but Baby took to him at once gabbled and
crowed whenever he saw him preferred his strong back to ride on to any of
the others and called him “My Danny” out of his own little head. Teddy was
the only creature to whom Dan showed an affection, and this was only
manifested when he thought no one else would see it; but mothers’ eyes are
quick, and motherly hearts instinctively divine who love their babies. So
Mrs. Jo soon saw and felt that there was a soft spot in rough Dan, and
bided her time to touch and win him.

But an unexpected and decidedly alarming event upset all their plans, and
banished Dan from Plumfield.

Tommy, Nat, and Demi began by patronizing Dan, because the other lads
rather slighted him; but soon they each felt there was a certain
fascination about the bad boy, and from looking down upon him they came to
looking up, each for a different reason. Tommy admired his skill and
courage; Nat was grateful for past kindness; and Demi regarded him as a
sort of animated story book, for when he chose Dan could tell his
adventures in a most interesting way. It pleased Dan to have the three
favorites like him, and he exerted himself to be agreeable, which was the
secret of his success.

The Bhaers were surprised, but hoped the lads would have a good influence
over Dan, and waited with some anxiety, trusting that no harm would come
of it.

Dan felt they did not quite trust him, and never showed them his best
side, but took a wilful pleasure in trying their patience and thwarting
their hopes as far as he dared.

Mr. Bhaer did not approve of fighting, and did not think it a proof of
either manliness or courage for two lads to pommel one another for the
amusement of the rest. All sorts of hardy games and exercises were
encouraged, and the boys were expected to take hard knocks and tumbles
without whining; but black eyes and bloody noses given for the fun of it
were forbidden as a foolish and a brutal play.

Dan laughed at this rule, and told such exciting tales of his own valor,
and the many frays that he had been in, that some of the lads were fired
with a desire to have a regular good “mill.”

“Don’t tell, and I’ll show you how,” said Dan; and, getting half a dozen
of the lads together behind the barn, he gave them a lesson in boxing,
which quite satisfied the ardor of most of them. Emil, however, could not
submit to be beaten by a fellow younger than himself, for Emil was past
fourteen and a plucky fellow, so he challenged Dan to a fight. Dan
accepted at once, and the others looked on with intense interest.

What little bird carried the news to head-quarters no one ever knew, but,
in the very hottest of the fray, when Dan and Emil were fighting like a
pair of young bulldogs, and the others with fierce, excited faces were
cheering them on, Mr. Bhaer walked into the ring, plucked the combatants
apart with a strong hand, and said, in the voice they seldom heard,

“I can’t allow this, boys! Stop it at once; and never let me see it again.
I keep a school for boys, not for wild beasts. Look at each other and be
ashamed of yourselves.”

“You let me go, and I’ll knock him down again,” shouted Dan, sparring away
in spite of the grip on his collar.

“Come on, come on, I ain’t thrashed yet!” cried Emil, who had been down
five times, but did not know when he was beaten.

“They are playing be gladdy what-you-call-’ems, like the Romans, Uncle
Fritz,” called out Demi, whose eyes were bigger than ever with the
excitement of this new pastime.

“They were a fine set of brutes; but we have learned something since then,
I hope, and I cannot have you make my barn a Colosseum. Who proposed
this?” asked Mr. Bhaer.

“Dan,” answered several voices.

“Don’t you know that it is forbidden?”

“Yes,” growled Dan, sullenly.

“Then why break the rule?”

“They’ll all be molly-coddles, if they don’t know how to fight.”

“Have you found Emil a molly-coddle? He doesn’t look much like one,” and
Mr. Bhaer brought the two face to face. Dan had a black eye, and his
jacket was torn to rags, but Emil’s face was covered with blood from a cut
lip and a bruised nose, while a bump on his forehead was already as purple
as a plum. In spite of his wounds however, he still glared upon his foe,
and evidently panted to renew the fight.

“He’d make a first-rater if he was taught,” said Dan, unable to withhold
the praise from the boy who made it necessary for him to do his best.

“He’ll be taught to fence and box by and by, and till then I think he will
do very well without any lessons in mauling. Go and wash your faces; and
remember, Dan, if you break any more of the rules again, you will be sent
away. That was the bargain; do your part and we will do ours.”

The lads went off, and after a few more words to the spectators, Mr. Bhaer
followed to bind up the wounds of the young gladiators. Emil went to bed
sick, and Dan was an unpleasant spectacle for a week.

But the lawless lad had no thought of obeying, and soon transgressed
again.

One Saturday afternoon as a party of the boys went out to play, Tommy
said,

“Let’s go down to the river, and cut a lot of new fish-poles.”

“Take Toby to drag them back, and one of us can ride him down,” proposed
Stuffy, who hated to walk.

“That means you, I suppose; well, hurry up, lazy-bones,” said Dan.

Away they went, and having got the poles were about to go home, when Demi
unluckily said to Tommy, who was on Toby with a long rod in his hand,

“You look like the picture of the man in the bull-fight, only you haven’t
got a red cloth, or pretty clothes on.”

“I’d like to see one; there’s old Buttercup in the big meadow, ride at
her, Tom, and see her run,” proposed Dan, bent on mischief.

“No, you mustn’t,” began Demi, who was learning to distrust Dan’s
propositions.

“Why not, little fuss-button?” demanded Dan.

“I don’t think Uncle Fritz would like it.”

“Did he ever say we must not have a bull-fight?”

“No, I don’t think he ever did,” admitted Demi.

“Then hold your tongue. Drive on, Tom, and here’s a red rag to flap at the
old thing. I’ll help you to stir her up,” and over the wall went Dan, full
of the new game, and the rest followed like a flock of sheep; even Demi,
who sat upon the bars, and watched the fun with interest.

Poor Buttercup was not in a very good mood, for she had been lately bereft
of her calf, and mourned for the little thing most dismally. Just now she
regarded all mankind as her enemies (and I do not blame her), so when the
matadore came prancing towards her with the red handkerchief flying at the
end of his long lance, she threw up her head, and gave a most appropriate
“Moo!” Tommy rode gallantly at her, and Toby recognizing an old friend,
was quite willing to approach; but when the lance came down on her back
with a loud whack, both cow and donkey were surprised and disgusted. Toby
back with a bray of remonstrance, and Buttercup lowered her horns angrily.

“At her again, Tom; she’s jolly cross, and will do it capitally!” called
Dan, coming up behind with another rod, while Jack and Ned followed his
example.

Seeing herself thus beset, and treated with such disrespect, Buttercup
trotted round the field, getting more and more bewildered and excited
every moment, for whichever way she turned, there was a dreadful boy,
yelling and brandishing a new and very disagreeable sort of whip. It was
great fun for them, but real misery for her, till she lost patience and
turned the tables in the most unexpected manner. All at once she wheeled
short round, and charged full at her old friend Toby, whose conduct cut
her to the heart. Poor slow Toby backed so precipitately that he tripped
over a stone, and down went horse, matadore, and all, in one ignominious
heap, while distracted Buttercup took a surprising leap over the wall, and
galloped wildly out of sight down the road.

“Catch her, stop her, head her off! run, boys, run!” shouted Dan, tearing
after her at his best pace, for she was Mr. Bhaer’s pet Alderney, and if
anything happened to her, Dan feared it would be all over with him. Such a
running and racing and bawling and puffing as there was before she was
caught! The fish-poles were left behind; Toby was trotted nearly off his
legs in the chase; and every boy was red, breathless, and scared. They
found poor Buttercup at last in a flower garden, where she had taken
refuge, worn out with the long run. Borrowing a rope for a halter, Dan led
her home, followed by a party of very sober young gentlemen, for the cow
was in a sad state, having strained her shoulder jumping, so that she
limped, her eyes looked wild, and her glossy coat was wet and muddy.

“You’ll catch it this time, Dan,” said Tommy, as he led the wheezing
donkey beside the maltreated cow.

“So will you, for you helped.”

“We all did, but Demi,” added Jack.

“He put it into our heads,” said Ned.

“I told you not to do it,” cried Demi, who was most broken-hearted at poor
Buttercup’s state.

“Old Bhaer will send me off, I guess. Don’t care if he does,” muttered
Dan, looking worried in spite of his words.

“We’ll ask him not to, all of us,” said Demi, and the others assented with
the exception of Stuffy, who cherished the hope that all the punishment
might fall on one guilty head. Dan only said, “Don’t bother about me;” but
he never forgot it, even though he led the lads astray again, as soon as
the temptation came.

When Mr. Bhaer saw the animal, and heard the story, he said very little,
evidently fearing that he should say too much in the first moments of
impatience. Buttercup was made comfortable in her stall, and the boys sent
to their rooms till supper-time. This brief respite gave them time to
think the matter over, to wonder what the penalty would be, and to try to
imagine where Dan would be sent. He whistled briskly in his room, so that
no one should think he cared a bit; but while he waited to know his fate,
the longing to stay grew stronger and stronger, the more he recalled the
comfort and kindness he had known here, the hardship and neglect he had
felt elsewhere. He knew they tried to help him, and at the bottom of his
heart he was grateful, but his rough life had made him hard and careless,
suspicious and wilful. He hated restraint of any sort, and fought against
it like an untamed creature, even while he knew it was kindly meant, and
dimly felt that he would be the better for it. He made up his mind to be
turned adrift again, to knock about the city as he had done nearly all his
life; a prospect that made him knit his black brows, and look about the
cosy little room with a wistful expression that would have touched a much
harder heart than Mr. Bhaer’s if he had seen it. It vanished instantly,
however, when the good man came in, and said in his accustomed grave way,

“I have heard all about it, Dan, and though you have broken the rules
again, I am going to give you one more trial, to please Mother Bhaer.”

Dan flushed up to his forehead at this unexpected reprieve, but he only
said in his gruff way,

“I didn’t know there was any rule about bull-fighting.”

“As I never expected to have any at Plumfield, I never did make such a
rule,” answered Mr. Bhaer, smiling in spite of himself at the boy’s
excuse. Then he added gravely, “But one of the first and most important of
our few laws is the law of kindness to every dumb creature on the place. I
want everybody and everything to be happy here, to love and trust, and
serve us, as we try to love and trust and serve them faithfully and
willingly. I have often said that you were kinder to the animals than any
of the other boys, and Mrs. Bhaer liked that trait in you very much,
because she thought it showed a good heart. But you have disappointed us
in that, and we are sorry, for we hoped to make you quite one of us. Shall
we try again?”

Dan’s eyes had been on the floor, and his hands nervously picking at the
bit of wood he had been whittling as Mr. Bhaer came in, but when he heard
the kind voice ask that question, he looked up quickly, and said in a more
respectful tone than he had ever used before,

“Yes, please.”

“Very well, then, we will say no more, only you will stay at home from the
walk to-morrow, as the other boys will and all of you must wait on poor
Buttercup till she is well again.”

“I will.”

“Now, go down to supper, and do your best, my boy, more for your own sake
than for ours.” Then Mr. Bhaer shook hands with him, and Dan went down
more tamed by kindness than he would have been by the good whipping which
Asia had strongly recommended.

Dan did try for a day or two, but not being used to it, he soon tired and
relapsed into his old wilful ways. Mr. Bhaer was called from home on
business one day, and the boys had no lessons. They liked this, and played
hard till bedtime, when most of them turned in and slept like dormice.
Dan, however, had a plan in his head, and when he and Nat were alone, he
unfolded it.

“Look here!” he said, taking from under his bed a bottle, a cigar, and a
pack of cards, “I’m going to have some fun, and do as I used to with the
fellows in town. Here’s some beer, I got if of the old man at the station,
and this cigar; you can pay for ’em or Tommy will, he’s got heaps of money
and I haven’t a cent. I’m going to ask him in; no, you go, they won’t mind
you.”

“The folks won’t like it,” began Nat.

“They won’t know. Daddy Bhaer is away, and Mrs. Bhaer’s busy with Ted;
he’s got croup or something, and she can’t leave him. We shan’t sit up
late or make any noise, so where’s the harm?”

“Asia will know if we burn the lamp long, she always does.”

“No, she won’t, I’ve got a dark lantern on purpose; it don’t give much
light, and we can shut it quick if we hear anyone coming,” said Dan.

This idea struck Nat as a fine one, and lent an air of romance to the
thing. He started off to tell Tommy, but put his head in again to say,

“You want Demi, too, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t; the Deacon will rollup eyes and preach if you tell him. He
will be asleep, so just tip the wink to Tom and cut back again.”

Nat obeyed, and returned in a minute with Tommy half dressed, rather
tousled about the head and very sleepy, but quite ready for fun as usual.

“Now, keep quiet, and I’ll show you how to play a first-rate game called
‘Poker,’” said Dan, as the three revellers gathered round the table, on
which were set forth the bottle, the cigar, and the cards. “First we’ll
all have a drink, then we’ll take a go at the ‘weed,’ and then we’ll play.
That’s the way men do, and it’s jolly fun.”

The beer circulated in a mug, and all three smacked their lips over it,
though Nat and Tommy did not like the bitter stuff. The cigar was worse
still, but they dared not say so, and each puffed away till he was dizzy
or choked, when he passed the “weed” on to his neighbor. Dan liked it, for
it seemed like old times when he now and then had a chance to imitate the
low men who surrounded him. He drank, and smoked, and swaggered as much
like them as he could, and, getting into the spirit of the part he
assumed, he soon began to swear under his breath for fear some one should
hear him. “You mustn’t; it’s wicked to say ‘Damn!’” cried Tommy, who had
followed his leader so far.

“Oh, hang! don’t you preach, but play away; it’s part of the fun to
swear.”

“I’d rather say ‘thunder turtles,’” said Tommy, who had composed this
interesting exclamation and was very proud of it.

“And I’ll say ‘The Devil;’ that sounds well,” added Nat, much impressed by
Dan’s manly ways.

Dan scoffed at their “nonsense,” and swore stoutly as he tried to teach
them the new game.

But Tommy was very sleepy, and Nat’s head began to ache with the beer and
the smoke, so neither of them was very quick to learn, and the game
dragged. The room was nearly dark, for the lantern burned badly; they
could not laugh loud nor move about much, for Silas slept next door in the
shed-chamber, and altogether the party was dull. In the middle of a deal
Dan stopped suddenly, and called out, “Who’s that?” in a startled tone,
and at the same moment drew the slide over the light. A voice in the
darkness said tremulously, “I can’t find Tommy,” and then there was the
quick patter of bare feet running away down the entry that led from the
wing to the main house.

“It’s Demi! he’s gone to call some one; cut into bed, Tom, and don’t
tell!” cried Dan, whisking all signs of the revel out of sight, and
beginning to tear off his clothes, while Nat did the same.

Tommy flew to his room and dived into bed, where he lay, laughing till
something burned his hand, when he discovered that he was still clutching
the stump of the festive cigar, which he happened to be smoking when the
revel broke up.

It was nearly out, and he was about to extinguish it carefully when
Nursey’s voice was heard, and fearing it would betray him if he hid it in
the bed, he threw it underneath, after a final pinch which he thought
finished it.

Nursey came in with Demi, who looked much amazed to see the red face of
Tommy reposing peacefully upon his pillow.

“He wasn’t there just now, because I woke up and could not find him
anywhere,” said Demi, pouncing on him.

“What mischief are you at now, bad child?” asked Nursey, with a
good-natured shake, which made the sleeper open his eyes to say meekly,

“I only ran into Nat’s room to see him about something. Go away, and let
me alone; I’m awful sleepy.”

Nursey tucked Demi in, and went off to reconnoitre, but only found two
boys slumbering peacefully in Dan’s room. “Some little frolic,” she
thought, and as there was no harm done she said nothing to Mrs. Bhaer, who
was busy and worried over little Teddy.

Tommy was sleepy, and telling Demi to mind his own business and not ask
questions, he was snoring in ten minutes, little dreaming what was going
on under his bed. The cigar did not go out, but smouldered away on the
straw carpet till it was nicely on fire, and a hungry little flame went
creeping along till the dimity bedcover caught, then the sheets, and then
the bed itself. The beer made Tommy sleep heavily, and the smoke stupified
Demi, so they slept on till the fire began to scorch them, and they were
in danger of being burned to death.

Franz was sitting up to study, and as he left the school-room he smelt the
smoke, dashed up-stairs and saw it coming in a cloud from the left wing of
the house. Without stopping to call any one, he ran into the room, dragged
the boys from the blazing bed, and splashed all the water he could find at
hand on to the flames. It checked but did not quench the fire, and the
children wakened on being tumbled topsy-turvy into a cold hall, began to
roar at the top of their voices. Mrs. Bhaer instantly appeared, and a
minute after Silas burst out of his room shouting, “Fire!” in a tone that
raised the whole house. A flock of white goblins with scared faces crowded
into the hall, and for a minute every one was panic-stricken.

Then Mrs. Bhaer found her wits, bade Nursey see to the burnt boys, and
sent Franz and Silas down-stairs for some tubs of wet clothes which she
flung on the bed, over the carpet, and up against the curtains, now
burning finely, and threatening to kindle the walls.

Most of the boys stood dumbly looking on, but Dan and Emil worked bravely,
running to and fro with water from the bath-room, and helping to pull down
the dangerous curtains.

The peril was soon over, and ordering the boys all back to bed, and
leaving Silas to watch lest the fire broke out again, Mrs. Bhaer and Franz
went to see how the poor boys got on. Demi had escaped with one burn and a
grand scare, but Tommy had not only most of his hair scorched off his
head, but a great burn on his arm, that made him half crazy with the pain.
Demi was soon made cosy, and Franz took him away to his own bed, where the
kind lad soothed his fright and hummed him to sleep as cosily as a woman.
Nursey watched over poor Tommy all night, trying to ease his misery, and
Mrs. Bhaer vibrated between him and little Teddy with oil and cotton,
paregoric and squills, saying to herself from time to time, as if she
found great amusement in the thought, “I always knew Tommy would set the
house on fire, and now he has done it!”

When Mr. Bhaer got home next morning he found a nice state of things.
Tommy in bed, Teddy wheezing like a little grampus, Mrs. Jo quite used up,
and the whole flock of boys so excited that they all talked at once, and
almost dragged him by main force to view the ruins. Under his quiet
management things soon fell into order, for every one felt that he was
equal to a dozen conflagrations, and worked with a will at whatever task
he gave them.

There was no school that morning, but by afternoon the damaged room was
put to rights, the invalids were better, and there was time to hear and
judge the little culprits quietly. Nat and Tommy told their parts in the
mischief, and were honestly sorry for the danger they had brought to the
dear old house and all in it. But Dan put on his devil-may-care look, and
would not own that there was much harm done.

Now, of all things, Mr. Bhaer hated drinking, gambling, and swearing;
smoking he had given up that the lads might not be tempted to try it, and
it grieved and angered him deeply to find that the boy, with whom he had
tried to be most forbearing, should take advantage of his absence to
introduce these forbidden vices, and teach his innocent little lads to
think it manly and pleasant to indulge in them. He talked long and
earnestly to the assembled boys, and ended by saying, with an air of
mingled firmness and regret,

“I think Tommy is punished enough, and that scar on his arm will remind
him for a long time to let these things alone. Nat’s fright will do for
him, for he is really sorry, and does try to obey me. But you, Dan, have
been many times forgiven, and yet it does no good. I cannot have my boys
hurt by your bad example, nor my time wasted in talking to deaf ears, so
you can say good-bye to them all, and tell Nursey to put up your things in
my little black bag.”

“Oh! sir, where is he going?” cried Nat.

“To a pleasant place up in the country, where I sometimes send boys when
they don’t do well here. Mr. Page is a kind man, and Dan will be happy
there if he chooses to do his best.”

“Will he ever come back?” asked Demi.

“That will depend on himself; I hope so.”

As he spoke, Mr. Bhaer left the room to write his letter to Mr. Page, and
the boys crowded round Dan very much as people do about a man who is going
on a long and perilous journey to unknown regions.

“I wonder if you’ll like it,” began Jack.

“Shan’t stay if I don’t,” said Dan coolly.

“Where will you go?” asked Nat.

“I may go to sea, or out west, or take a look at California,” answered
Dan, with a reckless air that quite took away the breath of the little
boys.

“Oh, don’t! stay with Mr. Page awhile and then come back here; do, Dan,”
pleaded Nat, much affected at the whole affair.

“I don’t care where I go, or how long I stay, and I’ll be hanged if I ever
come back here,” with which wrathful speech Dan went away to put up his
things, every one of which Mr. Bhaer had given him.

That was the only good-bye he gave the boys, for they were all talking the
matter over in the barn when he came down, and he told Nat not to call
them. The wagon stood at the door, and Mrs. Bhaer came out to speak to
Dan, looking so sad that his heart smote him, and he said in a low tone,

“May I say good-bye to Teddy?”

“Yes, dear; go in and kiss him, he will miss his Danny very much.”

No one saw the look in Dan’s eyes as he stooped over the crib, and saw the
little face light up at first sight of him, but he heard Mrs. Bhaer say
pleadingly,

“Can’t we give the poor lad one more trial, Fritz?” and Mr. Bhaer answer
in his steady way,

“My dear, it is not best, so let him go where he can do no harm to others,
while they do good to him, and by and by he shall come back, I promise
you.”

“He’s the only boy we ever failed with, and I am so grieved, for I thought
there was the making of a fine man in him, spite of his faults.”

Dan heard Mrs. Bhaer sigh, and he wanted to ask for one more trial
himself, but his pride would not let him, and he came out with the hard
look on his face, shook hands without a word, and drove away with Mr.
Bhaer, leaving Nat and Mrs. Jo to look after him with tears in their eyes.

A few days afterwards they received a letter from Mr. Page, saying that
Dan was doing well, whereat they all rejoiced. But three weeks later came
another letter, saying that Dan had run away, and nothing had been heard
of him, whereat they all looked sober, and Mr. Bhaer said,

“Perhaps I ought to have given him another chance.”

Mrs. Bhaer, however, nodded wisely and answered, “Don’t be troubled,
Fritz; the boy will come back to us, I’m sure of it.”

But time went on and no Dan came.

CHAPTER VII. NAUGHTY NAN

“Fritz, I’ve got a new idea,” cried Mrs. Bhaer, as she met her husband one
day after school.

“Well, my dear, what is it?” and he waited willingly to hear the new plan,
for some of Mrs. Jo’s ideas were so droll, it was impossible to help
laughing at them, though usually they were quite sensible, and he was glad
to carry them out.

