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Title: Little Men: Life at Plumfield With Jo's Boys

Author: Louisa May Alcott

Release date: August 1, 2001 [eBook #2788]
Most recently updated: July 12, 2024

Language: English

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Credits: David Reed, and David Widger

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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.

“You'll see,” was all Asia would say; and Sally went off in great
spirits, singing a verse from dear Mary Howitt's sweet story in rhyme:

“Away went little Mabel,
With the wheaten cake so fine,

The new-made pot of butter,
And the little flask of wine.”

“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.

“I thought you were too sensible to play such a silly game as this. If
I had any Kitty-mouse I'd have a good one who liked you to play in safe
pleasant ways, and not destroy and frighten. Just see what a ruin you
have made; all Daisy's pretty dolls, Demi's soldiers, and Rob's new
village beside poor Teddy's pet lamb, and dear old Annabella. I shall
have to write up in the nursery the verse that used to come in the boxes
of toys,

“The children of Holland take pleasure in making,
What the children of Boston take pleasure in breaking.”

“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—

“Gaily the troubadour
Touched his guitar,
As he was hastening
Home from the war.”

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:—

“Cushy cow, bonny, let down your milk,
Let down your milk to me,
And I will give you a gown of silk,
A gown of silk and a silver tee.”

But the immortal rhyme had little effect, for the benevolent cow had
already been milked, and had only half a gill to give the thirsty children.

“Shoo! get away! you are an old cross patch,” cried Nan, ungratefully, as
she gave up the attempt in despair; and poor Molly walked on with a gentle
gurgle of surprise and reproof.
“Each can have a sip, and then we must take a walk. We shall go to sleep
if we don't; and lost people mustn't sleep. Don't you know how Hannah Lee
in the pretty story slept under the snow and died?”
“But there isn't any snow now, and it's nice and warm,” said Rob, who
was not blessed with as lively a fancy as Nan.
“No matter, we will poke about a little, and call some more; and then, if
nobody comes, we will hide under the bushes, like Hop-'o-my-thumb and
his brothers.”
It was a very short walk, however, for Rob was so sleepy he could not get
on, and tumbled down so often that Nan entirely lost patience, being half
distracted by the responsibility she had taken upon herself.
“If you tumble down again, I'll shake you,” she said, lifting the poor little
man up very kindly as she spoke, for Nan's bark was much worse than her
bite.
“Please don't. It's my boots they keep slipping so;” and Rob manfully
checked the sob just ready to break out, adding, with a plaintive patience
that touched Nan's heart, “If the skeeters didn't bite me so, I could go to
sleep till Marmar comes.”
“Put your head on my lap, and I'll cover you up with my apron; I'm not
afraid of the night,” said Nan, sitting down and trying to persuade herself
that she did not mind the shadow nor the mysterious rustlings all about her.
“Wake me up when she comes,” said rob, and was fast asleep in five
minutes with his head in Nan's lap under the pinafore.
The little girl sat for some fifteen minutes, staring about her with anxious
eyes, and feeling as if each second was an hour. Then a pale light began to
glimmer over the hill-top and she said to herself,
“I guess the night is over and morning is coming. I'd like to see the sun
rise, so I'll watch, and when it comes up we can find our way right home.”
But before the moon's round face peeped above the hill to destroy her
hope, Nan had fallen asleep, leaning back in a little bower of tall ferns, and
was deep in a mid-summer night's dream of fire-flies and blue aprons,