“Daisy needs a companion, and the boys would be all the better for another
girl among them; you know we believe in bringing up little men and women
together, and it is high time we acted up to our belief. They pet and
tyrannize over Daisy by turns, and she is getting spoilt. Then they must
learn gentle ways, and improve their manners, and having girls about will
do it better than any thing else.”

“You are right, as usual. Now, who shall we have?” asked Mr. Bhaer, seeing
by the look in her eye that Mrs. Jo had some one all ready to propose.

“Little Annie Harding.”

“What! Naughty Nan, as the lads call her?” cried Mr. Bhaer, looking very
much amused.

“Yes, she is running wild at home since her mother died, and is too bright
a child to be spoilt by servants. I have had my eye on her for some time,
and when I met her father in town the other day I asked him why he did not
send her to school. He said he would gladly if he could find as good a
school for girls as ours was for boys. I know he would rejoice to have her
come; so suppose we drive over this afternoon and see about it.”

“Have not you cares enough now, my Jo, without this little gypsy to
torment you?” asked Mr. Bhaer, patting the hand that lay on his arm.

“Oh dear, no,” said Mother Bhaer, briskly. “I like it, and never was
happier than since I had my wilderness of boys. You see, Fritz, I feel a
great sympathy for Nan, because I was such a naughty child myself that I
know all about it. She is full of spirits, and only needs to be taught
what to do with them to be as nice a little girl as Daisy. Those quick
wits of hers would enjoy lessons if they were rightly directed, and what
is now a tricksy midget would soon become a busy, happy child. I know how
to manage her, for I remember how my blessed mother managed me, and—”

“And if you succeed half as well as she did, you will have done a
magnificent work,” interrupted Mr. Bhaer, who labored under the delusion
that Mrs. B. was the best and most charming woman alive.

“Now, if you make fun of my plan I’ll give you bad coffee for a week, and
then where are you, sir?” cried Mrs. Jo, tweaking him by the ear just as
if he was one of the boys.

“Won’t Daisy’s hair stand erect with horror at Nan’s wild ways?” asked Mr.
Bhaer, presently, when Teddy had swarmed up his waistcoat, and Rob up his
back, for they always flew at their father the minute school was done.

“At first, perhaps, but it will do Posy good. She is getting prim and
Bettyish, and needs stirring up a bit. She always has a good time when Nan
comes over to play, and the two will help each other without knowing it.
Dear me, half the science of teaching is knowing how much children do for
one another, and when to mix them.”

“I only hope she won’t turn out another firebrand.”

“My poor Dan! I never can quite forgive myself for letting him go,” sighed
Mrs. Bhaer.

At the sound of the name, little Teddy, who had never forgotten his
friend, struggled down from his father’s arms, and trotted to the door,
looked out over the sunny lawn with a wistful face, and then trotted back
again, saying, as he always did when disappointed of the longed-for sight,

“My Danny’s tummin’ soon.”

“I really think we ought to have kept him, if only for Teddy’s sake, he
was so fond of him, and perhaps baby’s love would have done for him what
we failed to do.”

“I’ve sometimes felt that myself; but after keeping the boys in a ferment,
and nearly burning up the whole family, I thought it safer to remove the
firebrand, for a time at least,” said Mr. Bhaer.

“Dinner’s ready, let me ring the bell,” and Rob began a solo upon that
instrument which made it impossible to hear one’s self speak.

“Then I may have Nan, may I?” asked Mrs. Jo.

“A dozen Nans if you want them, my dear,” answered Mr. Bhaer, who had room
in his fatherly heart for all the naughty neglected children in the world.

When Mrs. Bhaer returned from her drive that afternoon, before she could
unpack the load of little boys, without whom she seldom moved, a small
girl of ten skipped out at the back of the carry-all and ran into the
house, shouting,

“Hi, Daisy! where are you?”

Daisy came, and looked pleased to see her guest, but also a trifle
alarmed, when Nan said, still prancing, as if it was impossible to keep
still,

“I’m going to stay here always, papa says I may, and my box is coming
tomorrow, all my things had to be washed and mended, and your aunt came
and carried me off. Isn’t it great fun?”

“Why, yes. Did you bring your big doll?” asked Daisy, hoping she had, for
on the last visit Nan had ravaged the baby house, and insisted on washing
Blanche Matilda’s plaster face, which spoilt the poor dear’s complexion
for ever.

“Yes, she’s somewhere round,” returned Nan, with most unmaternal
carelessness. “I made you a ring coming along, and pulled the hairs out of
Dobbin’s tail. Don’t you want it?” and Nan presented a horse-hair ring in
token of friendship, as they had both vowed they would never speak to one
another again when they last parted.

Won by the beauty of the offering, Daisy grew more cordial, and proposed
retiring to the nursery, but Nan said, “No, I want to see the boys, and
the barn,” and ran off, swinging her hat by one string till it broke, when
she left it to its fate on the grass.

“Hullo! Nan!” cried the boys as she bounced in among them with the
announcement,

“I’m going to stay.”

“Hooray!” bawled Tommy from the wall on which he was perched, for Nan was
a kindred spirit, and he foresaw “larks” in the future.

“I can bat; let me play,” said Nan, who could turn her hand to any thing,
and did not mind hard knocks.

“We ain’t playing now, and our side beat without you.”

“I can beat you in running, any way,” returned Nan, falling back on her
strong point.

“Can she?” asked Nat of Jack.

“She runs very well for a girl,” answered Jack, who looked down upon Nan
with condescending approval.

“Will you try?” said Nan, longing to display her powers.

“It’s too hot,” and Tommy languished against the wall as if quite
exhausted.

“What’s the matter with Stuffy?” asked Nan, whose quick eyes were roving
from face to face.

“Ball hurt his hand; he howls at every thing,” answered Jack scornfully.

“I don’t, I never cry, no matter how I’m hurt; it’s babyish,” said Nan,
loftily.

“Pooh! I could make you cry in two minutes,” returned Stuffy, rousing up.

“See if you can.”

“Go and pick that bunch of nettles, then,” and Stuffy pointed to a sturdy
specimen of that prickly plant growing by the wall.

Nan instantly “grasped the nettle,” pulled it up, and held it with a
defiant gesture, in spite of the almost unbearable sting.

“Good for you,” cried the boys, quick to acknowledge courage even in one
of the weaker sex.

More nettled than she was, Stuffy determined to get a cry out of her
somehow, and he said tauntingly, “You are used to poking your hands into
every thing, so that isn’t fair. Now go and bump your head real hard
against the barn, and see if you don’t howl then.”

“Don’t do it,” said Nat, who hated cruelty.

But Nan was off, and running straight at the barn, she gave her head a
blow that knocked her flat, and sounded like a battering-ram. Dizzy, but
undaunted, she staggered up, saying stoutly, though her face was drawn
with pain,

“That hurt, but I don’t cry.”

“Do it again,” said Stuffy angrily; and Nan would have done it, but Nat
held her; and Tommy, forgetting the heat, flew at Stuffy like a little
game-cock, roaring out,

“Stop it, or I’ll throw you over the barn!” and so shook and hustled poor
Stuffy that for a minute he did not know whether he was on his head or his
heels.

“She told me to,” was all he could say, when Tommy let him alone.

“Never mind if she did; it is awfully mean to hurt a little girl,” said
Demi, reproachfully.

“Ho! I don’t mind; I ain’t a little girl, I’m older than you and Daisy; so
now,” cried Nan, ungratefully.

“Don’t preach, Deacon, you bully Posy every day of your life,” called out
the Commodore, who just then hove in sight.

“I don’t hurt her; do I, Daisy?” and Demi turned to his sister, who was
“pooring” Nan’s tingling hands, and recommending water for the purple lump
rapidly developing itself on her forehead.

“You are the best boy in the world,” promptly answered Daisy; adding, as
truth compelled her to do, “You hurt me sometimes, but you don’t mean to.”

“Put away the bats and things, and mind what you are about, my hearties.
No fighting allowed aboard this ship,” said Emil, who rather lorded it
over the others.

“How do you do, Madge Wildfire?” said Mr. Bhaer, as Nan came in with the
rest to supper. “Give the right hand, little daughter, and mind thy
manners,” he added, as Nan offered him her left.

“The other hurts me.”

“The poor little hand! what has it been doing to get those blisters?” he
asked, drawing it from behind her back, where she had put it with a look
which made him think she had been in mischief.

Before Nan could think of any excuse, Daisy burst out with the whole
story, during which Stuffy tried to hide his face in a bowl of bread and
milk. When the tale was finished, Mr. Bhaer looked down the long table
towards his wife, and said with a laugh in his eyes,

“This rather belongs to your side of the house, so I won’t meddle with it,
my dear.”

Mrs. Jo knew what he meant, but she liked her little black sheep all the
better for her pluck, though she only said in her soberest way,

“Do you know why I asked Nan to come here?”

“To plague me,” muttered Stuffy, with his mouth full.

“To help make little gentlemen of you, and I think you have shown that
some of you need it.”

Here Stuffy retired into his bowl again, and did not emerge till Demi made
them all laugh by saying, in his slow wondering way,

“How can she, when she’s such a tomboy?”

“That’s just it, she needs help as much as you, and I expect you set her
an example of good manners.”

“Is she going to be a little gentleman too?” asked Rob.

“She’d like it; wouldn’t you, Nan?” added Tommy.

“No, I shouldn’t; I hate boys!” said Nan fiercely, for her hand still
smarted, and she began to think that she might have shown her courage in
some wiser way.

“I am sorry you hate my boys, because they can be well-mannered, and most
agreeable when they choose. Kindness in looks and words and ways is true
politeness, and any one can have it if they only try to treat other people
as they like to be treated themselves.”

Mrs. Bhaer had addressed herself to Nan, but the boys nudged one another,
and appeared to take the hint, for that time at least, and passed the
butter; said “please,” and “thank you,” “yes, sir,” and “no, ma’am,” with
unusual elegance and respect. Nan said nothing, but kept herself quiet and
refrained from tickling Demi, though strongly tempted to do so, because of
the dignified airs he put on. She also appeared to have forgotten her
hatred of boys, and played “I spy” with them till dark. Stuffy was
observed to offer her frequent sucks on his candy-ball during the game,
which evidently sweetened her temper, for the last thing she said on going
to bed was,

“When my battledore and shuttle-cock comes, I’ll let you all play with
’em.”

Her first remark in the morning was “Has my box come?” and when told that
it would arrive sometime during the day, she fretted and fumed, and
whipped her doll, till Daisy was shocked. She managed to exist, however,
till five o’clock, when she disappeared, and was not missed till
supper-time, because those at home thought she had gone to the hill with
Tommy and Demi.

“I saw her going down the avenue alone as hard as she could pelt,” said
Mary Ann, coming in with the hasty-pudding, and finding every one asking,
“Where is Nan?”

“She has run home, little gypsy!” cried Mrs. Bhaer, looking anxious.

“Perhaps she has gone to the station to look after her luggage,” suggested
Franz.

“That is impossible, she does not know the way, and if she found it, she
could never carry the box a mile,” said Mrs. Bhaer, beginning to think
that her new idea might be rather a hard one to carry out.

“It would be like her,” and Mr. Bhaer caught up his hat to go and find the
child, when a shout from Jack, who was at the window, made everyone hurry
to the door.

There was Miss Nan, to be sure, tugging along a very large band-box tied
up in linen bag. Very hot and dusty and tired did she look, but marched
stoutly along, and came puffing up to the steps, where she dropped her
load with a sigh of relief, and sat down upon it, observed as she crossed
her tired arms,

“I couldn’t wait any longer, so I went and got it.”

“But you did not know the way,” said Tommy, while the rest stood round
enjoying the joke.

“Oh, I found it, I never get lost.”

“It’s a mile, how could you go so far?”

“Well, it was pretty far, but I rested a good deal.”

“Wasn’t that thing very heavy?”

“It’s so round, I couldn’t get hold of it good, and I thought my arms
would break right off.”

“I don’t see how the station-master let you have it,” said Tommy.

“I didn’t say anything to him. He was in the little ticket place, and
didn’t see me, so I just took it off the platform.”

“Run down and tell him it is all right, Franz, or old Dodd will think it
is stolen,” said Mr. Bhaer, joining in the shout of laughter at Nan’s
coolness.

“I told you we would send for it if it did not come. Another time you must
wait, for you will get into trouble if you run away. Promise me this, or I
shall not dare to trust you out of my sight,” said Mrs. Bhaer, wiping the
dust off Nan’s little hot face.

“Well, I won’t, only papa tells me not to put off doing things, so I
don’t.”

“That is rather a poser; I think you had better give her some supper now,
and a private lecture by and by,” said Mr. Bhaer, too much amused to be
angry at the young lady’s exploit.

The boys thought it “great fun,” and Nan entertained them all supper-time
with an account of her adventures; for a big dog had barked at her, a man
had laughed at her, a woman had given her a doughnut, and her hat had
fallen into the brook when she stopped to drink, exhausted with her
exertion.

“I fancy you will have your hands full now, my dear; Tommy and Nan are
quite enough for one woman,” said Mr. Bhaer, half an hour later.

“I know it will take some time to tame the child, but she is such a
generous, warm-hearted little thing, I should love her even if she were
twice as naughty,” answered Mrs. Jo, pointing to the merry group, in the
middle of which stood Nan, giving away her things right and left, as
lavishly as if the big band-box had no bottom.

It was those good traits that soon made little “Giddygaddy,” as they
called her, a favorite with every one. Daisy never complained of being
dull again, for Nan invented the most delightful plays, and her pranks
rivalled Tommy’s, to the amusement of the whole school. She buried her big
doll and forgot it for a week, and found it well mildewed when she dragged
it up. Daisy was in despair, but Nan took it to the painter who as at work
about the house, got him to paint it brick red, with staring black eyes,
then she dressed it up with feathers, and scarlet flannel, and one of
Ned’s leaden hatchets; and in the character of an Indian chief, the late
Poppydilla tomahawked all the other dolls, and caused the nursery to run
red with imaginary gore. She gave away her new shoes to a beggar child,
hoping to be allowed to go barefoot, but found it impossible to combine
charity and comfort, and was ordered to ask leave before disposing of her
clothes. She delighted the boys by making a fire-ship out of a shingle
with two large sails wet with turpentine, which she lighted, and then sent
the little vessel floating down the brook at dusk. She harnessed the old
turkey-cock to a straw wagon, and made him trot round the house at a
tremendous pace. She gave her coral necklace for four unhappy kittens,
which had been tormented by some heartless lads, and tended them for days
as gently as a mother, dressing their wounds with cold cream, feeding them
with a doll’s spoon, and mourning over them when they died, till she was
consoled by one of Demi’s best turtles. She made Silas tattoo an anchor on
her arm like his, and begged hard to have a blue star on each cheek, but
he dared not do it, though she coaxed and scolded till the soft-hearted
fellow longed to give in. She rode every animal on the place, from the big
horse Andy to the cross pig, from whom she was rescued with difficulty.
Whatever the boys dared her to do she instantly attempted, no matter how
dangerous it might be, and they were never tired of testing her courage.

Mr. Bhaer suggested that they should see who would study best, and Nan
found as much pleasure in using her quick wits and fine memory as her
active feet and merry tongue, while the lads had to do their best to keep
their places, for Nan showed them that girls could do most things as well
as boys, and some things better. There were no rewards in school, but Mr.
Bhaer’s “Well done!” and Mrs. Bhaer’s good report on the conscience book,
taught them to love duty for its own sake, and try to do it faithfully,
sure sooner or later the recompense would come. Little Nan was quick to
feel the new atmosphere, to enjoy it, to show that it was what she needed;
for this little garden was full of sweet flowers, half hidden by the
weeds; and when kind hands gently began to cultivate it, all sorts of
green shoots sprung up, promising to blossom beautifully in the warmth of
love and care, the best climate for young hearts and souls all the world
over.

CHAPTER VIII. PRANKS AND PLAYS

As there is no particular plan to this story, except to describe a few
scenes in the life at Plumfield for the amusement of certain little
persons, we will gently ramble along in this chapter and tell some of the
pastimes of Mrs. Jo’s boys. I beg leave to assure my honored readers that
most of the incidents are taken from real life, and that the oddest are
the truest; for no person, no matter how vivid an imagination he may have,
can invent anything half so droll as the freaks and fancies that originate
in the lively brains of little people.

Daisy and Demi were full of these whims, and lived in a world of their
own, peopled with lovely or grotesque creatures, to whom they gave the
queerest names, and with whom they played the queerest games. One of these
nursery inventions was an invisible sprite called “The Naughty
Kitty-mouse,” whom the children had believed in, feared, and served for a
long time. They seldom spoke of it to any one else, kept their rites as
private as possible; and, as they never tried to describe it even to
themselves, this being had a vague mysterious charm very agreeable to
Demi, who delighted in elves and goblins. A most whimsical and tyrannical
imp was the Naughty Kitty-mouse, and Daisy found a fearful pleasure in its
service, blindly obeying its most absurd demands, which were usually
proclaimed from the lips of Demi, whose powers of invention were great.
Rob and Teddy sometimes joined in these ceremonies, and considered them
excellent fun, although they did not understand half that went on.

One day after school Demi whispered to his sister, with an ominous wag of
the head,

“The Kitty-mouse wants us this afternoon.”

“What for?” asked Daisy, anxiously.

“A sackerryfice,” answered Demi, solemnly. “There must be a fire behind
the big rock at two o’clock, and we must all bring the things we like
best, and burn them!” he added, with an awful emphasis on the last words.

“Oh, dear! I love the new paper dollies Aunt Amy painted for me best of
any thing; must I burn them up?” cried Daisy, who never thought of denying
the unseen tyrant any thing it demanded.

“Every one. I shall burn my boat, my best scrapbook, and all my soldiers,”
said Demi firmly.

“Well, I will; but it’s too bad of Kitty-mouse to want our very nicest
things,” sighed Daisy.

“A sackerryfice means to give up what you are fond of, so we must,”
explained Demi, to whom the new idea had been suggested by hearing Uncle
Fritz describe the customs of the Greeks to the big boys who were reading
about them in school.

“Is Rob coming too,” asked Daisy.

“Yes, and he is going to bring his toy village; it is all made of wood,
you know, and will burn nicely. We’ll have a grand bonfire, and see them
blaze up, won’t we?”

This brilliant prospect consoled Daisy, and she ate her dinner with a row
of paper dolls before her, as a sort of farewell banquet.

At the appointed hour the sacrificial train set forth, each child bearing
the treasures demanded by the insatiable Kitty-mouse. Teddy insisted on
going also, and seeing that all the others had toys, he tucked a squeaking
lamb under one arm, and old Annabella under the other, little dreaming
what anguish the latter idol was to give him.

“Where are you going, my chickens?” asked Mrs. Jo, as the flock passed her
door.

“To play by the big rock; can’t we?”

“Yes, only don’t do near the pond, and take good care of baby.”

“I always do,” said Daisy, leading forth her charge with a capable air.

“Now, you must all sit round, and not move till I tell you. This flat
stone is an altar, and I am going to make a fire on it.”

Demi then proceeded to kindle up a small blaze, as he had seen the boys do
at picnics. When the flame burned well, he ordered the company to march
round it three times and then stand in a circle.

“I shall begin, and as fast as my things are burnt, you must bring yours.”

With that he solemnly laid on a little paper book full of pictures, pasted
in by himself; this was followed by a dilapidated boat, and then one by
one the unhappy leaden soldiers marched to death. Not one faltered or hung
back, from the splendid red and yellow captain to the small drummer who
had lost his legs; all vanished in the flames and mingled in one common
pool of melted lead.

“Now, Daisy!” called the high priest of Kitty-mouse, when his rich
offerings had been consumed, to the great satisfaction of the children.

“My dear dollies, how can I let them go?” moaned Daisy, hugging the entire
dozen with a face full of maternal woe.

“You must,” commanded Demi; and with a farewell kiss to each, Daisy laid
her blooming dolls upon the coals.

“Let me keep one, the dear blue thing, she is so sweet,” besought the poor
little mamma, clutching her last in despair.

“More! more!” growled an awful voice, and Demi cried, “that’s the
Kitty-mouse! she must have every one, quick, or she will scratch us.”

In went the precious blue belle, flounces, rosy hat, and all, and nothing
but a few black flakes remained of that bright band.

“Stand the houses and trees round, and let them catch themselves; it will
be like a real fire then,” said Demi, who liked variety even in his
“sackerryfices.”

Charmed by this suggestion, the children arranged the doomed village, laid
a line of coals along the main street, and then sat down to watch the
conflagration. It was somewhat slow to kindle owing to the paint, but at
last one ambitious little cottage blazed up, fired a tree of the palm
species, which fell on to the roof of a large family mansion, and in a few
minutes the whole town was burning merrily. The wooden population stood
and stared at the destruction like blockheads, as they were, till they
also caught and blazed away without a cry. It took some time to reduce the
town to ashes, and the lookers-on enjoyed the spectacle immensely,
cheering as each house fell, dancing like wild Indians when the steeple
flamed aloft, and actually casting one wretched little churn-shaped lady,
who had escaped to the suburbs, into the very heart of the fire.

The superb success of this last offering excited Teddy to such a degree,
that he first threw his lamb into the conflagration, and before it had
time even to roast, he planted poor Annabella on the funeral pyre. Of
course she did not like it, and expressed her anguish and resentment in a
way that terrified her infant destroyer. Being covered with kid, she did
not blaze, but did what was worse, she squirmed. First one leg curled up,
then the other, in a very awful and lifelike manner; next she flung her
arms over her head as if in great agony; her head itself turned on her
shoulders, her glass eyes fell out, and with one final writhe of her whole
body, she sank down a blackened mass on the ruins of the town. This
unexpected demonstration startled every one and frightened Teddy half out
of his little wits. He looked, then screamed and fled toward the house,
roaring “Marmar” at the top of his voice.

Mrs. Bhaer heard the outcry and ran to the rescue, but Teddy could only
cling to her and pour out in his broken way something about “poor Bella
hurted,” “a dreat fire,” and “all the dollies dorn.” Fearing some dire
mishap, his mother caught him up and hurried to the scene of action, where
she found the blind worshippers of Kitty-mouse mourning over the charred
remains of the lost darling.

“What have you been at? Tell me all about it,” said Mrs. Jo, composing
herself to listen patiently, for the culprits looked so penitent, she
forgave them beforehand.

With some reluctance Demi explained their play, and Aunt Jo laughed till
the tears ran down her cheeks, the children were so solemn, and the play
was so absurd.

“Only I shall put Plumfield instead of Boston.”

“We never will again, truly, truly!” cried the repentant little sinners,
much abashed at this reproof.

“Demi told us to,” said Rob.

“Well, I heard Uncle tell about the Greece people, who had altars and
things, and so I wanted to be like them, only I hadn’t any live creatures
to sackerryfice, so we burnt up our toys.”

“Dear me, that is something like the bean story,” said Aunt Jo, laughing
again.

“Tell about it,” suggested Daisy, to change the subject.

“Once there was a poor woman who had three or four little children, and
she used to lock them up in her room when she went out to work, to keep
them safe. On day when she was going away she said, ‘Now, my dears, don’t
let baby fall out of window, don’t play with the matches, and don’t put
beans up your noses.’ Now the children had never dreamed of doing that
last thing, but she put it into their heads, and the minute she was gone,
they ran and stuffed their naughty little noses full of beans, just to see
how it felt, and she found them all crying when she came home.”

“Did it hurt?” asked Rob, with such intense interest that his mother
hastily added a warning sequel, lest a new edition of the bean story
should appear in her own family.

“Very much, as I know, for when my mother told me this story, I was so
silly that I went and tried it myself. I had no beans, so I took some
little pebbles, and poked several into my nose. I did not like it at all,
and wanted to take them out again very soon, but one would not come, and I
was so ashamed to tell what a goose I been that I went for hours with the
stone hurting me very much. At last the pain got so bad I had to tell, and
when my mother could not get it out the doctor came. Then I was put in a
chair and held tight, Rob, while he used his ugly little pincers till the
stone hopped out. Dear me! how my wretched little nose did ache, and how
people laughed at me!” and Mrs. Jo shook her head in a dismal way, as if
the memory of her sufferings was too much for her.

Rob looked deeply impressed and I am glad to say took the warning to
heart. Demi proposed that they should bury poor Annabella, and in the
interest of the funeral Teddy forgot his fright. Daisy was soon consoled
by another batch of dolls from Aunt Amy, and the Naughty Kitty-mouse
seemed to be appeased by the last offerings, for she tormented them no
more.

“Brops” was the name of a new and absorbing play, invented by Bangs. As
this interesting animal is not to be found in any Zoological Garden,
unless Du Chaillu has recently brought one from the wilds of Africa, I
will mention a few of its peculiar habits and traits, for the benefit of
inquiring minds. The Brop is a winged quadruped, with a human face of a
youthful and merry aspect. When it walks the earth it grunts, when it
soars it gives a shrill hoot, occasionally it goes erect, and talks good
English. Its body is usually covered with a substance much resembling a
shawl, sometimes red, sometimes blue, often plaid, and, strange to say,
they frequently change skins with one another. On their heads they have a
horn very like a stiff brown paper lamp-lighter. Wings of the same
substance flap upon their shoulders when they fly; this is never very far
from the ground, as they usually fall with violence if they attempt any
lofty flights. They browse over the earth, but can sit up and eat like the
squirrel. Their favorite nourishment is the seed-cake; apples also are
freely taken, and sometimes raw carrots are nibbled when food is scarce.
They live in dens, where they have a sort of nest, much like a
clothes-basket, in which the little Brops play till their wings are grown.
These singular animals quarrel at times, and it is on these occasions that
they burst into human speech, call each other names, cry, scold, and
sometimes tear off horns and skin, declaring fiercely that they “won’t
play.” The few privileged persons who have studied them are inclined to
think them a remarkable mixture of the monkey, the sphinx, the roc, and
the queer creatures seen by the famous Peter Wilkins.

This game was a great favorite, and the younger children beguiled many a
rainy afternoon flapping or creeping about the nursery, acting like little
bedlamites and being as merry as little grigs. To be sure, it was rather
hard upon clothes, particularly trouser-knees, and jacket-elbows; but Mrs.
Bhaer only said, as she patched and darned,

“We do things just as foolish, and not half so harmless. If I could get as
much happiness out of it as the little dears do, I’d be a Brop myself.”

Nat’s favorite amusements were working in his garden, and sitting in the
willow-tree with his violin, for that green nest was a fairy world to him,
and there he loved to perch, making music like a happy bird. The lads
called him “Old Chirper,” because he was always humming, whistling, or
fiddling, and they often stopped a minute in their work or play to listen
to the soft tones of the violin, which seemed to lead a little orchestra
of summer sounds. The birds appeared to regard him as one of themselves,
and fearlessly sat on the fence or lit among the boughs to watch him with
their quick bright eyes. The robins in the apple-tree near by evidently
considered him a friend, for the father bird hunted insects close beside
him, and the little mother brooded as confidingly over her blue eggs as if
the boy was only a new sort of blackbird who cheered her patient watch
with his song. The brown brook babbled and sparkled below him, the bees
haunted the clover fields on either side, friendly faces peeped at him as
they passed, the old house stretched its wide wings hospitably toward him,
and with a blessed sense of rest and love and happiness, Nat dreamed for
hours in this nook, unconscious what healthful miracles were being wrought
upon him.

One listener he had who never tired, and to whom he was more than a mere
schoolmate. Poor Billy’s chief delight was to lie beside the brook,
watching leaves and bits of foam dance by, listening dreamily to the music
in the willow-tree. He seemed to think Nat a sort of angel who sat aloft
and sang, for a few baby memories still lingered in his mind and seemed to
grow brighter at these times. Seeing the interest he took in Nat, Mr.
Bhaer begged him to help them lift the cloud from the feeble brain by this
gentle spell. Glad to do any thing to show his gratitude, Nat always
smiled on Billy when he followed him about, and let him listen undisturbed
to the music which seemed to speak a language he could understand. “Help
one another,” was a favorite Plumfield motto, and Nat learned how much
sweetness is added to life by trying to live up to it.

Jack Ford’s peculiar pastime was buying and selling; and he bid fair to
follow in the footsteps of his uncle, a country merchant, who sold a
little of every thing and made money fast. Jack had seen the sugar sanded,
the molasses watered, the butter mixed with lard, and things of that kind,
and labored under the delusion that it was all a proper part of the
business. His stock in trade was of a different sort, but he made as much
as he could out of every worm he sold, and always got the best of the
bargain when he traded with the boys for string, knives, fish-hooks, or
whatever the article might be. The boys who all had nicknames, called him
“Skinflint,” but Jack did not care as long as the old tobacco-pouch in
which he kept his money grew heavier and heavier.

He established a sort of auction-room, and now and then sold off all the
odds and ends he had collected, or helped the lads exchange things with
one another. He got bats, balls, hockey-sticks, etc., cheap, from one set
of mates, furbished them up, and let them for a few cents a time to
another set, often extending his business beyond the gates of Plumfield in
spite of the rules. Mr. Bhaer put a stop to some of his speculations, and
tried to give him a better idea of business talent than mere sharpness in
overreaching his neighbors. Now and then Jack made a bad bargain, and felt
worse about it than about any failure in lessons or conduct, and took his
revenge on the next innocent customer who came along. His account-book was
a curiosity; and his quickness at figures quite remarkable. Mr. Bhaer
praised him for this, and tried to make his sense of honesty and honor as
quick; and, by and by, when Jack found that he could not get on without
these virtues, he owned that his teacher was right.

Cricket and football the boys had of course; but, after the stirring
accounts of these games in the immortal “Tom Brown at Rugby,” no feeble
female pen may venture to do more than respectfully allude to them.

Emil spent his holidays on the river or the pond, and drilled the elder
lads for a race with certain town boys, who now and then invaded their
territory. The race duly came off, but as it ended in a general shipwreck,
it was not mentioned in public; and the Commodore had serious thoughts of
retiring to a desert island, so disgusted was he with his kind for a time.
No desert island being convenient, he was forced to remain among his
friends, and found consolation in building a boat-house.

The little girls indulged in the usual plays of their age, improving upon
them somewhat as their lively fancies suggested. The chief and most
absorbing play was called “Mrs. Shakespeare Smith;” the name was provided
by Aunt Jo, but the trials of the poor lady were quite original. Daisy was
Mrs. S. S., and Nan by turns her daughter or a neighbor, Mrs. Giddygaddy.

No pen can describe the adventures of these ladies, for in one short
afternoon their family was the scene of births, marriages, deaths, floods,
earthquakes, tea-parties, and balloon ascensions. Millions of miles did
these energetic women travel, dressed in hats and habits never seen before
by mortal eye, perched on the bed, driving the posts like mettlesome
steeds, and bouncing up and down till their heads spun. Fits and fires
were the pet afflictions, with a general massacre now and then by way of
change. Nan was never tired of inventing fresh combinations, and Daisy
followed her leader with blind admiration. Poor Teddy was a frequent
victim, and was often rescued from real danger, for the excited ladies
were apt to forget that he was not of the same stuff their longsuffering
dolls. Once he was shut into the closet for a dungeon, and forgotten by
the girls, who ran off to some out-of-door game. Another time he was half
drowned in the bath-tub, playing be a “cunning little whale.” And, worst
of all, he was cut down just in time after being hung up for a robber.

But the institution most patronized by all was the Club. It had no other
name, and it needed none, being the only one in the neighborhood. The
elder lads got it up, and the younger were occasionally admitted if they
behaved well. Tommy and Demi were honorary members, but were always
obliged to retire unpleasantly early, owing to circumstances over which
they had no control. The proceedings of this club were somewhat peculiar,
for it met at all sorts of places and hours, had all manner of queer
ceremonies and amusements, and now and then was broken up tempestuously,
only to be re-established, however, on a firmer basis.

Rainy evenings the members met in the schoolroom, and passed the time in
games: chess, morris, backgammon, fencing matches, recitations, debates,
or dramatic performances of a darkly tragical nature. In summer the barn
was the rendezvous, and what went on there no uninitiated mortal knows. On
sultry evenings the Club adjourned to the brook for aquatic exercises, and
the members sat about in airy attire, frog-like and cool. On such
occasions the speeches were unusually eloquent, quite flowing, as one
might say; and if any orator’s remarks displeased the audience, cold water
was thrown upon him till his ardor was effectually quenched. Franz was
president, and maintained order admirably, considering the unruly nature
of the members. Mr. Bhaer never interfered with their affairs, and was
rewarded for this wise forbearance by being invited now and then to behold
the mysteries unveiled, which he appeared to enjoy much.

When Nan came she wished to join the Club, and caused great excitement and
division among the gentlemen by presenting endless petitions, both written
and spoken, disturbing their solemnities by insulting them through the
key-hole, performing vigorous solos on the door, and writing up derisive
remarks on walls and fences, for she belonged to the “Irrepressibles.”
Finding these appeals in vain, the girls, by the advice of Mrs. Jo, got up
an institution of their own, which they called the Cosy Club. To this they
magnanimously invited the gentlemen whose youth excluded them from the
other one, and entertained these favored beings so well with little
suppers, new games devised by Nan, and other pleasing festivities, that,
one by one, the elder boys confessed a desire to partake of these more
elegant enjoyments, and, after much consultation, finally decided to
propose an interchange of civilities.

The members of the Cosy Club were invited to adorn the rival establishment
on certain evenings, and to the surprise of the gentlemen their presence
was not found to be a restraint upon the conversation or amusement of the
regular frequenters; which could not be said of all Clubs, I fancy. The
ladies responded handsomely and hospitably to these overtures of peace,
and both institutions flourished long and happily.

CHAPTER IX. DAISY’S BALL

“Mrs. Shakespeare Smith would like to have Mr. John Brooke, Mr. Thomas
Bangs, and Mr. Nathaniel Blake to come to her ball at three o’clock today.

“P.S. Nat must bring his fiddle, so we can dance, and all the boys must be
good, or they cannot have any of the nice things we have cooked.”

This elegant invitation would, I fear, have been declined, but for the
hint given in the last line of the postscript.

“They have been cooking lots of goodies, I smelt ’em. Let’s go,” said
Tommy.

“We needn’t stay after the feast, you know,” added Demi.

“I never went to a ball. What do you have to do?” asked Nat.

“Oh, we just play be men, and sit round stiff and stupid like grown-up
folks, and dance to please the girls. Then we eat up everything, and come
away as soon as we can.”

“I think I could do that,” said Nat, after considering Tommy’s description
for a minute.

“I’ll write and say we’ll come;” and Demi despatched the following
gentlemanly reply,

“We will all come. Please have lots to eat. J. B. Esquire.”

Great was the anxiety of the ladies about their first ball, because if
every thing went well they intended to give a dinner-party to the chosen
few.

“Aunt Jo likes to have the boys play with us, if they are not rough; so we
must make them like our balls, then they will do them good,” said Daisy,
with her maternal air, as she set the table and surveyed the store of
refreshments with an anxious eye.

“Demi and Nat will be good, but Tommy will do something bad, I know he
will,” replied Nan, shaking her head over the little cake-basket which she
was arranging.

“Then I shall send him right home,” said Daisy, with decision.

“People don’t do so at parties, it isn’t proper.”

“I shall never ask him any more.”

“That would do. He’d be sorry not to come to the dinner-ball, wouldn’t
he?”

“I guess he would! we’ll have the splendidest things ever seen, won’t we?
Real soup with a ladle and a tureem [she meant tureen] and a little bird
for turkey, and gravy, and all kinds of nice vegytubbles.” Daisy never
could say vegetables properly, and had given up trying.

“It is ‘most three, and we ought to dress,” said Nan, who had arranged a
fine costume for the occasion, and was anxious to wear it.

“I am the mother, so I shan’t dress up much,” said Daisy, putting on a
night-cap ornamented with a red bow, one of her aunt’s long skirts, and a
shawl; a pair of spectacles and large pocket handkerchief completed her
toilette, making a plump, rosy little matron of her.

Nan had a wreath of artificial flowers, a pair of old pink slippers, a
yellow scarf, a green muslin skirt, and a fan made of feathers from the
duster; also, as a last touch of elegance, a smelling-bottle without any
smell in it.

“I am the daughter, so I rig up a good deal, and I must sing and dance,
and talk more than you do. The mothers only get the tea and be proper, you
know.”

A sudden very loud knock caused Miss Smith to fly into a chair, and fan
herself violently, while her mamma sat bolt upright on the sofa, and tried
to look quite calm and “proper.” Little Bess, who was on a visit, acted
the part of maid, and opened the door, saying with a smile, “Wart in,
gemplemun; it’s all weady.”

In honor of the occasion, the boys wore high paper collars, tall black
hats, and gloves of every color and material, for they were an
afterthought, and not a boy among them had a perfect pair.

“Good day, mum,” said Demi, in a deep voice, which was so hard to keep up
that his remarks had to be extremely brief.

Every one shook hands and then sat down, looking so funny, yet so sober,
that the gentlemen forgot their manners, and rolled in their chairs with
laughter.

“Oh, don’t!” cried Mrs. Smith, much distressed.

“You can’t ever come again if you act so,” added Miss Smith, rapping Mr.
Bangs with her bottle because he laughed loudest.

“I can’t help it, you look so like fury,” gasped Mr. Bangs, with most
uncourteous candor.

“So do you, but I shouldn’t be so rude as to say so. He shan’t come to the
dinner-ball, shall he, Daisy?” cried Nan, indignantly.

“I think we had better dance now. Did you bring your fiddle, sir?” asked
Mrs. Smith, trying to preserve her polite composure.

“It is outside the door,” and Nat went to get it.

“Better have tea first,” proposed the unabashed Tommy, winking openly at
Demi to remind him that the sooner the refreshments were secured, the
sooner they could escape.

“No, we never have supper first; and if you don’t dance well you won’t
have any supper at all, not one bit, sir,” said Mrs. Smith, so sternly
that her wild guests saw she was not to be trifled with, and grew
overwhelmingly civil all at once.

“I will take Mr. Bangs and teach him the polka, for he does not know it
fit to be seen,” added the hostess, with a reproachful look that sobered
Tommy at once.

Nat struck up, and the ball opened with two couples, who went
conscientiously through a somewhat varied dance. The ladies did well,
because they liked it, but the gentlemen exerted themselves from more
selfish motives, for each felt that he must earn his supper, and labored
manfully toward that end. When every one was out of breath they were
allowed to rest; and, indeed, poor Mrs. Smith needed it, for her long
dress had tripped her up many times. The little maid passed round molasses
and water in such small cups that one guest actually emptied nine. I
refrain from mentioning his name, because this mild beverage affected him
so much that he put cup and all into his mouth at the ninth round, and
choked himself publicly.

“You must ask Nan to play and sing now,” said Daisy to her brother, who
sat looking very much like an owl, as he gravely regarded the festive
scene between his high collars.

“Give us a song, mum,” said the obedient guest, secretly wondering where
the piano was.

Miss Smith sailed up to an old secretary which stood in the room,
threw back the lid of the writing-desk, and sitting down before it,
accompanied herself with a vigor which made the old desk rattle as she
sang that new and lovely song, beginning—

The gentlemen applauded so enthusiastically that she gave them “Bounding
Billows,” “Little Bo-Peep,” and other gems of song, till they were obliged
to hint that they had had enough. Grateful for the praises bestowed upon
her daughter, Mrs. Smith graciously announced,

“Now we will have tea. Sit down carefully, and don’t grab.”

It was beautiful to see the air of pride with which the good lady did the
honors of her table, and the calmness with which she bore the little
mishaps that occurred. The best pie flew wildly on the floor when she
tried to cut it with a very dull knife; the bread and butter vanished with
a rapidity calculated to dismay a housekeeper’s soul; and, worst of all,
the custards were so soft that they had to be drunk up, instead of being
eaten elegantly with the new tin spoons.

I grieve to state that Miss Smith squabbled with the maid for the best
jumble, which caused Bess to toss the whole dish into the air, and burst
out crying amid a rain of falling cakes. She was comforted by a seat at
the table, and the sugar-bowl to empty; but during this flurry a large
plate of patties was mysteriously lost, and could not be found. They were
the chief ornament of the feast, and Mrs. Smith was indignant at the loss,
for she had made them herself, and they were beautiful to behold. I put it
to any lady if it was not hard to have one dozen delicious patties (made
of flour, salt, and water, with a large raisin in the middle of each, and
much sugar over the whole) swept away at one fell swoop?

“You hid them, Tommy; I know you did!” cried the outraged hostess,
threatening her suspected guest with the milk-pot.

“I didn’t!”

“You did!”

“It isn’t proper to contradict,” said Nan, who was hastily eating up the
jelly during the fray.

“Give them back, Demi,” said Tommy.

“That’s a fib, you’ve got them in your own pocket,” bawled Demi, roused by
the false accusation.

“Let’s take ’em away from him. It’s too bad to make Daisy cry,” suggested
Nat, who found his first ball more exciting than he expected.

Daisy was already weeping, Bess like a devoted servant mingled her tears
with those of her mistress, and Nan denounced the entire race of boys as
“plaguey things.” Meanwhile the battle raged among the gentlemen, for,
when the two defenders of innocence fell upon the foe, that hardened youth
intrenched himself behind a table and pelted them with the stolen tarts,
which were very effective missiles, being nearly as hard as bullets. While
his ammunition held out the besieged prospered, but the moment the last
patty flew over the parapet, the villain was seized, dragged howling from
the room, and cast upon the hall floor in an ignominious heap. The
conquerors then returned flushed with victory, and while Demi consoled
poor Mrs. Smith, Nat and Nan collected the scattered tarts, replaced each
raisin in its proper bed, and rearranged the dish so that it really looked
almost as well as ever. But their glory had departed, for the sugar was
gone, and no one cared to eat them after the insult offered to them.

“I guess we had better go,” said Demi, suddenly, as Aunt Jo’s voice was
heard on the stairs.

“P’r’aps we had,” and Nat hastily dropped a stray jumble that he had just
picked up.

But Mrs. Jo was among them before the retreat was accomplished, and into
her sympathetic ear the young ladies poured the story of their woes.

“No more balls for these boys till they have atoned for this bad behavior
by doing something kind to you,” said Mrs. Jo, shaking her head at the
three culprits.

“We were only in fun,” began Demi.

“I don’t like fun that makes other people unhappy. I am disappointed in
you, Demi, for I hoped you would never learn to tease Daisy. Such a kind
little sister as she is to you.”

“Boys always tease their sisters; Tom says so,” muttered Demi.

“I don’t intend that my boys shall, and I must send Daisy home if you
cannot play happily together,” said Aunt Jo, soberly.

At this awful threat, Demi sidled up to his sister, and Daisy hastily
dried her tears, for to be separated was the worst misfortune that could
happen to the twins.

“Nat was bad, too, and Tommy was baddest of all,” observed Nan, fearing
that two of the sinners would not get their fair share of punishment.

“I am sorry,” said Nat, much ashamed.

“I ain’t!” bawled Tommy through the keyhole, where he was listening with
all his might.

Mrs. Jo wanted very much to laugh, but kept her countenance, and said
impressively, as she pointed to the door,

“You can go, boys, but remember, you are not to speak to or play with the
little girls till I give you leave. You don’t deserve the pleasure, so I
forbid it.”

The ill-mannered young gentlemen hastily retired, to be received outside
with derision and scorn by the unrepentant Bangs, who would not associate
with them for at least fifteen minutes. Daisy was soon consoled for the
failure of her ball, but lamented the edict that parted her from her
brother, and mourned over his short-comings in her tender little heart.
Nan rather enjoyed the trouble, and went about turning up her pug nose at
the three, especially Tommy, who pretended not to care, and loudly
proclaimed his satisfaction at being rid of those “stupid girls.” But in
his secret soul he soon repented of the rash act that caused this
banishment from the society he loved, and every hour of separation taught
him the value of the “stupid girls.”

The others gave in very soon, and longed to be friends, for now there was
no Daisy to pet and cook for them; no Nan to amuse and doctor them; and,
worst of all, no Mrs. Jo to make home life pleasant and life easy for
them. To their great affliction, Mrs. Jo seemed to consider herself one of
the offended girls, for she hardly spoke to the outcasts, looked as if she
did not see them when she passed, and was always too busy now to attend to
their requests. This sudden and entire exile from favor cast a gloom over
their souls, for when Mother Bhaer deserted them, their sun had set at
noon-day, as it were, and they had no refuge left.

This unnatural state of things actually lasted for three days, then they
could bear it no longer, and fearing that the eclipse might become total,
went to Mr. Bhaer for help and counsel.