mountains of huckleberries, and Robby wiping away the tears of a black
cow, who sobbed, “I want to go home! I want to go home!”
While the children were sleeping, peacefully lulled by the drowsy hum of
many neighborly mosquitoes, the family at home were in a great state of
agitation. The hay-cart came at five, and all but Jack, Emil, Nan, and Rob
were at the bars ready for it. Franz drove instead of Silas, and when the
boys told him that the others were going home through the wood, he said,
looking ill-pleased, “They ought to have left Rob to ride, he will be tired
out by the long walk.”
“It's shorter that way, and they will carry him,” said Stuffy, who was in a
hurry for his supper.
“You are sure Nan and Rob went with them?”
“Of course they did; I saw them getting over the wall, and sung out that it
was most five, and Jack called back that they were going the other way,”
explained Tommy.
“Very well, pile in then,” and away rattled the hay-cart with the tired
children and the full pails.
Mrs. Jo looked sober when she heard of the division of the party, and sent
Franz back with Toby to find and bring the little ones home. Supper was
over, and the family sitting about in the cool hall as usual, when Franz came
trotting back, hot, dusty, and anxious.
“Have they come?” he called out when half-way up the avenue.
“No!” and Mrs. Jo flew out of her chair looking so alarmed that every
one jumped up and gathered round Franz.
“I can't find them anywhere,” he began; but the words were hardly
spoken when a loud “Hullo!” startled them all, and the next minute Jack
and Emil came round the house.
“Where are Nan and Rob?” cried Mrs. Jo, clutching Emil in a way that
caused him to think his aunt had suddenly lost her wits.
“I don't know. They came home with the others, didn't they?” he
answered, quickly.
“No; George and Tommy said they went with you.”
“Well, they didn't. Haven't seen them. We took a swim in the pond, and
came by the wood,” said Jack, looking alarmed, as well he might.

“Call Mr. Bhaer, get the lanterns, and tell Silas I want him.”
That was all Mrs. Jo said, but they knew what she meant, and flew to
obey her orders. In ten minutes, Mr. Bhaer and Silas were off to the wood,
and Franz tearing down the road on old Andy to search the great pasture.
Mrs. Jo caught up some food from the table, a little bottle of brandy from
the medicine-closet, took a lantern, and bidding Jack and Emil come with
her, and the rest not stir, she trotted away on Toby, never stopping for hat or
shawl. She heard some one running after her, but said not a word till, as she
paused to call and listen, the light of her lantern shone on Dan's face.
“You here! I told Jack to come,” she said, half-inclined to send him back,
much as she needed help.
“I wouldn't let him; he and Emil hadn't had any supper, and I wanted to
come more than they did,” he said, taking the lantern from her and smiling
up in her face with the steady look in his eyes that made her feel as if, boy
though he was, she had some one to depend on.
Off she jumped, and ordered him on to Toby, in spite of his pleading to
walk; then they went on again along the dusty, solitary road, stopping every
now and then to call and hearken breathlessly for little voices to reply.
When they came to the great pasture, other lights were already flitting to
and fro like will-o'-the-wisps, and Mr. Bhaer's voice was heard shouting,
“Nan! Rob! Rob! Nan!” in every part of the field. Silas whistled and roared,
Dan plunged here and there on Toby, who seemed to understand the case,
and went over the roughest places with unusual docility. Often Mrs. Jo
hushed them all, saying, with a sob in her throat, “The noise may frighten
them, let me call; Robby will know my voice;” and then she would cry out
the beloved little name in every tone of tenderness, till the very echoes
whispered it softly, and the winds seemed to waft it willingly; but still no
answer came.
The sky was overcast now, and only brief glimpses of the moon were
seen, heat-lightening darted out of the dark clouds now and then, and a faint
far-off rumble as of thunder told that a summer-storm was brewing.
“O my Robby! my Robby!” mourned poor Mrs. Jo, wandering up and
down like a pale ghost, while Dan kept beside her like a faithful fire-fly.
“What shall I say to Nan's father if she comes to harm? Why did I ever trust
my darling so far away? Fritz, do you hear any thing?” and when a
mournful, “No” came back, she wrung her hands so despairingly that Dan