It is my private opinion that he had received instructions how to behave
if the case should be laid before him. But no one suspected it, and he
gave the afflicted boys some advice, which they gratefully accepted and
carried out in the following manner:

Secluding themselves in the garret, they devoted several play-hours to the
manufacture of some mysterious machine, which took so much paste that Asia
grumbled, and the little girls wondered mightily. Nan nearly got her
inquisitive nose pinched in the door, trying to see what was going on, and
Daisy sat about, openly lamenting that they could not all play nicely
together, and not have any dreadful secrets. Wednesday afternoon was fine,
and after a good deal of consultation about wind and weather, Nat and
Tommy went off, bearing an immense flat parcel hidden under many
newspapers. Nan nearly died with suppressed curiosity, Daisy nearly cried
with vexation, and both quite trembled with interest when Demi marched
into Mrs. Bhaer’s room, hat in hand, and said, in the politest tone
possible to a mortal boy of his years,

“Please, Aunt Jo, would you and the girls come out to a surprise party we
have made for you? Do it’s a very nice one.”

“Thank you, we will come with pleasure; only, I must take Teddy with me,”
replied Mrs. Bhaer, with a smile that cheered Demi like sunshine after
rain.

“We’d like to have him. The little wagon is all ready for the girls; you
won’t mind walking just up to Pennyroyal Hill, will you Aunty?”

“I should like it exceedingly; but are you quite sure I shall not be in
the way?”

“Oh, no, indeed! we want you very much; and the party will be spoilt if
you don’t come,” cried Demi, with great earnestness.

“Thank you kindly, sir;” and Aunt Jo made him a grand curtsey, for she
liked frolics as well as any of them.

“Now, young ladies, we must not keep them waiting; on with the hats, and
let us be off at once. I’m all impatience to know what the surprise is.”

As Mrs. Bhaer spoke every one bustled about, and in five minutes the three
little girls and Teddy were packed into the “clothes-basket,” as they
called the wicker wagon which Toby drew. Demi walked at the head of the
procession, and Mrs. Jo brought up the rear, escorted by Kit. It was a
most imposing party, I assure you, for Toby had a red feather-duster in
his head, two remarkable flags waved over the carriage, Kit had a blue bow
on his neck, which nearly drove him wild, Demi wore a nosegay of
dandelions in his buttonhole, and Mrs. Jo carried the queer Japanese
umbrella in honor of the occasion.

The girls had little flutters of excitement all the way; and Teddy was so
charmed with the drive that he kept dropping his hat overboard, and when
it was taken from him he prepared to tumble out himself, evidently feeling
that it behooved him to do something for the amusement of the party.

When they came to the hill “nothing was to be seen but the grass blowing
in the wind,” as the fairy books say, and the children looked
disappointed. But Demi said, in his most impressive manner,

“Now, you all get out and stand still, and the surprise party with come
in;” with which remark he retired behind a rock, over which heads had been
bobbing at intervals for the last half-hour.

A short pause of intense suspense, and then Nat, Demi, and Tommy marched
forth, each bearing a new kite, which they presented to the three young
ladies. Shrieks of delight arose, but were silenced by the boys, who said,
with faces brimful of merriment, “That isn’t all the surprise;” and,
running behind the rock, again emerged bearing a fourth kite of superb
size, on which was printed, in bright yellow letters, “For Mother Bhaer.”

“We thought you’d like one, too, because you were angry with us, and took
the girls’ part,” cried all three, shaking with laughter, for this part of
the affair evidently was a surprise to Mrs. Jo.

She clapped her hands, and joined in the laugh, looking thoroughly tickled
at the joke.

“Now, boys, that is regularly splendid! Who did think of it?” she asked,
receiving the monster kite with as much pleasure as the little girls did
theirs.

“Uncle Fritz proposed it when we planned to make the others; he said you’d
like it, so we made a bouncer,” answered Demi, beaming with satisfaction
at the success of the plot.

“Uncle Fritz knows what I like. Yes, these are magnificent kites, and we
were wishing we had some the other day when you were flying yours, weren’t
we, girls?”

“That’s why we made them for you,” cried Tommy, standing on his head as
the most appropriate way of expressing his emotions.

“Let us fly them,” said energetic Nan.

“I don’t know how,” began Daisy.

“We’ll show you, we want to!” cried all the boys in a burst of devotion,
as Demi took Daisy’s, Tommy Nan’s, and Nat, with difficulty, persuaded
Bess to let go her little blue one.

“Aunty, if you will wait a minute, we’ll pitch yours for you,” said Demi,
feeling that Mrs. Bhaer’s favor must not be lost again by any neglect of
theirs.

“Bless your buttons, dear, I know all about it; and here is a boy who will
toss up for me,” added Mrs. Jo, as the professor peeped over the rock with
a face full of fun.

He came out at once, tossed up the big kite, and Mrs. Jo ran off with it
in fine style, while the children stood and enjoyed the spectacle. One by
one all the kites went up, and floated far overhead like gay birds,
balancing themselves on the fresh breeze that blew steadily over the hill.
Such a merry time as they had! running and shouting, sending up the kites
or pulling them down, watching their antics in the air, and feeling them
tug at the string like live creatures trying to escape. Nan was quite wild
with the fun, Daisy thought the new play nearly as interesting as dolls,
and little Bess was so fond of her “boo tite,” that she would only let it
go on very short flights, preferring to hold it in her lap and look at the
remarkable pictures painted on it by Tommy’s dashing brush. Mrs. Jo
enjoyed hers immensely, and it acted as if it knew who owned it, for it
came tumbling down head first when least expected, caught on trees, nearly
pitched into the river, and finally darted away to such a height that it
looked a mere speck among the clouds.

By and by every one got tired, and fastening the kite-strings to trees and
fences, all sat down to rest, except Mr. Bhaer, who went off to look at
the cows, with Teddy on his shoulder.

“Did you ever have such a good time as this before?” asked Nat, as they
lay about on the grass, nibbling pennyroyal like a flock of sheep.

“Not since I last flew a kite, years ago, when I was a girl,” answered
Mrs. Jo.

“I’d like to have known you when you were a girl, you must have been so
jolly,” said Nat.

“I was a naughty little girl, I am sorry to say.”

“I like naughty little girls,” observed Tommy, looking at Nan, who made a
frightful grimace at him in return for the compliment.

“Why don’t I remember you then, Aunty? Was I too young?” asked Demi.

“Rather, dear.”

“I suppose my memory hadn’t come then. Grandpa says that different parts
of the mind unfold as we grow up, and the memory part of my mind hadn’t
unfolded when you were little, so I can’t remember how you looked,”
explained Demi.

“Now, little Socrates, you had better keep that question for grandpa, it
is beyond me,” said Aunt Jo, putting on the extinguisher.

“Well, I will, he knows about those things, and you don’t,” returned Demi,
feeling that on the whole kites were better adapted to the comprehension
of the present company.

“Tell about the last time you flew a kite,” said Nat, for Mrs. Jo had
laughed as she spoke of it, and he thought it might be interesting.

“Oh, it was only rather funny, for I was a great girl of fifteen, and was
ashamed to be seen at such a play. So Uncle Teddy and I privately made our
kites, and stole away to fly them. We had a capital time, and were resting
as we are now, when suddenly we heard voices, and saw a party of young
ladies and gentlemen coming back from a picnic. Teddy did not mind, though
he was rather a large boy to be playing with a kite, but I was in a great
flurry, for I knew I should be sadly laughed at, and never hear the last
of it, because my wild ways amused the neighbors as much as Nan’s do us.

“’What shall I do?’ I whispered to Teddy, as the voices drew nearer and
nearer.

“’I’ll show you,’ he said, and whipping out his knife he cut the strings.
Away flew the kites, and when the people came up we were picking flowers
as properly as you please. They never suspected us, and we had a grand
laugh over our narrow escape.”

“Were the kites lost, Aunty?” asked Daisy.

“Quite lost, but I did not care, for I made up my mind that it would be
best to wait till I was an old lady before I played with kites again; and
you see I have waited,” said Mrs. Jo, beginning to pull in the big kite,
for it was getting late.

“Must we go now?”

“I must, or you won’t have any supper; and that sort of surprise party
would not suit you, I think, my chickens.”

“Hasn’t our party been a nice one?” asked Tommy, complacently.

“Splendid!” answered every one.

“Do you know why? It is because your guests have behaved themselves, and
tried to make everything go well. You understand what I mean, don’t you?”

“Yes’m,” was all the boys said, but they stole a shamefaced look at one
another, as they meekly shouldered their kites and walked home, thinking
of another party where the guests had not behaved themselves, and things
had gone badly on account of it.

CHAPTER X. HOME AGAIN

July had come, and haying begun; the little gardens were doing finely and
the long summer days were full of pleasant hours. The house stood open
from morning till night, and the lads lived out of doors, except at school
time. The lessons were short, and there were many holidays, for the Bhaers
believed in cultivating healthy bodies by much exercise, and our short
summers are best used in out-of-door work. Such a rosy, sunburnt, hearty
set as the boys became; such appetites as they had; such sturdy arms and
legs, as outgrew jackets and trousers; such laughing and racing all over
the place; such antics in house and barn; such adventures in the tramps
over hill and dale; and such satisfaction in the hearts of the worthy
Bhaers, as they saw their flock prospering in mind and body, I cannot
begin to describe. Only one thing was needed to make them quite happy, and
it came when they least expected it.

One balmy night when the little lads were in bed, the elder ones bathing
down at the brook, and Mrs. Bhaer undressing Teddy in her parlor, he
suddenly cried out, “Oh, my Danny!” and pointed to the window, where the
moon shone brightly.

“No, lovey, he is not there, it was the pretty moon,” said his mother.

“No, no, Danny at a window; Teddy saw him,” persisted baby, much excited.

“It might have been,” and Mrs. Bhaer hurried to the window, hoping it
would prove true. But the face was gone, and nowhere appeared any signs of
a mortal boy; she called his name, ran to the front door with Teddy in his
little shirt, and made him call too, thinking the baby voice might have
more effect than her own. No one answered, nothing appeared, and they went
back much disappointed. Teddy would not be satisfied with the moon, and
after he was in his crib kept popping up his head to ask if Danny was not
“tummin’ soon.”

By and by he fell asleep, the lads trooped up to bed, the house grew
still, and nothing but the chirp of the crickets broke the soft silence of
the summer night. Mrs. Bhaer sat sewing, for the big basket was always
piled with socks, full of portentous holes, and thinking of the lost boy.
She had decided that baby had been mistaken, and did not even disturb Mr.
Bhaer by telling him of the child’s fancy, for the poor man got little
time to himself till the boys were abed, and he was busy writing letters.
It was past ten when she rose to shut up the house. As she paused a minute
to enjoy the lovely scene from the steps, something white caught her eye
on one of the hay-cocks scattered over the lawn. The children had been
playing there all the afternoon, and, fancying that Nan had left her hat
as usual, Mrs. Bhaer went out to get it. But as she approached, she saw
that it was neither hat nor handkerchief, but a shirt sleeve with a brown
hand sticking out of it. She hurried round the hay-cock, and there lay
Dan, fast asleep.

Ragged, dirty, thin, and worn-out he looked; one foot was bare, the other
tied up in the old gingham jacket which he had taken from his own back to
use as a clumsy bandage for some hurt. He seemed to have hidden himself
behind the hay-cock, but in his sleep had thrown out the arm that had
betrayed him. He sighed and muttered as if his dreams disturbed him, and
once when he moved, he groaned as if in pain, but still slept on quite
spent with weariness.

“He must not lie here,” said Mrs. Bhaer, and stooping over him she gently
called his name. He opened his eyes and looked at her, as if she was a
part of his dream, for he smiled and said drowsily, “Mother Bhaer, I’ve
come home.”

The look, the words, touched her very much, and she put her hand under his
head to lift him up, saying in her cordial way,

“I thought you would, and I’m so glad to see you, Dan.” He seemed to wake
thoroughly then, and started up looking about him as if he suddenly
remembered where he was, and doubted even that kind welcome. His face
changed, and he said in his old rough way,

“I was going off in the morning. I only stopped to peek in, as I went by.”

“But why not come in, Dan? Didn’t you hear us call you? Teddy saw, and
cried for you.”

“Didn’t suppose you’d let me in,” he said, fumbling with a little bundle
which he had taken up as if going immediately.

“Try and see,” was all Mrs. Bhaer answered, holding out her hand and
pointing to the door, where the light shone hospitably.

With a long breath, as if a load was off his mind, Dan took up a stout
stick, and began to limp towards the house, but stopped suddenly, to say
inquiringly,

“Mr. Bhaer won’t like it. I ran away from Page.”

“He knows it, and was sorry, but it will make no difference. Are you
lame?” asked Mrs. Jo, as he limped on again.

“Getting over a wall a stone fell on my foot and smashed it. I don’t
mind,” and he did his best to hide the pain each step cost him.

Mrs. Bhaer helped him into her own room, and, once there, he dropped into
a chair, and laid his head back, white and faint with weariness and
suffering.

“My poor Dan! drink this, and then eat a little; you are at home now, and
Mother Bhaer will take good care of you.”

He only looked up at her with eyes full of gratitude, as he drank the wine
she held to his lips, and then began slowly to eat the food she brought
him. Each mouthful seemed to put heart into him, and presently he began to
talk as if anxious to have her know all about him.

“Where have you been, Dan?” she asked, beginning to get out some bandages.

“I ran off more’n a month ago. Page was good enough, but too strict. I
didn’t like it, so I cut away down the river with a man who was going in
his boat. That’s why they couldn’t tell where I’d gone. When I left the
man, I worked for a couple of weeks with a farmer, but I thrashed his boy,
and then the old man thrashed me, and I ran off again and walked here.”

“All the way?”

“Yes, the man didn’t pay me, and I wouldn’t ask for it. Took it out in
beating the boy,” and Dan laughed, yet looked ashamed, as he glanced at
his ragged clothes and dirty hands.

“How did you live? It was a long, long tramp for a boy like you.”

“Oh, I got on well enough, till I hurt my foot. Folks gave me things to
eat, and I slept in barns and tramped by day. I got lost trying to make a
short cut, or I’d have been here sooner.”

“But if you did not mean to come in and stay with us, what were you going
to do?”

“I thought I’d like to see Teddy again, and you; and then I was going back
to my old work in the city, only I was so tired I went to sleep on the
hay. I’d have been gone in the morning, if you hadn’t found me.”

“Are you sorry I did?” and Mrs. Jo looked at him with a half merry, half
reproachful look, as she knelt down to look at his wounded foot.

The color came up into Dan’s face, and he kept his eyes fixed on his
plate, as he said very low, “No, ma’am, I’m glad, I wanted to stay, but I
was afraid you—”

He did not finish, for Mrs. Bhaer interrupted him by an exclamation of
pity, as she saw his foot, for it was seriously hurt.

“When did you do it?”

“Three days ago.”

“And you have walked on it in this state?”

“I had a stick, and I washed it at every brook I came to, and one woman
gave me a rag to put on it.”

“Mr. Bhaer must see and dress it at once,” and Mrs. Jo hastened into the
next room, leaving the door ajar behind her, so that Dan heard all that
passed.

“Fritz, the boy has come back.”

“Who? Dan?”

“Yes, Teddy saw him at the window, and he called to him, but he went away
and hid behind the hay-cocks on the lawn. I found him there just now fast
asleep, and half dead with weariness and pain. He ran away from Page a
month ago, and has been making his way to us ever since. He pretends that
he did not mean to let us see him, but go on to the city, and his old
work, after a look at us. It is evident, however, that the hope of being
taken in has led him here through every thing, and there he is waiting to
know if you will forgive and take him back.”

“Did he say so?”

“His eyes did, and when I waked him, he said, like a lost child, ‘Mother
Bhaer, I’ve come home.’ I hadn’t the heart to scold him, and just took him
in like a poor little black sheep come back to the fold. I may keep him,
Fritz?”

“Of course you may! This proves to me that we have a hold on the boy’s
heart, and I would no more send him away now than I would my own Rob.”

Dan heard a soft little sound, as if Mrs. Jo thanked her husband without
words, and, in the instant’s silence that followed, two great tears that
had slowly gathered in the boy’s eyes brimmed over and rolled down his
dusty cheeks. No one saw them, for he brushed them hastily away; but in
that little pause I think Dan’s old distrust for these good people
vanished for ever, the soft spot in his heart was touched, and he felt an
impetuous desire to prove himself worthy of the love and pity that was so
patient and forgiving. He said nothing, he only wished the wish with all
his might, resolved to try in his blind boyish way, and sealed his
resolution with the tears which neither pain, fatigue, nor loneliness
could wring from him.

“Come and see his foot. I am afraid it is badly hurt, for he has kept on
three days through heat and dust, with nothing but water and an old jacket
to bind it up with. I tell you, Fritz, that boy is a brave lad, and will
make a fine man yet.”

“I hope so, for your sake, enthusiastic woman, your faith deserves
success. Now, I will go and see your little Spartan. Where is he?”

“In my room; but, dear, you’ll be very kind to him, no matter how gruff he
seems. I am sure that is the way to conquer him. He won’t bear sternness
nor much restraint, but a soft word and infinite patience will lead him as
it used to lead me.”

“As if you ever were like this little rascal!” cried Mr. Bhaer, laughing, yet
half angry at the idea.

“I was in spirit, though I showed it in a different way. I seem to know by
instinct how he feels, to understand what will win and touch him, and to
sympathize with his temptations and faults. I am glad I do, for it will
help me to help him; and if I can make a good man of this wild boy, it
will be the best work of my life.”

“God bless the work, and help the worker!”

Mr. Bhaer spoke now as earnestly as she had done, and both came in
together to find Dan’s head down upon his arm, as if he was quite overcome
by sleep. But he looked up quickly, and tried to rise as Mr. Bhaer said
pleasantly,

“So you like Plumfield better than Page’s farm. Well, let us see if we can
get on more comfortably this time than we did before.”

“Thanky, sir,” said Dan, trying not to be gruff, and finding it easier
than he expected.

“Now, the foot! Ach! this is not well. We must have Dr. Firth to-morrow.
Warm water, Jo, and old linen.”

Mr. Bhaer bathed and bound up the wounded foot, while Mrs. Jo prepared the
only empty bed in the house. It was in the little guest-chamber leading
from the parlor, and often used when the lads were poorly, for it saved
Mrs. Jo from running up and down, and the invalids could see what was
going on. When it was ready, Mr. Bhaer took the boy in his arms, and
carried him in, helped him undress, laid him on the little white bed, and
left him with another hand-shake, and a fatherly “Good-night, my son.”

Dan dropped asleep at once, and slept heavily for several hours; then his
foot began to throb and ache, and he awoke to toss about uneasily, trying
not to groan lest any one should hear him, for he was a brave lad, and did
bear pain like “a little Spartan,” as Mr. Bhaer called him.

Mrs. Jo had a way of flitting about the house at night, to shut the
windows if the wind grew chilly, to draw mosquito curtains over Teddy, or
look after Tommy, who occasionally walked in his sleep. The least noise
waked her, and as she often heard imaginary robbers, cats, and
conflagrations, the doors stood open all about, so her quick ear caught
the sound of Dan’s little moans, and she was up in a minute. He was just
giving his hot pillow a despairing thump when a light came glimmering
through the hall, and Mrs. Jo crept in, looking like a droll ghost, with
her hair in a great knob on the top of her head, and a long gray
dressing-gown trailing behind her.

“Are you in pain, Dan?”

“It’s pretty bad; but I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I’m a sort of owl, always flying about at night. Yes, your foot is like
fire; the bandages must be wet again,” and away flapped the maternal owl
for more cooling stuff, and a great mug of ice water.

“Oh, that’s so nice!” sighed Dan, the wet bandages went on again, and a
long draught of water cooled his thirsty throat.

“There, now, sleep your best, and don’t be frightened if you see me again,
for I’ll slip down by and by, and give you another sprinkle.”

As she spoke, Mrs. Jo stooped to turn the pillow and smooth the
bed-clothes, when, to her great surprise, Dan put his arm around her neck,
drew her face down to his, and kissed her, with a broken “Thank you,
ma’am,” which said more than the most eloquent speech could have done; for
the hasty kiss, the muttered words, meant, “I’m sorry, I will try.” She
understood it, accepted the unspoken confession, and did not spoil it by
any token of surprise. She only remembered that he had no mother, kissed
the brown cheek half hidden on the pillow, as if ashamed of the little
touch of tenderness, and left him, saying, what he long remembered, “You
are my boy now, and if you choose you can make me proud and glad to say
so.”

Once again, just at dawn, she stole down to find him so fast asleep that
he did not wake, and showed no sign of consciousness as she wet his foot,
except that the lines of pain smoothed themselves away, and left his face
quite peaceful.

The day was Sunday, and the house so still that he never waked till near
noon, and, looking round him, saw an eager little face peering in at the
door. He held out his arms, and Teddy tore across the room to cast himself
bodily upon the bed, shouting, “My Danny’s tum!” as he hugged and wriggled
with delight. Mrs. Bhaer appeared next, bringing breakfast, and never
seeming to see how shamefaced Dan looked at the memory of the little scene
last night. Teddy insisted on giving him his “betfus,” and fed him like a
baby, which, as he was not very hungry, Dan enjoyed very much.

Then came the doctor, and the poor Spartan had a bad time of it, for some
of the little bones in his foot were injured, and putting them to rights
was such a painful job, that Dan’s lips were white, and great drops stood
on his forehead, though he never cried out, and only held Mrs. Jo’s hand
so tight that it was red long afterwards.

“You must keep this boy quiet, for a week at least, and not let him put
his foot to the ground. By that time, I shall know whether he may hop a
little with a crutch, or stick to his bed for a while longer,” said Dr.
Firth, putting up the shining instruments that Dan did not like to see.

“It will get well sometime, won’t it?” he asked, looking alarmed at the
word “crutches.”

“I hope so;” and with that the doctor departed, leaving Dan much
depressed; for the loss of a foot is a dreadful calamity to an active boy.

“Don’t be troubled, I am a famous nurse, and we will have you tramping
about as well as ever in a month,” said Mrs. Jo, taking a hopeful view of
the case.

But the fear of being lame haunted Dan, and even Teddy’s caresses did not
cheer him; so Mrs. Jo proposed that one or two of the boys should come in
and pay him a little visit, and asked whom he would like to see.

“Nat and Demi; I’d like my hat too, there’s something in it I guess they’d
like to see. I suppose you threw away my bundle of plunder?” said Dan,
looking rather anxious as he put the question.

“No, I kept it, for I thought they must be treasures of some kind, you
took such care of them;” and Mrs. Jo brought him his old straw hat stuck
full of butterflies and beetles, and a handkerchief containing a
collection of odd things picked up on his way: birds’ eggs, carefully done
up in moss, curious shells and stones, bits of fungus, and several little
crabs, in a state of great indignation at their imprisonment.

“Could I have something to put these fellers in? Mr. Hyde and I found ’em,
and they are first-rate ones, so I’d like to keep and watch ’em; can I?”
asked Dan, forgetting his foot, and laughing to see the crabs go sidling
and backing over the bed.

“Of course you can; Polly’s old cage will be just the thing. Don’t let
them nip Teddy’s toes while I get it;” and away went Mrs. Jo, leaving Dan
overjoyed to find that his treasures were not considered rubbish, and
thrown away.

Nat, Demi, and the cage arrived together, and the crabs were settled in
their new house, to the great delight of the boys, who, in the excitement
of the performance, forgot any awkwardness they might otherwise have felt
in greeting the runaway. To these admiring listeners Dan related his
adventures much more fully than he had done to the Bhaers. Then he
displayed his “plunder,” and described each article so well, that Mrs. Jo,
who had retired to the next room to leave them free, was surprised and
interested, as well as amused, at their boyish chatter.

“How much the lad knows of these things! how absorbed he is in them! and
what a mercy it is just now, for he cares so little for books, it would be
hard to amuse him while he is laid up; but the boys can supply him with
beetles and stones to any extent, and I am glad to find out this taste of
his; it is a good one, and may perhaps prove the making of him. If he
should turn out a great naturalist, and Nat a musician, I should have
cause to be proud of this year’s work;” and Mrs. Jo sat smiling over her
book as she built castles in the air, just as she used to do when a girl,
only then they were for herself, and now they were for other people, which
is the reason perhaps that some of them came to pass in reality for
charity is an excellent foundation to build anything upon.

Nat was most interested in the adventures, but Demi enjoyed the beetles
and butterflies immensely, drinking in the history of their changeful
little lives as if it were a new and lovely sort of fairy tale for, even
in his plain way, Dan told it well, and found great satisfaction in the
thought that here at least the small philosopher could learn of him. So
interested were they in the account of catching a musk rat, whose skin was
among the treasures, that Mr. Bhaer had to come himself to tell Nat and
Demi it was time for the walk. Dan looked so wistfully after them as they
ran off that Father Bhaer proposed carrying him to the sofa in the parlor
for a little change of air and scene.

When he was established, and the house quiet, Mrs. Jo, who sat near by
showing Teddy pictures, said, in an interested tone, as she nodded towards
the treasures still in Dan’s hands,

“Where did you learn so much about these things?”

“I always liked ’em, but didn’t know much till Mr. Hyde told me.”

“Oh, he was a man who lived round in the woods studying these things I
don’t know what you call him and wrote about frogs, and fishes, and so on.
He stayed at Page’s, and used to want me to go and help him, and it was
great fun, ’cause he told me ever so much, and was uncommon jolly and
wise. Hope I’ll see him again sometime.”

“I hope you will,” said Mrs. Jo, for Dan’s face had brightened up, and he
was so interested in the matter that he forgot his usual taciturnity.

“Why, he could make birds come to him, and rabbits and squirrels didn’t
mind him any more than if he was a tree. Did you ever tickle a lizard with
a straw?” asked Dan, eagerly.

“No, but I should like to try it.”

“Well, I’ve done it, and it’s so funny to see ’em turn over and stretch
out, they like it so much. Mr. Hyde used to do it; and he’d make snakes
listen to him while he whistled, and he knew just when certain flowers
would blow, and bees wouldn’t sting him, and he’d tell the wonderfullest
things about fish and flies, and the Indians and the rocks.”

“I think you were so fond of going with Mr. Hyde, you rather neglected Mr.
Page,” said Mrs. Jo, slyly.

“Yes, I did; I hated to have to weed and hoe when I might be tramping
round with Mr. Hyde. Page thought such things silly, and called Mr. Hyde
crazy because he’d lay hours watching a trout or a bird.”

“Suppose you say lie instead of lay, it is better grammar,” said Mrs. Jo,
very gently; and then added, “Yes, Page is a thorough farmer, and would
not understand that a naturalist’s work was just as interesting, and
perhaps just as important as his own. Now, Dan, if you really love these
things, as I think you do, and I am glad to see it, you shall have time to
study them and books to help you; but I want you to do something besides,
and to do it faithfully, else you will be sorry by and by, and find that
you have got to begin again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Dan, meekly, and looked a little scared by the serious
tone of the last remarks, for he hated books, yet had evidently made up
his mind to study anything she proposed.

“Do you see that cabinet with twelve drawers in it?” was the next very
unexpected question.

Dan did see two tall old-fashioned ones standing on either side of the
piano; he knew them well, and had often seen nice bits of string, nails,
brown paper, and such useful matters come out of the various drawers. He
nodded and smiled. Mrs. Jo went on,

“Well, don’t you think those drawers would be good places to put your
eggs, and stones, and shells, and lichens?”

“Oh, splendid, but you wouldn’t like my things ‘clutterin’ round,’ as Mr.
Page used to say, would you?” cried Dan, sitting up to survey the old
piece of furniture with sparkling eyes.

“I like litter of that sort; and if I didn’t, I should give you the
drawers, because I have a regard for children’s little treasures, and I
think they should be treated respectfully. Now, I am going to make a
bargain with you, Dan, and I hope you will keep it honorably. Here are
twelve good-sized drawers, one for each month of the year, and they shall
be yours as fast as you earn them, by doing the little duties that belong
to you. I believe in rewards of a certain kind, especially for young
folks; they help us along, and though we may begin by being good for the
sake of the reward, if it is rightly used, we shall soon learn to love
goodness for itself.”

“Do you have ’em?” asked Dan, looking as if this was new talk for him.

“Yes, indeed! I haven’t learnt to get on without them yet. My rewards are
not drawers, or presents, or holidays, but they are things which I like as
much as you do the others. The good behavior and success of my boys is one
of the rewards I love best, and I work for it as I want you to work for
your cabinet. Do what you dislike, and do it well, and you get two
rewards, one, the prize you see and hold; the other, the satisfaction of a
duty cheerfully performed. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We all need these little helps; so you shall try to do your lessons and
your work, play kindly with all the boys, and use your holidays well; and
if you bring me a good report, or if I see and know it without words for
I’m quick to spy out the good little efforts of my boys you shall have a
compartment in the drawer for your treasures. See, some are already
divided into four parts, and I will have the others made in the same way,
a place for each week; and when the drawer is filled with curious and
pretty things, I shall be as proud of it as you are; prouder, I think for
in the pebbles, mosses, and gay butterflies, I shall see good resolutions
carried out, conquered faults, and a promise well kept. Shall we do this,
Dan?”

The boys answered with one of the looks which said much, for it showed
that he felt and understood her wish and words, although he did not know
how to express his interest and gratitude for such care and kindness. She
understood the look, and seeing by the color that flushed up to his
forehead that he was touched, as she wished him to be, she said no more
about that side of the new plan, but pulled out the upper drawer, dusted
it, and set it on two chairs before the sofa, saying briskly,

“Now, let us begin at once by putting those nice beetles in a safe place.
These compartments will hold a good deal, you see. I’d pin the butterflies
and bugs round the sides; they will be quite safe there, and leave room
for the heavy things below. I’ll give you some cotton wool, and clean
paper and pins, and you can get ready for the week’s work.”

“But I can’t go out to find any new things,” said Dan, looking piteously
at his foot.

“That’s true; never mind, we’ll let these treasures do for this week, and
I dare say the boys will bring you loads of things if you ask them.”

“They don’t know the right sort; besides, if I lay, no, lie here all the
time, I can’t work and study, and earn my drawers.”

“There are plenty of lessons you can learn lying there, and several little
jobs of work you can do for me.”

“Can I?” and Dan looked both surprised and pleased.

“You can learn to be patient and cheerful in spite of pain and no play.
You can amuse Teddy for me, wind cotton, read to me when I sew, and do
many things without hurting your foot, which will make the days pass
quickly, and not be wasted ones.”

Here Demi ran in with a great butterfly in one hand, and a very ugly
little toad in the other.

“See, Dan, I found them, and ran back to give them to you; aren’t they
beautiful ones?” panted Demi, all out of breath.

Dan laughed at the toad, and said he had no place to put him, but the
butterfly was a beauty, and if Mrs. Jo would give him a big pin, he would
stick it right up in the drawer.

“I don’t like to see the poor thing struggle on a pin; if it must be
killed, let us put it out of pain at once with a drop of camphor,” said
Mrs. Jo, getting out the bottle.

“I know how to do it Mr. Hyde always killed ’em that way but I didn’t have
any camphor, so I use a pin,” and Dan gently poured a drop on the insect’s
head, when the pale green wings fluttered an instant, and then grew still.

This dainty little execution was hardly over when Teddy shouted from the
bedroom, “Oh, the little trabs are out, and the big one’s eaten ’em all
up.” Demi and his aunt ran to the rescue, and found Teddy dancing
excitedly in a chair, while two little crabs were scuttling about the
floor, having got through the wires of the cage. A third was clinging to
the top of the cage, evidently in terror of his life, for below appeared a
sad yet funny sight. The big crab had wedged himself into the little
recess where Polly’s cup used to stand, and there he sat eating one of his
relations in the coolest way. All the claws of the poor victim were pulled
off, and he was turned upside down, his upper shell held in one claw close
under the mouth of the big crab like a dish, while he leisurely ate out of
it with the other claw, pausing now and then to turn his queer bulging
eyes from side to side, and to put out a slender tongue and lick them in a
way that made the children scream with laughter. Mrs. Jo carried the cage
in for Dan to see the sight, while Demi caught and confined the wanderers
under an inverted wash-bowl.

“I’ll have to let these fellers go, for I can’t keep ’em in the house,”
said Dan, with evident regret.

“I’ll take care of them for you, if you will tell me how, and they can
live in my turtle-tank just as well as not,” said Demi, who found them
more interesting even that his beloved slow turtles. So Dan gave him
directions about the wants and habits of the crabs, and Demi bore them
away to introduce them to their new home and neighbors. “What a good boy
he is!” said Dan, carefully settling the first butterfly, and remembering
that Demi had given up his walk to bring it to him.

“He ought to be, for a great deal has been done to make him so.”

“He’s had folks to tell him things, and to help him; I haven’t,” said Dan,
with a sigh, thinking of his neglected childhood, a thing he seldom did,
and feeling as if he had not had fair play somehow.

“I know it, dear, and for that reason I don’t expect as much from you as
from Demi, though he is younger; you shall have all the help that we can
give you now, and I hope to teach you how to help yourself in the best
way. Have you forgotten what Father Bhaer told you when you were here
before, about wanting to be good, and asking God to help you?”

“No, ma’am,” very low.

“Do you try that way still?”

“No, ma’am,” lower still.

“Will you do it every night to please me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” very soberly.

“I shall depend on it, and I think I shall know if you are faithful to
your promise, for these things always show to people who believe in them,
though not a word is said. Now here is a pleasant story about a boy who
hurt his foot worse than you did yours; read it, and see how bravely he
bore his troubles.”

She put that charming little book, “The Crofton Boys,” into his hands, and
left him for an hour, passing in and out from time to time that he might
not feel lonely. Dan did not love to read, but soon got so interested that
he was surprised when the boys came home. Daisy brought him a nosegay of
wild flowers, and Nan insisted on helping bring him his supper, as he lay
on the sofa with the door open into the dining-room, so that he could see
the lads at table, and they could nod socially to him over their bread and
butter.

Mr. Bhaer carried him away to his bed early, and Teddy came in his
night-gown to say good-night, for he went to his little nest with the
birds.

“I want to say my prayers to Danny; may I?” he asked; and when his mother
said, “Yes,” the little fellow knelt down by Dan’s bed, and folding his
chubby hands, said softly,

“Pease Dod bess everybody, and hep me to be dood.”

Then he went away smiling with sleepy sweetness over his mother’s
shoulder.

But after the evening talk was done, the evening song sung, and the house
grew still with beautiful Sunday silence, Dan lay in his pleasant room
wide awake, thinking new thoughts, feeling new hopes and desires stirring
in his boyish heart, for two good angels had entered in: love and
gratitude began the work which time and effort were to finish; and with an
earnest wish to keep his first promise, Dan folded his hands together in
the Darkness, and softly whispered Teddy’s little prayer,

“Please God bless every one, and help me to be good.”

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 the 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 his 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 queer 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 monkey 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 queer 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 now
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 made 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 to 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:—

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 queer 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. Mr. 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 part 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!”

Loud 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. Dick 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 Dick 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 Dick 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 tramp slept in the barn and took it,” suggested Ned.

“No, Silas don’t allow that; besides, a tramp 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 molest 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 souse 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 queer 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 the 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 tramp 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 Dick, 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 queer 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 hard on 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 pussies 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 pussies to be killed that way. Marm used to put a
sponge wet with ether, in the bottom of an old boot, then poke puss 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 queer 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 Dick 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.

CHAPTER XVI. TAMING THE COLT

“What in the world is that boy doing?” said Mrs. Jo to herself, as she
watched Dan running round the half-mile triangle as if for a wager. He was
all alone, and seemed possessed by some strange desire to run himself into
a fever, or break his neck; for, after several rounds, he tried leaping
walls, and turning somersaults up the avenue, and finally dropped down on
the grass before the door as if exhausted.

“Are you training for a race, Dan?” asked Mrs. Jo, from the window where
she sat.

He looked up quickly, and stopped panting to answer, with a laugh,

“No; I’m only working off my steam.”

“Can’t you find a cooler way of doing it? You will be ill if you tear
about so in such warm weather,” said Mrs. Jo, laughing also, as she threw
him out a great palm-leaf fan.

“Can’t help it. I must run somewhere,” answered Dan, with such an odd
expression in his restless eyes, that Mrs. Jo was troubled, and asked,
quickly,

“Is Plumfield getting too narrow for you?”

“I wouldn’t mind if it was a little bigger. I like it though; only the
fact is the devil gets into me sometimes, and then I do want to bolt.”

The words seemed to come against his will, for he looked sorry the minute
they were spoken, and seemed to think he deserved a reproof for his
ingratitude. But Mrs. Jo understood the feeling, and though sorry to see
it, she could not blame the boy for confessing it. She looked at him
anxiously, seeing how tall and strong he had grown, how full of energy his
face was, with its eager eyes and resolute mouth; and remembering the
utter freedom he had known for years before, she felt how even the gentle
restraint of this home would weigh upon him at times when the old lawless
spirit stirred in him. “Yes,” she said to herself, “my wild hawk needs a
larger cage; and yet, if I let him go, I am afraid he will be lost. I must
try and find some lure strong enough to keep him safe.”

“I know all about it,” she added, aloud. “It is not ‘the devil,’ as you
call it, but the very natural desire of all young people for liberty. I
used to feel just so, and once, I really did think for a minute that I
would bolt.”

“Why didn’t you?” said Dan, coming to lean on the low window-ledge, with
an evident desire to continue the subject.

“I knew it was foolish, and love for my mother kept me at home.”

“I haven’t got any mother,” began Dan.

“I thought you had now,” said Mrs. Jo, gently stroking the rough hair off
his hot forehead.

“You are no end good to me, and I can’t ever thank you enough, but it just
isn’t the same, is it?” and Dan looked up at her with a wistful, hungry
look that went to her heart.

“No, dear, it is not the same, and never can be. I think an own mother
would have been a great deal to you. But as that cannot be, you must try
to let me fill her place. I fear I have not done all I ought, or you would
not want to leave me,” she added, sorrowfully.

“Yes, you have!” cried Dan, eagerly. “I don’t want to go, and I won’t go,
if I can help it; but every now and then I feel as if I must burst out
somehow. I want to run straight ahead somewhere, to smash something, or
pitch into somebody. Don’t know why, but I do, and that’s all about it.”

Dan laughed as he spoke, but he meant what he said, for he knit his black
brows, and brought down his fist on the ledge with such force, that Mrs.
Jo’s thimble flew off into the grass. He brought it back, and as she took
it she held the big, brown hand a minute, saying, with a look that showed
the words cost her something,

“Well, Dan, run if you must, but don’t run very far; and come back to me
soon, for I want you very much.”

He was rather taken aback by this unexpected permission to play truant,
and somehow it seemed to lessen his desire to go. He did not understand
why, but Mrs. Jo did, and, knowing the natural perversity of the human
mind, counted on it to help her now. She felt instinctively that the more
the boy was restrained the more he would fret against it; but leave him
free, and the mere sense of liberty would content him, joined to the
knowledge that his presence was dear to those whom he loved best. It was a
little experiment, but it succeeded, for Dan stood silent a moment,
unconsciously picking the fan to pieces and turning the matter over in his
mind. He felt that she appealed to his heart and his honor, and owned that
he understood it by saying presently, with a mixture of regret and
resolution in his face,

“I won’t go yet awhile, and I’ll give you fair warning before I bolt.
That’s fair, isn’t it?”

“Yes, we will let it stand so. Now, I want to see if I can’t find some way
for you to work off your steam better than running about the place like a
mad dog, spoiling my fans, or fighting with the boys. What can we invent?”
and while Dan tried to repair the mischief he had done, Mrs. Jo racked her
brain for some new device to keep her truant safe until he had learned to
love his lessons better.

“How would you like to be my express-man?” she said, as a sudden thought
popped into her head.

“Go into town, and do the errands?” asked Dan, looking interested at once.

“Yes; Franz is tired of it, Silas cannot be spared just now, and Mr. Bhaer
has no time. Old Andy is a safe horse, you are a good driver, and know
your way about the city as well as a postman. Suppose you try it, and see
if it won’t do most as well to drive away two or three times a week as to
run away once a month.”

“I’d like it ever so much, only I must go alone and do it all myself. I
don’t want any of the other fellows bothering round,” said Dan, taking to
the new idea so kindly that he began to put on business airs already.

“If Mr. Bhaer does not object you shall have it all your own way. I
suppose Emil will growl, but he cannot be trusted with horses, and you
can. By the way, to-morrow is market-day, and I must make out my list. You
had better see that the wagon is in order, and tell Silas to have the
fruit and vegetables ready for mother. You will have to be up early and
get back in time for school, can you do that?”

“I’m always an early bird, so I don’t mind,” and Dan slung on his jacket
with despatch.

“The early bird got the worm this time, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Jo, merrily.

“And a jolly good worm it is,” answered Dan, as he went laughing away to
put a new lash to the whip, wash the wagon, and order Silas about with all
the importance of a young express-man.

“Before he is tired of this I will find something else and have it ready
when the next restless fit comes on,” said Mrs. Jo to herself, as she
wrote her list with a deep sense of gratitude that all her boys were not
Dans.

Mr. Bhaer did not entirely approve of the new plan, but agreed to give it
a trial, which put Dan on his mettle, and caused him to give up certain
wild plans of his own, in which the new lash and the long hill were to
have borne a part. He was up and away very early the next morning,
heroically resisting the temptation to race with the milkmen going into
town. Once there, he did his errands carefully, to Mr. Bhaer’s surprise
and Mrs. Jo’s great satisfaction. The Commodore did growl at Dan’s
promotion, but was pacified by a superior padlock to his new boat-house,
and the thought that seamen were meant for higher honors than driving
market-wagons and doing family errands. So Dan filled his new office well
and contentedly for weeks, and said no more about bolting. But one day Mr.
Bhaer found him pummelling Jack, who was roaring for mercy under his knee.

“Why, Dan, I thought you had given up fighting,” he said, as he went to
the rescue.

“We ain’t fighting, we are only wrestling,” answered Dan, leaving off
reluctantly.

“It looks very much like it, and feels like it, hey, Jack?” said Mr.
Bhaer, as the defeated gentleman got upon his legs with difficulty.

“Catch me wrestling with him again. He’s most knocked my head off,”
snarled Jack, holding on to that portion of his frame as if it really was
loose upon his shoulders.

“The fact is, we began in fun, but when I got him down I couldn’t help
pounding him. Sorry I hurt you, old fellow,” explained Dan, looking rather
ashamed of himself.

“I understand. The longing to pitch into somebody was so strong you
couldn’t resist. You are a sort of Berserker, Dan, and something to tussle
with is as necessary to you as music is to Nat,” said Mr. Bhaer, who knew
all about the conversation between the boy and Mrs. Jo.

“Can’t help it. So if you don’t want to be pounded you’d better keep out
of the way,” answered Dan, with a warning look in his black eyes that made
Jack sheer off in haste.

“If you want something to wrestle with, I will give you a tougher specimen
than Jack,” said Mr. Bhaer; and, leading the way to the wood-yard, he
pointed out certain roots of trees that had been grubbed up in the spring,
and had been lying there waiting to be split.

“There, when you feel inclined to maltreat the boys, just come and work
off your energies here, and I’ll thank you for it.”

“So I will;” and, seizing the axe that lay near Dan hauled out a tough
root, and went at it so vigorously, that the chips flew far and wide, and
Mr. Bhaer fled for his life.

To his great amusement, Dan took him at his word, and was often seen
wrestling with the ungainly knots, hat and jacket off, red face, and
wrathful eyes; for he got into royal rages over some of his adversaries,
and swore at them under his breath till he had conquered them, when he
exulted, and marched off to the shed with an armful of gnarled oak-wood in
triumph. He blistered his hands, tired his back, and dulled the axe, but
it did him good, and he got more comfort out of the ugly roots than any
one dreamed, for with each blow he worked off some of the pent-up power
that would otherwise have been expended in some less harmless way.

“When this is gone I really don’t know what I shall do,” said Mrs. Jo to
herself, for no inspiration came, and she was at the end of her resources.

But Dan found a new occupation for himself, and enjoyed it some time
before any one discovered the cause of his contentment. A fine young horse
of Mr. Laurie’s was kept at Plumfield that summer, running loose in a
large pasture across the brook. The boys were all interested in the
handsome, spirited creature, and for a time were fond of watching him
gallop and frisk with his plumey tail flying, and his handsome head in the
air. But they soon got tired of it, and left Prince Charlie to himself.
All but Dan, he never tired of looking at the horse, and seldom failed to
visit him each day with a lump of sugar, a bit of bread, or an apple to
make him welcome. Charlie was grateful, accepted his friendship, and the
two loved one another as if they felt some tie between them, inexplicable
but strong. In whatever part of the wide field he might be, Charlie always
came at full speed when Dan whistled at the bars, and the boy was never
happier than when the beautiful, fleet creature put its head on his
shoulder, looking up at him with fine eyes full of intelligent affection.