sprung down from Toby's back, tied the bridle to the bars, and said, in his
decided way,
“They may have gone down the spring I'm going to look.”
He was over the wall and away so fast that she could hardly follow him;
but when she reached the spot, he lowered the lantern and showed her with
joy the marks of little feet in the soft ground about the spring. She fell down
on her knees to examine the tracks, and then sprung up, saying eagerly,
“Yes; that is the mark of my Robby's little boots! Come this way, they
must have gone on.”
Such a weary search! But now some inexplicable instinct seemed to lead
the anxious mother, for presently Dan uttered a cry, and caught up a little
shining object lying in the path. It was the cover of the new tin pail,
dropped in the first alarm of being lost. Mrs. Jo hugged and kissed it as if it
were a living thing; and when Dan was about to utter a glad shout to bring
the others to the spot, she stopped him, saying, as she hurried on, “No, let
me find them; I let Rob go, and I want to give him back to his father all
myself.”
A little farther on Nan's hat appeared, and after passing the place more
than once, they came at last upon the babes in the wood, both sound asleep.
Dan never forgot the little picture on which the light of his lantern shone
that night. He thought Mrs. Jo would cry out, but she only whispered,
“Hush!” as she softly lifted away the apron, and saw the little ruddy face
below. The berry-stained lips were half-open as the breath came and went,
the yellow hair lay damp on the hot forehead, and both the chubby hands
held fast the little pail still full.
The sight of the childish harvest, treasured through all the troubles of that
night for her, seemed to touch Mrs. Jo to the heart, for suddenly she
gathered up her boy, and began to cry over him, so tenderly, yet so heartily,
that he woke up, and at first seemed bewildered. Then he remembered, and
hugged her close, saying with a laugh of triumph,
“I knew you'd come! O Marmar! I did want you so!” For a moment they
kissed and clung to one another, quite forgetting all the world; for no matter
how lost and soiled and worn-out wandering sons may be, mothers can
forgive and forget every thing as they fold them in their fostering arms.
Happy the son whose faith in his mother remains unchanged, and who,

through all his wanderings, has kept some filial token to repay her brave
and tender love.
Dan meantime picked Nan out of her bush, and, with a gentleness none
but Teddy ever saw in him before, he soothed her first alarm at the sudden
waking, and wiped away her tears; for Nan also began to cry for joy, it was
so good to see a kind face and feel a strong arm round her after what
seemed to her ages of loneliness and fear.
“My poor little girl, don't cry! You are all safe now, and no one shall say
a word of blame to-night,” said Mrs. Jo, taking Nan into her capacious
embrace, and cuddling both children as a hen might gather her lost chickens
under her motherly wings.
“It was my fault; but I am sorry. I tried to take care of him, and I covered
him up and let him sleep, and didn't touch his berries, though I was so
hungry; and I never will do it again truly, never, never,” sobbed Nan, quite
lost in a sea of penitence and thankfulness.
“Call them now, and let us get home,” said Mrs. Jo; and Dan, getting
upon the wall, sent a joyful word “Found!” ringing over the field.
How the wandering lights came dancing from all sides, and gathered
round the little group among the sweet fern bushes! Such a hugging, and
kissing, and talking, and crying, as went on must have amazed the
glowworms, and evidently delighted the mosquitoes, for they hummed
frantically, while the little moths came in flocks to the party, and the frogs
croaked as if they could not express their satisfaction loudly enough.
Then they set out for home, a 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:

“I write about the butterfly,
It is a pretty thing;
And flies about like the birds,
But it does not sing.
“First it is a little grub,
And then it is a nice yellow cocoon,
And then the butterfly
Eats its way out soon.
“They live on dew and honey,
They do not have any hive,
They do not sting like wasps, and bees, and hornets,
And to be as good as they are we should strive.
“I should like to be a beautiful butterfly,
All yellow, and blue, and green, and red;

But I should not like
To have Dan put camphor on my poor little head.”

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,

“I wish I had a quiet tomb,
Beside a little rill;
Where birds, and bees, and butterflies,
Would sing upon the hill.”

“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:—

“Little drops of water,
Little drains of sand,
Mate a mighty okum (ocean),
And a peasant land.
“Little worts of kindness,
Pokin evvy day,
Make a home a hebbin,
And hep us on a way.”

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,

“Lucullus, whom frugality could charm,
Ate roasted turnips at the Sabine farm.”

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