“We understand one another without any palaver, don’t we, old fellow?” Dan
would say, proud of the horse’s confidence, and, so jealous of his regard,
that he told no one how well the friendship prospered, and never asked
anybody but Teddy to accompany him on these daily visits.

Mr. Laurie came now and then to see how Charlie got on, and spoke of
having him broken to harness in the autumn.

“He won’t need much taming, he is such a gentle, fine-tempered brute. I
shall come out and try him with a saddle myself some day,” he said, on one
of these visits.

“He lets me put a halter on him, but I don’t believe he will bear a saddle
even if you put it on,” answered Dan, who never failed to be present when
Charlie and his master met.

“I shall coax him to bear it, and not mind a few tumbles at first. He has
never been harshly treated, so, though he will be surprised at the new
performance, I think he won’t be frightened, and his antics will do no
harm.”

“I wonder what he would do,” said Dan to himself, as Mr. Laurie went away
with the Professor, and Charlie returned to the bars, from which he had
retired when the gentlemen came up.

A daring fancy to try the experiment took possession of the boy as he sat
on the topmost rail with the glossy back temptingly near him. Never
thinking of danger, he obeyed the impulse, and while Charlie
unsuspectingly nibbled at the apple he held, Dan quickly and quietly took
his seat. He did not keep it long, however, for with an astonished snort,
Charlie reared straight up, and deposited Dan on the ground. The fall did
not hurt him, for the turf was soft, and he jumped up, saying, with a
laugh,

“I did it anyway! Come here, you rascal, and I’ll try it again.”

But Charlie declined to approach, and Dan left him resolving to succeed in
the end; for a struggle like this suited him exactly. Next time he took a
halter, and having got it on, he played with the horse for a while,
leading him to and fro, and putting him through various antics till he was
a little tired; then Dan sat on the wall and gave him bread, but watched
his chance, and getting a good grip of the halter, slipped on to his back.
Charlie tried the old trick, but Dan held on, having had practice with
Toby, who occasionally had an obstinate fit, and tried to shake off his
rider. Charlie was both amazed and indignant; and after prancing for a
minute, set off at a gallop, and away went Dan heels over head. If he had
not belonged to the class of boys who go through all sorts of dangers
unscathed, he would have broken his neck; as it was, he got a heavy fall,
and lay still collecting his wits, while Charlie tore round the field
tossing his head with every sign of satisfaction at the discomfiture of
his rider. Presently it seemed to occur to him that something was wrong
with Dan, and, being of a magnanimous nature, he went to see what the
matter was. Dan let him sniff about and perplex himself for a few minutes;
then he looked up at him, saying, as decidedly as if the horse could
understand,

“You think you have beaten, but you are mistaken, old boy; and I’ll ride
you yet see if I don’t.”

He tried no more that day, but soon after attempted a new method of
introducing Charlie to a burden. He strapped a folded blanket on his back,
and then let him race, and rear, and roll, and fume as much as he liked.
After a few fits of rebellion Charlie submitted, and in a few days
permitted Dan to mount him, often stopped short to look round, as if he
said, half patiently, half reproachfully, “I don’t understand it, but I
suppose you mean no harm, so I permit the liberty.”

Dan patted and praised him, and took a short turn every day, getting
frequent falls, but persisting in spite of them, and longing to try a
saddle and bridle, but not daring to confess what he had done. He had his
wish, however, for there had been a witness of his pranks who said a good
word for him.

“Do you know what that chap has ben doin’ lately?” asked Silas of his
master, one evening, as he received his orders for the next day.

“Which boy?” said Mr. Bhaer, with an air of resignation, expecting some
sad revelation.

“Dan, he’s ben a breaking the colt, sir, and I wish I may die if he ain’t
done it,” answered Silas, chuckling.

“How do you know?”

“Wal, I kinder keep an eye on the little fellers, and most gen’lly know
what they’re up to; so when Dan kep going off to the paster, and coming
home black and blue, I mistrusted that suthing was goin’ on. I didn’t say
nothin’, but I crep up into the barn chamber, and from there I see him
goin’ through all manner of games with Charlie. Blest if he warn’t throwed
time and agin, and knocked round like a bag o’ meal. But the pluck of that
boy did beat all, and he ‘peared to like it, and kep on as ef bound to
beat.”

“But, Silas, you should have stopped it the boy might have been killed,”
said Mr. Bhaer, wondering what freak his irrepressibles would take into
their heads next.

“S’pose I oughter; but there warn’t no real danger, for Charlie ain’t no
tricks, and is as pretty a tempered horse as ever I see. Fact was, I
couldn’t bear to spile sport, for ef there’s any thing I do admire it’s
grit, and Dan is chock full on ‘t. But now I know he’s hankerin’ after a
saddle, and yet won’t take even the old one on the sly; so I just thought
I’d up and tell, and may be you’d let him try what he can do. Mr. Laurie
won’t mind, and Charlie’s all the better for ‘t.”

“We shall see;” and off went Mr. Bhaer to inquire into the matter.

Dan owned up at once, and proudly proved that Silas was right by showing
off his power over Charlie; for by dint of much coaxing, many carrots, and
infinite perseverance, he really had succeeded in riding the colt with a
halter and blanket. Mr. Laurie was much amused, and well pleased with
Dan’s courage and skill, and let him have a hand in all future
performances; for he set about Charlie’s education at once, saying that he
was not going to be outdone by a slip of a boy. Thanks to Dan, Charlie
took kindly to the saddle and bridle when he had once reconciled himself
to the indignity of the bit; and after Mr. Laurie had trained him a
little, Dan was permitted to ride him, to the great envy and admiration of
the other boys.

“Isn’t he handsome? and don’t he mind me like a lamb?” said Dan one day as
he dismounted and stood with his arm round Charlie’s neck.

“Yes, and isn’t he a much more useful and agreeable animal than the wild
colt who spent his days racing about the field, jumping fences, and
running away now and then?” asked Mrs. Bhaer from the steps where she
always appeared when Dan performed with Charlie.

“Of course he is. See he won’t run away now, even if I don’t hold him, and
he comes to me the minute I whistle; I have tamed him well, haven’t I?”
and Dan looked both proud and pleased, as well he might, for, in spite of
their struggles together, Charlie loved him better than his master.

“I am taming a colt too, and I think I shall succeed as well as you if I
am as patient and persevering,” said Mrs. Jo, smiling so significantly at
him, that Dan understood and answered, laughing, yet in earnest,

“We won’t jump over the fence and run away, but stay and let them make a
handsome, useful span of us, hey, Charlie?”

CHAPTER XVII. COMPOSITION DAY

“Hurry up, boys, it’s three o’clock, and Uncle Fritz likes us to be
punctual, you know,” said Franz one Wednesday afternoon as a bell rang,
and a stream of literary-looking young gentlemen with books and paper in
their hands were seen going toward the museum.

Tommy was in the school-room, bending over his desk, much bedaubed with
ink, flushed with the ardor of inspiration, and in a great hurry as usual,
for easy-going Bangs never was ready till the very last minute. As Franz
passed the door looking up laggards, Tommy gave one last blot and
flourish, and departed out the window, waving his paper to dry as he went.
Nan followed, looking very important, with a large roll in her hand, and
Demi escorted Daisy, both evidently brimful of some delightful secret.

The museum was all in order, and the sunshine among the hop-vines made
pretty shadows on the floor as it peeped through the great window. On one
side sat Mr. and Mrs. Bhaer, on the other was a little table on which the
compositions were laid as soon as read, and in a large semicircle sat the
children on camp-stools which occasionally shut up and let the sitter
down, thus preventing any stiffness in the assembly. As it took too much
time to have all read, they took turns, and on this Wednesday the younger
pupils were the chief performers, while the elder ones listened with
condescension and criticised freely.

“Ladies first; so Nan may begin,” said Mr. Bhaer, when the settling of
stools and rustling of papers had subsided.

Nan took her place beside the little table, and, with a preliminary
giggle, read the following interesting essay on,

“THE SPONGE

“The sponge, my friends, is a most useful and interesting plant. It grows
on rocks under the water, and is a kind of sea-weed, I believe. People go
and pick it and dry it and wash it, because little fish and insects live
in the holes of the sponge; I found shells in my new one, and sand. Some
are very fine and soft; babies are washed with them. The sponge has many
uses. I will relate some of them, and I hope my friends will remember what
I say. One use is to wash the face; I don’t like it myself, but I do it
because I wish to be clean. Some people don’t, and they are dirty.” Here
the eye of the reader rested sternly upon Dick and Dolly, who quailed
under it, and instantly resolved to scrub themselves virtuously on all
occasions. “Another use is to wake people up; I allude to boys
par-tic-u-lar-ly.” Another pause after the long word to enjoy the
smothered laugh that went round the room. “Some boys do not get up when
called, and Mary Ann squeezes the water out of a wet sponge on their
faces, and it makes them so mad they wake up.” Here the laugh broke out,
and Emil said, as if he had been hit,

“Seems to me you are wandering from the subject.”

“No, I ain’t; we are to write about vegetables or animals, and I’m doing
both: for boys are animals, aren’t they?” cried Nan; and, undaunted by the
indignant “No!” shouted at her, she calmly proceeded,

“One more interesting thing is done with sponges, and this is when doctors
put ether on it, and hold it to people’s noses when they have teeth out. I
shall do this when I am bigger, and give ether to the sick, so they will
go to sleep and not feel me cut off their legs and arms.”

“I know somebody who killed cats with it,” called out Demi, but was
promptly crushed by Dan, who upset his camp-stool and put a hat over his
face.

“I will not be interruckted,” said Nan, frowning upon the unseemly
scrimmagers. Order was instantly restored, and the young lady closed her
remarks as follows:

“My composition has three morals, my friends.” Somebody groaned, but no
notice was taken of the insult. “First, is keep your faces clean second,
get up early third, when the ether sponge is put over your nose, breathe
hard and don’t kick, and your teeth will come out easy. I have no more to
say.” And Miss Nan sat down amid tumultuous applause.

“That is a very remarkable composition; its tone is high, and there is a
good deal of humor in it. Very well done, Nan. Now, Daisy,” and Mr. Bhaer
smiled at one young lady as he beckoned the other.

Daisy colored prettily as she took her place, and said, in her modest
little voice,

“I’m afraid you won’t like mine; it isn’t nice and funny like Nan’s. But I
couldn’t do any better.”

“We always like yours, Posy,” said Uncle Fritz, and a gentle murmur from
the boys seemed to confirm the remark. Thus encouraged, Daisy read her
little paper, which was listened to with respectful attention.

“THE CAT

“The cat is a sweet animal. I love them very much. They are clean and
pretty, and catch rats and mice, and let you pet them, and are fond of you
if you are kind. They are very wise, and can find their way anywhere.
Little cats are called kittens, and are dear things. I have two, named Huz
and Buz, and their mother is Topaz, because she has yellow eyes. Uncle
told me a pretty story about a man named Ma-ho-met. He had a nice cat, and
when she was asleep on his sleeve, and he wanted to go away, he cut off
the sleeve so as not to wake her up. I think he was a kind man. Some cats
catch fish.”

“So do I!” cried Teddy, jumping up eager to tell about his trout.

“Hush!” said his mother, setting him down again as quickly as possible,
for orderly Daisy hated to be “interruckted,” as Nan expressed it.

“I read about one who used to do it very slyly. I tried to make Topaz, but
she did not like the water, and scratched me. She does like tea, and when
I play in my kitchen she pats the teapot with her paw, till I give her
some. She is a fine cat, she eats apple-pudding and molasses. Most cats do
not.”

“That’s a first-rater,” called out Nat, and Daisy retired, pleased with
the praise of her friend.

“Demi looks so impatient we must have him up at once or he won’t hold
out,” said Uncle Fritz, and Demi skipped up with alacrity.

“Mine is a poem!” he announced in a tone of triumph, and read his first
effort in a loud and solemn voice:

This unusual burst of genius brought down the house, and Demi was obliged
to read it again, a somewhat difficult task, as there was no punctuation
whatever, and the little poet’s breath gave out before he got to the end
of some of the long lines.

“He will be a Shakespeare yet,” said Aunt Jo, laughing as if she would
die, for this poetic gem reminded her of one of her own, written at the
age of ten, and beginning gloomily,

“Come on, Tommy. If there is as much ink inside your paper as there is
outside, it will be a long composition,” said Mr. Bhaer, when Demi had
been induced to tear himself from his poem and sit down.

“It isn’t a composition, it’s a letter. You see, I forgot all about its
being my turn till after school, and then I didn’t know what to have, and
there wasn’t time to read up; so I thought you wouldn’t mind my taking a
letter that I wrote to my Grandma. It’s got something about birds in it,
so I thought it would do.”

With this long excuse, Tommy plunged into a sea of ink and floundered
through, pausing now and then to decipher one of his own flourishes.

“MY DEAR GRANDMA, I hope you are well. Uncle James sent me a pocket rifle.
It is a beautiful little instrument of killing, shaped like this [Here
Tommy displayed a remarkable sketch of what looked like an intricate pump,
or the inside of a small steam-engine] 44 are the sights; 6 is a false
stock that fits in at A; 3 is the trigger, and 2 is the cock. It loads at
the breech, and fires with great force and straightness. I am going out
shooting squirrels soon. I shot several fine birds for the museum. They
had speckled breasts, and Dan liked them very much. He stuffed them
tip-top, and they sit on the tree quite natural, only one looks a little
tipsy. We had a Frenchman working here the other day, and Asia called his
name so funnily that I will tell you about it. His name was Germain: first
she called him Jerry, but we laughed at her, and she changed it to
Jeremiah; but ridicule was the result, so it became Mr. Germany; but
ridicule having been again resumed, it became Garrymon, which it has
remained ever since. I do not write often, I am so busy; but I think of
you often, and sympathize with you, and sincerely hope you get on as well
as can be expected without me. Your affectionate grandson,

“THOMAS BUCKMINSTER BANGS.

“P.S.? If you come across any postage-stamps, remember me.

“N.B. Love to all, and a great deal to Aunt Almira. Does she make any nice
plum-cakes now?

“P.S.? Mrs. Bhaer sends her respects.

“P.S.? And so would Mr. B, if he knew I was in act to write.

“N.B. Father is going to give me a watch on my birthday. I am glad as at
present I have no means of telling time, and am often late at school.

“P.S.? I hope to see you soon. Don’t you wish to send for me?

“T. B. B.”

As each postscript was received with a fresh laugh from the boys, by the
time he came to the sixth and last, Tommy was so exhausted that he was
glad to sit down and wipe his ruddy face.

“I hope the dear old lady will live through it,” said Mr. Bhaer, under
cover of the noise.

“We won’t take any notice of the broad hint given in that last P.S. The
letter will be quite as much as she can bear without a visit from Tommy,”
answered Mrs. Jo, remembering that the old lady usually took to her bed
after a visitation from her irrepressible grandson.

“Now, me,” said Teddy, who had learned a bit of poetry, and was so eager
to say it that he had been bobbing up and down during the reading, and
could no longer be restrained.

“I’m afraid he will forget it if he waits; and I have had a deal of
trouble teaching him,” said his mother.

Teddy trotted to the rostrum, dropped a curtsey and nodded his head at the
same time, as if anxious to suit every one; then, in his baby voice, and
putting the emphasis on the wrong words, he said his verse all in one
breath:—

Clapping his hands at the end, he made another double salutation, and then
ran to hide his head in his mother’s lap, quite overcome by the success of
his “piece,” for the applause was tremendous.

Dick and Dolly did not write, but were encouraged to observe the habits of
animals and insects, and report what they saw. Dick liked this, and always
had a great deal to say; so, when his name was called, he marched up, and,
looking at the audience with his bright confiding eyes, told his little
story so earnestly that no one smiled at his crooked body, because the
“straight soul” shone through it beautifully.

“I’ve been watching dragonflies, and I read about them in Dan’s book, and
I’ll try and tell you what I remember. There’s lots of them flying round
on the pond, all blue, with big eyes, and sort of lace wings, very pretty.
I caught one, and looked at him, and I think he was the handsomest insect
I ever saw. They catch littler creatures than they are to eat, and have a
queer kind of hook thing that folds up when they ain’t hunting. It likes
the sunshine, and dances round all day. Let me see! what else was there to
tell about? Oh, I know! The eggs are laid in the water, and go down to the
bottom, and are hatched in the mud. Little ugly things come out of ’em; I
can’t say the name, but they are brown, and keep having new skins, and
getting bigger and bigger. Only think! it takes them two years to be a
dragonfly! Now this is the curiousest part of it, so you listen tight, for
I don’t believe you know it. When it is ready it knows somehow, and the
ugly, grubby thing climbs up out of the water on a flag or a bulrush, and
bursts open its back.”

“Come, I don’t believe that,” said Tommy, who was not an observant boy,
and really thought Dick was “making up.”

“It does burst open its back, don’t it?” and Dick appealed to Mr. Bhaer,
who nodded a very decided affirmative, to the little speaker’s great
satisfaction.

“Well, out comes the dragonfly, all whole, and he sits in the sun sort of
coming alive, you know; and he gets strong, and then he spreads his pretty
wings, and flies away up in the air, and never is a grub any more. That’s
all I know; but I shall watch and try to see him do it, for I think it’s
splendid to turn into a beautiful dragonfly, don’t you?”

Dick had told his story well, and, when he described the flight of the
new-born insect, had waved his hands, and looked up as if he saw, and
wanted to follow it. Something in his face suggested to the minds of the
elder listeners the thought that some day little Dick would have his wish,
and after years of helplessness and pain would climb up into the sun some
happy day, and, leaving his poor little body behind him, find a new lovely
shape in a fairer world than this. Mrs. Jo drew him to her side, and said,
with a kiss on his thin cheek,

“That is a sweet little story, dear, and you remembered it wonderfully
well. I shall write and tell your mother all about it;” and Dick sat on
her knee, contentedly smiling at the praise, and resolving to watch well,
and catch the dragonfly in the act of leaving its old body for the new,
and see how he did it. Dolly had a few remarks to make upon the “Duck,”
and made them in a sing-song tone, for he had learned it by heart, and
thought it a great plague to do it at all.

“Wild ducks are hard to kill; men hide and shoot at them, and have tame
ducks to quack and make the wild ones come where the men can fire at them.
They have wooden ducks made too, and they sail round, and the wild ones
come to see them; they are stupid, I think. Our ducks are very tame. They
eat a great deal, and go poking round in the mud and water. They don’t
take good care of their eggs, but let them spoil, and—”

“Mine don’t!” cried Tommy.

“Well, some people’s do; Silas said so. Hens take good care of little
ducks, only they don’t like to have them go in the water, and make a great
fuss. But the little ones don’t care a bit. I like to eat ducks with
stuffing in them and lots of apple-sauce.”

“I have something to say about owls,” began Nat, who had carefully
prepared a paper upon this subject with some help from Dan.

“Owls have big heads, round eyes, hooked bills, and strong claws. Some are
gray, some white, some black and yellowish. Their feathers are very soft,
and stick out a great deal. They fly very quietly, and hunt bats, mice,
little birds, and such things. They build nests in barns, hollow trees,
and some take the nests of other birds. The great horned owl has two eggs
bigger than a hen’s and reddish brown. The tawny owl has five eggs, white
and smooth; and this is the kind that hoots at night. Another kind sounds
like a child crying. They eat mice and bats whole, and the parts that they
cannot digest they make into little balls and spit out.”

“My gracious! how funny!” Nan was heard to observe.

“They cannot see by day; and if they get out into the light, they go
flapping round half blind, and the other birds chase and peck at them, as
if they were making fun. The horned owl is very big, ‘most as big as the
eagle. It eats rabbits, rats, snakes, and birds; and lives in rocks and
old tumble-down houses. They have a good many cries, and scream like a
person being choked, and say, ‘Waugh O! waugh O!’ and it scares people at
night in the woods. The white owl lives by the sea, and in cold places,
and looks something like a hawk. There is a kind of owl that makes holes
to live in like moles. It is called the burrowing owl, and is very small.
The barn-owl is the commonest kind; and I have watched one sitting in a
hole in a tree, looking like a little gray cat, with one eye shut and the
other open. He comes out at dusk, and sits round waiting for the bats. I
caught one, and here he is.”

With that Nat suddenly produced from inside his jacket a little downy
bird, who blinked and ruffled his feathers, looking very plump and sleepy
and scared.

“Don’t touch him! He is going to show off,” said Nat, displaying his new
pet with great pride. First he put a cocked hat on the bird’s head, and
the boys laughed at the funny effect; then he added a pair of paper
spectacles, and that gave the owl such a wise look that they shouted with
merriment. The performance closed with making the bird angry, and seeing
him cling to a handkerchief upside down, pecking and “clucking,” as Rob
called it. He was allowed to fly after that, and settled himself on the
bunch of pine-cones over the door, where he sat staring down at the
company with an air of sleepy dignity that amused them very much.

“Have you anything for us, George?” asked Mr. Bhaer, when the room was
still again.

“Well, I read and learned ever so much about moles, but I declare I’ve
forgotten every bit of it, except that they dig holes to live in, that you
catch them by pouring water down, and that they can’t possibly live
without eating very often;” and Stuffy sat down, wishing he had not been
too lazy to write out his valuable observations, for a general smile went
round when he mentioned the last of the three facts which lingered in his
memory.

“Then we are done for to-day,” began Mr. Bhaer, but Tommy called out in a
great hurry,

“No we ain’t. Don’t you know? We must give the thing;” and he winked
violently as he made an eye-glass of his fingers.

“Bless my heart, I forgot! Now is your time, Tom;” and Mr. Bhaer dropped
into his seat again, while all the boys but Dan looked mightily tickled at
something.

Nat, Tommy, and Demi left the room, and speedily returned with a little
red morocco box set forth in state on Mrs. Jo’s best silver salver. Tommy
bore it, and, still escorted by Nat and Demi, marched up to unsuspecting
Dan, who stared at them as if he thought they were going to make fun of
him. Tommy had prepared an elegant and impressive speech for the occasion,
but when the minute came, it all went out of his head, and he just said,
straight from his kindly boyish heart,

“Here, old fellow, we all wanted to give you something to kind of pay for
what happened awhile ago, and to show how much we liked you for being such
a trump. Please take it, and have a jolly good time with it.”

Dan was so surprised he could only get as red as the little box, and
mutter, “Thanky, boys!” as he fumbled to open it. But when he saw what was
inside, his face lighted up, and he seized the long desired treasure,
saying so enthusiastically that every one was satisfied, though his
language was anything but polished,

“What a stunner! I say, you fellows are regular bricks to give me this;
it’s just what I wanted. Give us your paw, Tommy.”

Many paws were given, and heartily shaken, for the boys were charmed with
Dan’s pleasure, and crowded round him to shake hands and expatiate on the
beauties of their gift. In the midst of this pleasant chatter, Dan’s eye
went to Mrs. Jo, who stood outside the group enjoying the scene with all
her heart.

“No, I had nothing to do with it. The boys got it up all themselves,” she
said, answering the grateful look that seemed to thank her for that happy
moment. Dan smiled, and said, in a tone that only she could understand,

“It’s you all the same;” and making his way through the boys, he held out
his hand first to her and then to the good Professor, who was beaming
benevolently on his flock.

He thanked them both with the silent, hearty squeeze he gave the kind
hands that had held him up, and led him into the safe refuge of a happy
home. Not a word was spoken, but they felt all he would say, and little
Teddy expressed his pleasure for them as he leaned from his father’s arm
to hug the boy, and say, in his baby way,

“My dood Danny! everybody loves him now.”

“Come here, show off your spy-glass, Dan, and let us see some of your
magnified pollywogs and annymalcumisms as you call ’em,” said Jack, who
felt so uncomfortable during this scene that he would have slipped away if
Emil had not kept him.

“So I will, take a squint at that and see what you think of it,” said Dan,
glad to show off his precious microscope.

He held it over a beetle that happened to be lying on the table, and Jack
bent down to take his squint, but looked up with an amazed face, saying,

“My eye! what nippers the old thing has got! I see now why it hurts so
confoundedly when you grab a dorbug and he grabs back again.”

“He winked at me,” cried Nan, who had poked her head under Jack’s elbow
and got the second peep.

Every one took a look, and then Dan showed them the lovely plumage on a
moth’s wing, the four feathery corners to a hair, the veins on a leaf,
hardly visible to the naked eye, but like a thick net through the
wonderful little glass; the skin on their own fingers, looking like queer
hills and valleys; a cobweb like a bit of coarse sewing silk, and the
sting of a bee.

“It’s like the fairy spectacles in my story-book, only more curious,” said
Demi, enchanted with the wonders he saw.

“Dan is a magician now, and he can show you many miracles going on all
round you; for he has two things needful patience and a love of nature. We
live in a beautiful and wonderful world, Demi, and the more you know about
it the wiser and the better you will be. This little glass will give you a
new set of teachers, and you may learn fine lessons from them if you
will,” said Mr. Bhaer, glad to see how interested the boys were in the
matter.

“Could I see anybody’s soul with this microscope if I looked hard?” asked
Demi, who was much impressed with the power of the bit of glass.

“No, dear; it’s not powerful enough for that, and never can be made so.
You must wait a long while before your eyes are clear enough to see the
most invisible of God’s wonders. But looking at the lovely things you can
see will help you to understand the lovelier things you can not see,”
answered Uncle Fritz, with his hand on the boy’s head.

“Well, Daisy and I both think that if there are any angels, their wings
look like that butterfly’s as we see it through the glass, only more soft
and gold.”

“Believe it if you like, and keep your own little wings as bright and
beautiful, only don’t fly away for a long time yet.”

“No, I won’t,” and Demi kept his word.

“Good-by, my boys; I must go now, but I leave you with our new Professor
of Natural History;” and Mrs. Jo went away well pleased with that
composition day.

CHAPTER XVIII. CROPS

The gardens did well that summer, and in September the little crops were
gathered in with much rejoicing. Jack and Ned joined their farms and
raised potatoes, those being a good salable article. They got twelve
bushels, counting little ones and all, and sold them to Mr. Bhaer at a
fair price, for potatoes went fast in that house. Emil and Franz devoted
themselves to corn, and had a jolly little husking in the barn, after
which they took their corn to the mill, and came proudly home with meal
enough to supply the family with hasty-pudding and Johnny-cake for a long
time. They would not take money for their crop; because, as Franz said,
“We never can pay Uncle for all he has done for us if we raised corn for
the rest of our days.”

Nat had beans in such abundance that he despaired of ever shelling them,
till Mrs. Jo proposed a new way, which succeeded admirably. The dry pods
were spread upon the barn-floor, Nat fiddled, and the boys danced
quadrilles on them, till they were thrashed out with much merriment and
very little labor.

Tommy’s six weeks’ beans were a failure; for a dry spell early in the
season hurt them, because he gave them no water; and after that he was so
sure that they could take care of themselves, he let the poor things
struggle with bugs and weeds till they were exhausted and died a lingering
death. So Tommy had to dig his farm over again, and plant peas. But they
were late; the birds ate many; the bushes, not being firmly planted, blew
down, and when the poor peas came at last, no one cared for them, as their
day was over, and spring-lamb had grown into mutton. Tommy consoled
himself with a charitable effort; for he transplanted all the thistles he
could find, and tended them carefully for Toby, who was fond of the
prickly delicacy, and had eaten all he could find on the place. The boys
had great fun over Tom’s thistle bed; but he insisted that it was better
to care for poor Toby than for himself, and declared that he would devote
his entire farm next year to thistles, worms, and snails, that Demi’s
turtles and Nat’s pet owl might have the food they loved, as well as the
donkey. So like shiftless, kind-hearted, happy-go-lucky Tommy!

Demi had supplied his grandmother with lettuce all summer, and in the
autumn sent his grandfather a basket of turnips, each one scrubbed up
till it looked like a great white egg. His Grandma was fond of salad,
and one of his Grandpa’s favorite quotations was,

Therefore these vegetable offerings to the dear domestic god and goddess
were affectionate, appropriate, and classical.

Daisy had nothing but flowers in her little plot, and it bloomed all
summer long with a succession of gay or fragrant posies. She was very fond
of her garden, and delved away in it at all hours, watching over her
roses, and pansies, sweet-peas, and mignonette, as faithfully and tenderly
as she did over her dolls or her friends. Little nosegays were sent into
town on all occasions, and certain vases about the house were her especial
care. She had all sorts of pretty fancies about her flowers, and loved to
tell the children the story of the pansy, and show them how the
step-mother-leaf sat up in her green chair in purple and gold; how the two
own children in gay yellow had each its little seat, while the step
children, in dull colors, both sat on one small stool, and the poor little
father in his red nightcap, was kept out of sight in the middle of the
flower; that a monk’s dark face looked out of the monk’s-hood larkspur;
that the flowers of the canary-vine were so like dainty birds fluttering
their yellow wings, that one almost expected to see them fly away, and the
snapdragons that went off like little pistol-shots when you cracked them.
Splendid dollies did she make out of scarlet and white poppies, with
ruffled robes tied round the waist with grass blade sashes, and
astonishing hats of coreopsis on their green heads. Pea-pod boats, with
rose-leaf sails, received these flower-people, and floated them about a
placid pool in the most charming style; for finding that there were no
elves, Daisy made her own, and loved the fanciful little friends who
played their parts in her summer-life.

Nan went in for herbs, and had a fine display of useful plants, which she
tended with steadily increasing interest and care. Very busy was she in
September cutting, drying, and tying up her sweet harvest, and writing
down in a little book how the different herbs are to be used. She had
tried several experiments, and made several mistakes; so she wished to be
particular lest she should give little Huz another fit by administering
wormwood instead of catnip.

Dick, Dolly, and Rob each grubbed away on his small farm, and made more
stir about it than all the rest put together. Parsnips and carrots were
the crops of the two D.’s; and they longed for it to be late enough to
pull up the precious vegetables. Dick did privately examine his carrots,
and plant them again, feeling that Silas was right in saying it was too
soon for them yet.

Rob’s crop was four small squashes and one immense pumpkin. It really was
a “bouncer,” as every one said; and I assure you that two small persons
could sit on it side by side. It seemed to have absorbed all the goodness
of the little garden, and all the sunshine that shone down on it, and lay
there a great round, golden ball, full of rich suggestions of pumpkin-pies
for weeks to come. Robby was so proud of his mammoth vegetable that he
took every one to see it, and, when frosts began to nip, covered it up
each night with an old bedquilt, tucking it round as if the pumpkin was a
well-beloved baby. The day it was gathered he would let no one touch it
but himself, and nearly broke his back tugging it to the barn in his
little wheelbarrow, with Dick and Dolly harnessed in front to give a heave
up the path. His mother promised him that the Thanksgiving-pies should be
made from it, and hinted vaguely that she had a plan in her head which
would cover the prize pumpkin and its owner with glory.

Poor Billy had planted cucumbers, but unfortunately hoed them up and left
the pig-weed. This mistake grieved him very much for ten minutes, then he
forgot all about it, and sowed a handful of bright buttons which he had
collected, evidently thinking in his feeble mind that they were money, and
would come up and multiply, so that he might make many quarters, as Tommy
did. No one disturbed him, and he did what he liked with his plot, which
soon looked as if a series of small earthquakes had stirred it up. When
the general harvest-day came, he would have had nothing but stones and
weeds to show, if kind old Asia had not hung half-a-dozen oranges on the
dead tree he stuck up in the middle. Billy was delighted with his crop;
and no one spoiled his pleasure in the little miracle which pity wrought
for him, by making withered branches bear strange fruit.

Stuffy had various trials with his melons; for, being impatient to taste
them, he had a solitary revel before they were ripe, and made himself so
ill, that for a day or two it seemed doubtful if he would ever eat any
more. But he pulled through it, and served up his first cantaloupe without
tasting a mouthful himself. They were excellent melons, for he had a warm
slope for them, and they ripened fast. The last and best were lingering on
the vines, and Stuffy had announced that he should sell them to a
neighbor. This disappointed the boys, who had hoped to eat the melons
themselves, and they expressed their displeasure in a new and striking
manner. Going one morning to gaze upon the three fine watermelons which he
had kept for the market, Stuffy was horrified to find the word “PIG” cut
in white letters on the green rind, staring at him from every one. He was
in a great rage, and flew to Mrs. Jo for redress. She listened, condoled
with him, and then said,

“If you want to turn the laugh, I’ll tell you how, but you must give up
the melons.”

“Well, I will; for I can’t thrash all the boys, but I’d like to give them
something to remember, the mean sneaks,” growled Stuff, still in a fume.

Now Mrs. Jo was pretty sure who had done the trick, for she had seen three
heads suspiciously near to one another in the sofa-corner the evening
before; and when these heads had nodded with chuckles and whispers, this
experienced woman knew mischief was afoot. A moonlight night, a rustling
in the old cherry-tree near Emil’s window, a cut on Tommy’s finger, all
helped to confirm her suspicions; and having cooled Stuffy’s wrath a
little, she bade him bring his maltreated melons to her room, and say not
a word to any one of what had happened. He did so, and the three wags were
amazed to find their joke so quietly taken. It spoilt the fun, and the
entire disappearance of the melons made them uneasy. So did Stuffy’s
good-nature, for he looked more placid and plump than ever, and surveyed
them with an air of calm pity that perplexed them very much.

At dinner-time they discovered why; for then Stuffy’s vengeance fell upon
them, and the laugh was turned against them. When the pudding was eaten,
and the fruit was put on, Mary Ann re-appeared in a high state of giggle,
bearing a large watermelon; Silas followed with another; and Dan brought
up the rear with a third. One was placed before each of the three guilty
lads; and they read on the smooth green skins this addition to their own
work, “With the compliments of the PIG.” Every one else read it also, and
the whole table was in a roar, for the trick had been whispered about; so
every one understood the sequel. Emil, Ned, and Tommy did not know where
to look, and had not a word to say for themselves; so they wisely joined
in the laugh, cut up the melons, and handed them round, saying, what all
the rest agreed to, that Stuffy had taken a wise and merry way to return
good for evil.

Dan had no garden, for he was away or lame the greater part of the summer;
so he had helped Silas wherever he could, chopped wood for Asia, and taken
care of the lawn so well, that Mrs. Jo always had smooth paths and nicely
shaven turf before her door.

When the others got in their crops, he looked sorry that he had so little
to show; but as autumn went on, he bethought himself of a woodland harvest
which no one would dispute with him, and which was peculiarly his own.
Every Saturday he was away alone to the forests, fields, and hills, and
always came back loaded with spoils; for he seemed to know the meadows
where the best flag-root grew, the thicket where the sassafras was
spiciest, the haunts where the squirrels went for nuts, the white oak
whose bark was most valuable, and the little gold-thread vine that Nursey
liked to cure the canker with. All sorts of splendid red and yellow leaves
did Dan bring home for Mrs. Jo to dress her parlor with, graceful-seeded
grasses, clematis tassels, downy, soft, yellow wax-work berries, and
mosses, red-brimmed, white, or emerald green.

“I need not sigh for the woods now, because Dan brings the woods to me,”
Mrs. Jo used to say, as she glorified the walls with yellow maple boughs
and scarlet woodbine wreaths, or filled her vases with russet ferns,
hemlock sprays full of delicate cones, and hardy autumn flowers; for Dan’s
crop suited her well.

The great garret was full of the children’s little stores and for a time
was one of the sights of the house. Daisy’s flower seeds in neat little
paper bags, all labelled, lay in a drawer of a three-legged table. Nan’s
herbs hung in bunches against the wall, filling the air with their
aromatic breath. Tommy had a basket of thistle-down with the tiny seeds
attached, for he meant to plant them next year, if they did not all fly
away before that time. Emil had bunches of pop-corn hanging there to dry,
and Demi laid up acorns and different sorts of grain for the pets. But
Dan’s crop made the best show, for fully one half of the floor was covered
with the nuts he brought. All kinds were there, for he ranged the woods
for miles round, climbed the tallest trees, and forced his way into the
thickest hedges for his plunder. Walnuts, chestnuts, hazelnuts, and
beechnuts lay in separate compartments, getting brown, and dry, and sweet,
ready for winter revels.

There was one butternut-tree on the place, and Rob and Teddy called it
theirs. It bore well this year, and the great dingy nuts came dropping
down to hide among the dead leaves, where the busy squirrels found them
better than the lazy Bhaers. Their father had told them (the boys, not the
squirrels) they should have the nuts if they would pick them up, but no
one was to help. It was easy work, and Teddy liked it, only he soon got
tired, and left his little basket half full for another day. But the other
day was slow to arrive, and, meantime, the sly squirrels were hard at
work, scampering up and down the old elm-trees stowing the nuts away till
their holes were full, then all about the crotches of the boughs, to be
removed at their leisure. Their funny little ways amused the boys, till
one day Silas said,

“Hev you sold them nuts to the squirrels?”

“No,” answered Rob, wondering what Silas meant.

“Wal, then, you’d better fly round, or them spry little fellers won’t
leave you none.”

“Oh, we can beat them when we begin. There are such lots of nuts we shall
have a plenty.”

“There ain’t many more to come down, and they have cleared the ground
pretty well, see if they hain’t.”

Robby ran to look, and was alarmed to find how few remained. He called
Teddy, and they worked hard all one afternoon, while the squirrels sat on
the fence and scolded.

“Now, Ted, we must keep watch, and pick up just as fast as they fall, or
we shan’t have more than a bushel, and every one will laugh at us if we
don’t.”

“The naughty quillies tarn’t have ’em. I’ll pick fast and run and put ’em
in the barn twick,” said Teddy, frowning at little Frisky, who chattered
and whisked his tail indignantly.

That night a high wind blew down hundreds of nuts, and when Mrs. Jo came
to wake her little sons, she said, briskly,

“Come, my laddies, the squirrels are hard at it, and you will have to work
well to-day, or they will have every nut on the ground.”

“No, they won’t,” and Robby tumbled up in a great hurry, gobbled his
breakfast, and rushed out to save his property.

Teddy went too, and worked like a little beaver, trotting to and fro with
full and empty baskets. Another bushel was soon put away in the corn-barn,
and they were scrambling among the leaves for more nuts when the bell rang
for school.

“O father! let me stay out and pick. Those horrid squirrels will have my
nuts if you don’t. I’ll do my lessons by and by,” cried Rob, running into
the school-room, flushed and tousled by the fresh cold wind and his eager
work.

“If you had been up early and done a little every morning there would be
no hurry now. I told you that, Rob, and you never minded. I cannot have
the lessons neglected as the work has been. The squirrels will get more
than their share this year, and they deserve it, for they have worked
best. You may go an hour earlier, but that is all,” and Mr. Bhaer led Rob
to his place where the little man dashed at his books as if bent on making
sure of the precious hour promised him.

It was almost maddening to sit still and see the wind shaking down the
last nuts, and the lively thieves flying about, pausing now and then to
eat one in his face, and flirt their tails, as if they said, saucily,
“We’ll have them in spite of you, lazy Rob.” The only thing that sustained
the poor child in this trying moment was the sight of Teddy working away
all alone. It was really splendid the pluck and perseverance of the little
lad. He picked and picked till his back ached; he trudged to and fro till
his small legs were tired; and he defied wind, weariness, and wicked
“quillies,” till his mother left her work and did the carrying for him,
full of admiration for the kind little fellow who tried to help his
brother. When Rob was dismissed, he found Teddy reposing in the
bushel-basket quite used up, but unwilling to quit the field; for he
flapped his hat at the thieves with one grubby little hand, while he
refreshed himself with the big apple held in the other.

Rob fell to work and the ground was cleared before two o’clock, the nuts
safely in the corn-barn loft, and the weary workers exulted in their
success. But Frisky and his wife were not to be vanquished so easily; and
when Rob went up to look at his nuts a few days later he was amazed to see
how many had vanished. None of the boys could have stolen them, because
the door had been locked; the doves could not have eaten them, and there
were no rats about. There was great lamentation among the young Bhaers
till Dick said,

“I saw Frisky on the roof of the corn-barn, may be he took them.”

“I know he did! I’ll have a trap, and kill him dead,” cried Rob, disgusted
with Frisky’s grasping nature.

“Perhaps if you watch, you can find out where he puts them, and I may be
able to get them back for you,” said Dan, who was much amused by the fight
between the boys and squirrels.

So Rob watched and saw Mr. and Mrs. Frisky drop from the drooping elm
boughs on to the roof of the corn-barn, dodge in at one of the little
doors, much to the disturbance of the doves, and come out with a nut in
each mouth. So laden they could not get back the way they came, but ran
down the low roof, along the wall, and leaping off at a corner they
vanished a minute and re-appeared without their plunder. Rob ran to the
place, and in a hollow under the leaves he found a heap of the stolen
property hidden away to be carried off to the holes by and by.

“Oh, you little villains! I’ll cheat you now, and not leave one,” said
Rob. So he cleared the corner and the corn-barn, and put the contested
nuts in the garret, making sure that no broken window-pane could anywhere
let in the unprincipled squirrels. They seemed to feel that the contest
was over, and retired to their hole, but now and then could not resist
throwing down nut-shells on Rob’s head, and scolding violently as if they
could not forgive him nor forget that he had the best of the battle.

Father and Mother Bhaer’s crop was of a different sort, and not so easily
described; but they were satisfied with it, felt that their summer work
had prospered well, and by and by had a harvest that made them very happy.

CHAPTER XIX. JOHN BROOKE

“Wake up, Demi, dear! I want you.”

“Why, I’ve just gone to bed; it can’t be morning yet;” and Demi blinked
like a little owl as he waked from his first sound sleep.

“It’s only ten, but your father is ill, and we must go to him. O my little
John! my poor little John!” and Aunt Jo laid her head down on the pillow
with a sob that scared sleep from Demi’s eyes and filled his heart with
fear and wonder; for he dimly felt why Aunt Jo called him “John,” and wept
over him as if some loss had come that left him poor. He clung to her
without a word, and in a minute she was quite steady again, and said, with
a tender kiss as she saw his troubled face,

“We are going to say good-by to him, my darling, and there is no time to
lose; so dress quickly and come to me in my room. I must go to Daisy.”

“Yes, I will;” and when Aunt Jo was gone, little Demi got up quietly,
dressed as if in a dream, and leaving Tommy fast asleep went away through
the silent house, feeling that something new and sorrowful was going to
happen something that set him apart from the other boys for a time, and
made the world seem as dark and still and strange as those familiar rooms
did in the night. A carriage sent by Mr. Laurie stood before the door.
Daisy was soon ready, and the brother and sister held each other by the
hand all the way into town, as they drove swiftly and silently with aunt
and uncle through the shadowy roads to say good-by to father.

None of the boys but Franz and Emil knew what had happened, and when they
came down next morning, great was their wonderment and discomfort, for the
house seemed forlorn without its master and mistress. Breakfast was a
dismal meal with no cheery Mrs. Jo behind the teapots; and when
school-time came, Father Bhaer’s place was empty. They wandered about in a
disconsolate kind of way for an hour, waiting for news and hoping it would
be all right with Demi’s father, for good John Brooke was much beloved by
the boys. Ten o’clock came, and no one arrived to relieve their anxiety.
They did not feel like playing, yet the time dragged heavily, and they sat
about listless and sober. All at once, Franz got up, and said, in his
persuasive way,

“Look here, boys! let’s go into school and do our lessons just as if Uncle
was here. It will make the day go faster, and will please him, I know.”

“But who will hear us say them?” asked Jack.

“I will; I don’t know much more than you do, but I’m the oldest here, and
I’ll try to fill Uncle’s place till he comes, if you don’t mind.”

Something in the modest, serious way Franz said this impressed the boys,
for, though the poor lad’s eyes were red with quiet crying for Uncle John
in that long sad night, there was a new manliness about him, as if he had
already begun to feel the cares and troubles of life, and tried to take
them bravely.

“I will, for one,” and Emil went to his seat, remembering that obedience
to his superior officer is a seaman’s first duty.

The others followed; Franz took his uncle’s seat, and for an hour order
reigned. Lessons were learned and said, and Franz made a patient, pleasant
teacher, wisely omitting such lessons as he was not equal to, and keeping
order more by the unconscious dignity that sorrow gave him than by any
words of his own. The little boys were reading when a step was heard in
the hall, and every one looked up to read the news in Mr. Bhaer’s face as
he came in. The kind face told them instantly that Demi had no father now,
for it was worn and pale, and full of tender grief, which left him no
words with which to answer Rob, as he ran to him, saying, reproachfully,

“What made you go and leave me in the night, papa?”

The memory of the other father who had left his children in the night,
never to return, made Mr. Bhaer hold his own boy close, and, for a minute,
hide his face in Robby’s curly hair. Emil laid his head down on his arms,
Franz, went to put his hand on his uncle’s shoulder, his boyish face pale
with sympathy and sorrow, and the others sat so still that the soft rustle
of the falling leaves outside was distinctly heard.

Rob did not clearly understand what had happened, but he hated to see papa
unhappy, so he lifted up the bent head, and said, in his chirpy little
voice,

“Don’t cry, mein Vater! we were all so good, we did our lessons, without
you, and Franz was the master.”

Mr. Bhaer looked up then, tried to smile, and said in a grateful tone that
made the lads feel like saints, “I thank you very much, my boys. It was a
beautiful way to help and comfort me. I shall not forget it, I assure
you.”

“Franz proposed it, and was a first-rate master, too,” said Nat; and the
others gave a murmur of assent most gratifying to the young dominie.

Mr. Bhaer put Rob down, and, standing up, put his arm round his tall
nephew’s shoulder, as he said, with a look of genuine pleasure,

“This makes my hard day easier, and gives me confidence in you all. I am
needed there in town, and must leave you for some hours. I thought to give
you a holiday, or send some of you home, but if you like to stay and go on
as you have begun, I shall be glad and proud of my good boys.”

“We’ll stay;” “We’d rather;” “Franz can see to us;” cried several,
delighted with the confidence shown in them.

“Isn’t Marmar coming home?” asked Rob, wistfully; for home without
“Marmar” was the world without the sun to him.

“We shall both come to-night; but dear Aunt Meg needs Mother more than you
do now, and I know you like to lend her for a little while.”

“Well, I will; but Teddy’s been crying for her, and he slapped Nursey, and
was dreadful naughty,” answered Rob, as if the news might bring mother
home.

“Where is my little man?” asked Mr. Bhaer.

“Dan took him out, to keep him quiet. He’s all right now,” said Franz,
pointing to the window, through which they could see Dan drawing baby in
his little wagon, with the dogs frolicking about him.

“I won’t see him, it would only upset him again; but tell Dan I leave
Teddy in his care. You older boys I trust to manage yourselves for a day.
Franz will direct you, and Silas is here to over see matters. So good-by
till to-night.”

“Just tell me a word about Uncle John,” said Emil, detaining Mr. Bhaer, as
he was about hurrying away again.

“He was only ill a few hours, and died as he has lived, so cheerfully, so
peacefully, that it seems a sin to mar the beauty of it with any violent
or selfish grief. We were in time to say good-by: and Daisy and Demi were
in his arms as he fell asleep on Aunt Meg’s breast. No more now, I cannot
bear it,” and Mr. Bhaer went hastily away quite bowed with grief, for in
John Brooke he had lost both friend and brother, and there was no one left
to take his place.

All that day the house was very still; the small boys played quietly in
the nursery; the others, feeling as if Sunday had come in the middle of
the week, spent it in walking, sitting in the willow, or among their pets,
all talking much of “Uncle John,” and feeling that something gentle, just,
and strong, had gone out of their little world, leaving a sense of loss
that deepened every hour. At dusk, Mr. and Mrs. Bhaer came home alone, for
Demi and Daisy were their mother’s best comfort now, and could not leave
her. Poor Mrs. Jo seemed quite spent, and evidently needed the same sort
of comfort, for her first words, as she came up the stairs, were, “Where
is my baby?”

“Here I is,” answered a little voice, as Dan put Teddy into her arms,
adding, as she hugged him close, “My Danny tooked tare of me all day, and
I was dood.”

Mrs. Jo turned to thank the faithful nurse, but Dan was waving off the
boys, who had gathered in the hall to meet her, and was saying, in a low
voice, “Keep back; she don’t want to be bothered with us now.”

“No, don’t keep back. I want you all. Come in and see me, my boys. I’ve
neglected you all day,” and Mrs. Jo held out her hands to them as they
gathered round and escorted her into her own room, saying little, but
expressing much by affectionate looks and clumsy little efforts to show
their sorrow and sympathy.

“I am so tired, I will lie here and cuddle Teddy, and you shall bring me
in some tea,” she said, trying to speak cheerfully for their sakes.

A general stampede into the dining-room followed, and the supper-table
would have been ravaged if Mr. Bhaer had not interfered. It was agreed
that one squad should carry in the mother’s tea, and another bring it out.
The four nearest and dearest claimed the first honor, so Franz bore the
teapot, Emil the bread, Rob the milk, and Teddy insisted on carrying the
sugar basin, which was lighter by several lumps when it arrived than when
it started. Some women might have found it annoying at such a time to have
boys creaking in and out, upsetting cups and rattling spoons in violent
efforts to be quiet and helpful; but it suited Mrs. Jo, because just then
her heart was very tender; and remembering that many of her boys were
fatherless or motherless, she yearned over them, and found comfort in
their blundering affection. It was the sort of food that did her more good
than the very thick bread-and-butter that they gave her, and the rough
Commodore’s broken whisper,

“Bear up, Aunty, it’s a hard blow; but we’ll weather it somehow;” cheered
her more than the sloppy cup he brought her, full of tea as bitter as if
some salt tear of his own had dropped into it on the way. When supper was
over, a second deputation removed the tray; and Dan said, holding out his
arms for sleepy little Teddy,

“Let me put him to bed, you’re so tired, Mother.”

“Will you go with him, lovey?” asked Mrs. Jo of her small lord and master,
who lay on her arm among the sofa-pillows.

“Torse I will;” and he was proudly carried off by his faithful bearer.

“I wish I could do something,” said Nat, with a sigh, as Franz leaned over
the sofa, and softly stroked Aunt Jo’s hot forehead.

“You can, dear. Go and get your violin, and play me the sweet little airs
Uncle Teddy sent you last. Music will comfort me better than any thing
else to-night.”

Nat flew for his fiddle, and, sitting just outside her door, played as he
had never done before, for now his heart was in it, and seemed to
magnetize his fingers. The other lads sat quietly upon the steps, keeping
watch that no new-comer should disturb the house; Franz lingered at his
post; and so, soothed, served, and guarded by her boys, poor Mrs. Jo slept
at last, and forgot her sorrow for an hour.

Two quiet days, and on the third Mr. Bhaer came in just after school, with
a note in his hand, looking both moved and pleased.

“I want to read you something, boys,” he said; and as they stood round him
he read this:

“DEAR BROTHER FRITZ, I hear that you do not mean to bring your flock
today, thinking that I may not like it. Please do. The sight of his
friends will help Demi through the hard hour, and I want the boys to hear
what father says of my John. It will do them good, I know. If they would
sing one of the sweet old hymns you have taught them so well, I should
like it better than any other music, and feel that it was beautifully
suited to the occasion. Please ask them, with my love.

“MEG.”

“Will you go?” and Mr. Bhaer looked at the lads, who were greatly touched
by Mrs. Brooke’s kind words and wishes.

“Yes,” they answered, like one boy; and an hour later they went away with
Franz to bear their part in John Brooke’s simple funeral.

The little house looked as quiet, sunny, and home-like as when Meg entered
it as a bride, ten years ago, only then it was early summer, and rose
blossomed everywhere; now it was early autumn, and dead leaves rustled
softly down, leaving the branches bare. The bride was a widow now; but the
same beautiful serenity shone in her face, and the sweet resignation of a
truly pious soul made her presence a consolation to those who came to
comfort her.

“O Meg! how can you bear it so?” whispered Jo, as she met them at the door
with a smile of welcome, and no change in her gentle manner, except more
gentleness.

“Dear Jo, the love that has blest me for ten happy years supports me
still. It could not die, and John is more my own than ever,” whispered
Meg; and in her eyes the tender trust was so beautiful and bright, that Jo
believed her, and thanked God for the immortality of love like hers.

They were all there father and mother, Uncle Teddy, and Aunt Amy, old Mr.
Laurence, white-haired and feeble now, Mr. and Mrs. Bhaer, with their
flock, and many friends, come to do honor to the dead. One would have said
that modest John Brooke, in his busy, quiet, humble life, had had little
time to make friends; but now they seemed to start up everywhere, old and
young, rich and poor, high and low; for all unconsciously his influence
had made itself widely felt, his virtues were remembered, and his hidden
charities rose up to bless him. The group about his coffin was a far more
eloquent eulogy than any Mr. March could utter. There were the rich men
whom he had served faithfully for years; the poor old women whom he
cherished with his little store, in memory of his mother; the wife to whom
he had given such happiness that death could not mar it utterly; the
brothers and sisters in whose hearts he had made a place for ever; the
little son and daughter, who already felt the loss of his strong arm and
tender voice; the young children, sobbing for their kindest playmate, and
the tall lads, watching with softened faces a scene which they never could
forget. A very simple service, and very short; for the fatherly voice that
had faltered in the marriage-sacrament now failed entirely as Mr. March
endeavored to pay his tribute of reverence and love to the son whom he
most honored. Nothing but the soft coo of Baby Josy’s voice up-stairs
broke the long hush that followed the last Amen, till, at a sign from Mr.
Bhaer, the well-trained boyish voices broke out in a hymn, so full of
lofty cheer, that one by one all joined in it, singing with full hearts,
and finding their troubled spirits lifted into peace on the wings of that
brave, sweet psalm.

As Meg listened, she felt that she had done well; for not only did the
moment comfort her with the assurance that John’s last lullaby was sung by
the young voices he loved so well, but in the faces of the boys she saw
that they had caught a glimpse of the beauty of virtue in its most
impressive form, and that the memory of the good man lying dead before
them would live long and helpfully in their remembrance. Daisy’s head lay
in her lap, and Demi held her hand, looking often at her, with eyes so
like his father’s, and a little gesture that seemed to say, “Don’t be
troubled, mother; I am here;” and all about her were friends to lean upon
and love; so patient, pious Meg put by her heavy grief, feeling that her
best help would be to live for others, as her John had done.

That evening, as the Plumfield boys sat on the steps, as usual, in the
mild September moonlight, they naturally fell to talking of the event of
the day.

Emil began by breaking out, in his impetuous way, “Uncle Fritz is the
wisest, and Uncle Laurie the jolliest, but Uncle John was the best; and
I’d rather be like him than any man I ever saw.”

“So would I. Did you hear what those gentlemen said to Grandpa to-day? I
would like to have that said of me when I was dead;” and Franz felt with
regret that he had not appreciated Uncle John enough.

“What did they say?” asked Jack, who had been much impressed by the scenes
of the day.

“Why, one of the partners of Mr. Laurence, where Uncle John has been ever
so long, was saying that he was conscientious almost to a fault as a
business man, and above reproach in all things. Another gentleman said no
money could repay the fidelity and honesty with which Uncle John had
served him, and then Grandpa told them the best of all. Uncle John once
had a place in the office of a man who cheated, and when this man wanted
uncle to help him do it, uncle wouldn’t, though he was offered a big
salary. The man was angry and said, ‘You will never get on in business
with such strict principles;’ and uncle answered back, ‘I never will try
to get on without them,’ and left the place for a much harder and poorer
one.”

“Good!” cried several of the boys warmly, for they were in the mood to
understand and value the little story as never before.

“He wasn’t rich, was he?” asked Jack.

“No.”

“He never did any thing to make a stir in the world, did he?”

“No.”

“He was only good?”

“That’s all;” and Franz found himself wishing that Uncle John had done
something to boast of, for it was evident that Jack was disappointed by
his replies.

“Only good. That is all and every thing,” said Mr. Bhaer, who had
overheard the last few words, and guessed what was going on the minds of
the lads.

“Let me tell you a little about John Brooke, and you will see why men
honor him, and why he was satisfied to be good rather than rich or famous.
He simply did his duty in all things, and did it so cheerfully, so
faithfully, that it kept him patient and brave, and happy through poverty
and loneliness and years of hard work. He was a good son, and gave up his
own plans to stay and live with his mother while she needed him. He was a
good friend, and taught Laurie much beside his Greek and Latin, did it
unconsciously, perhaps, by showing him an example of an upright man. He
was a faithful servant, and made himself so valuable to those who employed
him that they will find it hard to fill his place. He was a good husband
and father, so tender, wise, and thoughtful, that Laurie and I learned
much of him, and only knew how well he loved his family, when we
discovered all he had done for them, unsuspected and unassisted.”

Mr. Bhaer stopped a minute, and the boys sat like statues in the moonlight
until he went on again, in a subdued, but earnest voice: “As he lay dying,
I said to him, ‘Have no care for Meg and the little ones; I will see that
they never want.’ Then he smiled and pressed my hand, and answered, in his
cheerful way, ‘No need of that; I have cared for them.’ And so he had, for
when we looked among his papers, all was in order, not a debt remained;
and safely put away was enough to keep Meg comfortable and independent.
Then we knew why he had lived so plainly, denied himself so many
pleasures, except that of charity, and worked so hard that I fear he
shortened his good life. He never asked help for himself, though often for
others, but bore his own burden and worked out his own task bravely and
quietly. No one can say a word of complaint against him, so just and
generous and kind was he; and now, when he is gone, all find so much to
love and praise and honor, that I am proud to have been his friend, and
would rather leave my children the legacy he leaves his than the largest
fortune ever made. Yes! Simple, generous goodness is the best capital to
found the business of this life upon. It lasts when fame and money fail,
and is the only riches we can take out of this world with us. Remember
that, my boys; and if you want to earn respect and confidence and love
follow in the footsteps of John Brooke.”

When Demi returned to school, after some weeks at home, he seemed to have
recovered from his loss with the blessed elasticity of childhood, and so
he had in a measure; but he did not forget, for his was a nature into
which things sank deeply, to be pondered over, and absorbed into the soil
where the small virtues were growing fast. He played and studied, worked
and sang, just as before, and few suspected any change; but there was one
and Aunt Jo saw it for she watched over the boy with her whole heart,
trying to fill John’s place in her poor way. He seldom spoke of his loss,
but Aunt Jo often heard a stifled sobbing in the little bed at night; and
when she went to comfort him, all his cry was, “I want my father! oh, I
want my father!” for the tie between the two had been a very tender one,
and the child’s heart bled when it was broken. But time was kind to him,
and slowly he came to feel that father was not lost, only invisible for a
while, and sure to be found again, well and strong and fond as ever, even
though his little son should see the purple asters blossom on his grave
many, many times before they met. To this belief Demi held fast, and in it
found both help and comfort, because it led him unconsciously through a
tender longing for the father whom he had seen to a childlike trust in the
Father whom he had not seen. Both were in heaven, and he prayed to both,
trying to be good for love of them.

The outward change corresponded to the inward, for in those few weeks Demi
seemed to have grown tall, and began to drop his childish plays, not as if
ashamed of them, as some boys do, but as if he had outgrown them, and
wanted something manlier. He took to the hated arithmetic, and held on so
steadily that his uncle was charmed, though he could not understand the
whim, until Demi said,

“I am going to be a bookkeeper when I grow up, like papa, and I must know
about figures and things, else I can’t have nice, neat ledgers like his.”

At another time he came to his aunt with a very serious face, and said

“What can a small boy do to earn money?”

“Why do you ask, my deary?”

“My father told me to take care of mother and the little girls, and I want
to, but I don’t know how to begin.”

“He did not mean now, Demi, but by and by, when you are large.”

“But I wish to begin now, if I can, because I think I ought to make some
money to buy things for the family. I am ten, and other boys no bigger
than I earn pennies sometimes.”

“Well, then, suppose you rake up all the dead leaves and cover the
strawberry bed. I’ll pay you a dollar for the job,” said Aunt Jo.

“Isn’t that a great deal? I could do it in one day. You must be fair, and
not pay too much, because I want to truly earn it.”

“My little John, I will be fair, and not pay a penny too much. Don’t work
too hard; and when that is done I will have something else for you to do,”
said Mrs. Jo, much touched by his desire to help, and his sense of
justice, so like his scrupulous father.

When the leaves were done, many barrowloads of chips were wheeled from the
wood to the shed, and another dollar earned. Then Demi helped cover the
schoolbooks, working in the evenings under Franz’s direction, tugging
patiently away at each book, letting no one help, and receiving his wages
with such satisfaction that the dingy bills became quite glorified in his
sight.

“Now, I have a dollar for each of them, and I should like to take my money
to mother all myself, so she can see that I have minded my father.”

So Demi made a duteous pilgrimage to his mother, who received his little
earnings as a treasure of great worth, and would have kept it untouched,
if Demi had not begged her to buy some useful thing for herself and the
women-children, whom he felt were left to his care.

This made him very happy, and, though he often forgot his responsibilities
for a time, the desire to help was still there, strengthening with his
years. He always uttered the words “my father” with an air of gentle
pride, and often said, as if he claimed a title full of honor, “Don’t call
me Demi any more. I am John Brooke now.” So, strengthened by a purpose and
a hope, the little lad of ten bravely began the world, and entered into
his inheritance, the memory of a wise and tender father, the legacy of an
honest name.

CHAPTER XX. ROUND THE FIRE

With the October frosts came the cheery fires in the great fireplaces; and
Demi’s dry pine-chips helped Dan’s oak-knots to blaze royally, and go
roaring up the chimney with a jolly sound. All were glad to gather round
the hearth, as the evenings grew longer, to play games, read, or lay plans
for the winter. But the favorite amusement was story-telling, and Mr. and
Mrs. Bhaer were expected to have a store of lively tales always on hand.
Their supply occasionally gave out, and then the boys were thrown upon
their own resources, which were not always successful. Ghost-parties were
the rage at one time; for the fun of the thing consisted in putting out
the lights, letting the fire die down, and then sitting in the dark, and
telling the most awful tales they could invent. As this resulted in scares
of all sorts among the boys, Tommy’s walking in his sleep on the shed
roof, and a general state of nervousness in the little ones, it was
forbidden, and they fell back on more harmless amusements.

One evening, when the small boys were snugly tucked in bed, and the older
lads were lounging about the school-room fire, trying to decide what they
should do, Demi suggested a new way of settling the question.

Seizing the hearth-brush, he marched up and down the room, saying, “Row,
row, row;” and when the boys, laughing and pushing, had got into line, he
said, “Now, I’ll give you two minutes to think of a play.” Franz was
writing, and Emil reading the Life of Lord Nelson, and neither joined the
party, but the others thought hard, and when the time was up were ready to
reply.

“Now, Tom!” and the poker softly rapped him on the head.

“Blind-man’s Buff.”

“Jack!”

“Commerce; a good round game, and have cents for the pool.”

“Uncle forbids our playing for money. Dan, what do you want?”

“Let’s have a battle between the Greeks and Romans.”

“Stuffy?”

“Roast apples, pop corn, and crack nuts.”

“Good! good!” cried several; and when the vote was taken, Stuffy’s
proposal carried the day.

Some went to the cellar for apples, some to the garret for nuts, and
others looked up the popper and the corn.

“We had better ask the girls to come in, hadn’t we?” said Demi, in a
sudden fit of politeness.

“Daisy pricks chestnuts beautifully,” put in Nat, who wanted his little
friend to share the fun.

“Nan pops corn tip-top, we must have her,” added Tommy.

“Bring in your sweethearts then, we don’t mind,” said Jack, who laughed at
the innocent regard the little people had for one another.

“You shan’t call my sister a sweetheart; it is so silly!” cried Demi, in a
way that made Jack laugh.

“She is Nat’s darling, isn’t she, old chirper?”

“Yes, if Demi don’t mind. I can’t help being fond of her, she is so good
to me,” answered Nat, with bashful earnestness, for Jack’s rough ways
disturbed him.

“Nan is my sweetheart, and I shall marry her in about a year, so don’t you
get in the way, any of you,” said Tommy, stoutly; for he and Nan had
settled their future, child-fashion, and were to live in the willow, lower
down a basket for food, and do other charmingly impossible things.

Demi was quenched by the decision of Bangs, who took him by the arm and
walked him off to get the ladies. Nan and Daisy were sewing with Aunt Jo
on certain small garments, for Mrs. Carney’s newest baby.

“Please, ma’am, could you lend us the girls for a little while? We’ll be
very careful of them,” said Tommy, winking one eye to express apples,
snapping his fingers to signify pop-corn, and gnashing his teeth to convey
the idea of nut-cracking.

The girls understood this pantomime at once, and began to pull of their
thimbles before Mrs. Jo could decide whether Tommy was going into
convulsions or was brewing some unusual piece of mischief. Demi explained
with elaboration, permission was readily granted, and the boys departed
with their prize.

“Don’t you speak to Jack,” whispered Tommy, as he and Nan promenaded down
the hall to get a fork to prick the apples.

“Why not?”

“He laughs at me, so I don’t wish you to have any thing to do with him.”

“Shall, if I like,” said Nan, promptly resenting this premature assumption
of authority on the part of her lord.

“Then I won’t have you for my sweetheart.”

“I don’t care.”

“Why, Nan, I thought you were fond of me!” and Tommy’s voice was full of
tender reproach.

“If you mind Jack’s laughing I don’t care for you one bit.”

“Then you may take back your old ring; I won’t wear it any longer;” and
Tommy plucked off a horsehair pledge of affection which Nan had given him
in return for one made of a lobster’s feeler.

“I shall give it to Ned,” was her cruel reply; for Ned liked Mrs.
Giddy-gaddy, and had turned her clothespins, boxes, and spools enough to
set up housekeeping with.

Tommy said, “Thunder turtles!” as the only vent equal to the pent-up
anguish of the moment, and, dropping Nan’s arm, retired in high dudgeon,
leaving her to follow with the fork, a neglect which naughty Nan punished
by proceeding to prick his heart with jealousy as if it were another sort
of apple.

The hearth was swept, and the rosy Baldwins put down to roast. A shovel
was heated, and the chestnuts danced merrily upon it, while the corn
popped wildly in its wire prison. Dan cracked his best walnuts, and every
one chattered and laughed, while the rain beat on the window-pane and the
wind howled round the house.

“Why is Billy like this nut?” asked Emil, who was frequently inspired with
bad conundrums.

“Because he is cracked,” answered Ned.

“That’s not fair; you mustn’t make fun of Billy, because he can’t hit back
again. It’s mean,” cried Dan, smashing a nut wrathfully.

“To what family of insects does Blake belong?” asked peacemaker Franz,
seeing that Emil looked ashamed and Dan lowering.

“Gnats,” answered Jack.

“Why is Daisy like a bee?” cried Nat, who had been wrapt in thought for
several minutes.

“Because she is queen of the hive,” said Dan.

“No.”

“Because she is sweet.”

“Bees are not sweet.”

“Give it up.”

“Because she makes sweet things, is always busy, and likes flowers,” said
Nat, piling up his boyish compliments till Daisy blushed like a rosy
clover.