Little Men: Life At Plumfield With Jo's Boys

By

Louisa May Alcott

www.freeclassicebooks.com

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"

LITTLE MEN

Life at Plumfield with Jo's Boys

Contents

CHAPTER I NAT. 5

CHAPTER II THE BOYS. 18

CHAPTER III SUNDAY. 25

CHAPTER IV STEPPING-STONES. 41

CHAPTER V PATTYPANS. 51

CHAPTER VI A FIRE BRAND.. 68

CHAPTER VII NAUGHTY NAN.. 86

CHAPTER VIII PRANKS AND PLAYS. 96

CHAPTER IX DAISY'S BALL. 106

CHAPTER X HOME AGAIN.. 118

CHAPTER XI UNCLE TEDDY. 133

CHAPTER XII HUCKLEBERRIES. 145

CHAPTER XIII GOLDILOCKS. 167

CHAPTER XIV DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 174

CHAPTER XV IN THE WILLOW... 192

CHAPTER XVI TAMING THE COLT. 208

CHAPTER XVII COMPOSITION DAY. 217

CHAPTER XVIII CROPS. 229

CHAPTER XIX JOHN BROOKE. 237

CHAPTER XX ROUND THE FIRE. 248

CHAPTER XXI THANKSGIVING.. 267

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 prot‚g‚.

"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 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, bbchen, 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 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 he boys but Dan ran after him to see who  should be first to open the gate, and in a moment the carriage  drove up with boys swarming all over it, while Uncle Teddy sat  laughing in the midst, with his little daughter on his knee.

"Stop the triumphal car and let Jupiter descend," he said, and  jumping out ran up the steps to meet Mrs. Bhaer, who stood  smiling and clapping her hands like a girl.

"How goes it, Teddy?"

"All right, Jo."

Then they shook hands, and Mr. Laurie put Bess into her aunt's  arms, saying, as the child hugged her tight, "Goldilocks wanted to  see you so much that I ran away with her, for I was quite pining for  a sight of you myself. We want to play with your boys for an hour  or so, and to see how 'the old woman who lived in a shoe, and had  so many children she did not know what to do,' is getting on."

"I'm so glad! Play away, and don't get into mischief," answered  Mrs. Jo, as the lads crowded round the pretty child, admiring her  long golden hair, dainty dress, and lofty ways, for the little  "Princess," as they called her, allowed no one to kiss her, but sat  smiling down upon them, and graciously patting their heads with  her little, white hands. They all adored her, especially Rob, who  considered her a sort of doll, and dared not touch her lest she  should break, but worshipped her at a respectful distance, made  happy by an occasional mark of favor from her little highness. As  she immediately demanded to see Daisy's kitchen, she was borne  off by Mrs. Jo, with a train of small boys following. The others, all  but Nat and Demi, ran away to the menagerie and gardens to have  all in order; for Mr. Laurie always took a general survey, and  looked disappointed if things were not flourishing.

Standing on the steps, he turned to Dan, saying like an old  acquaintance, though he had only seen him once or twice before,

"How is the foot?"

"Better, sir."

"Rather tired of the house, aren't you?"

"Guess I am!" and Dan's eyes roved away to the green hills and  woods where he longed to be.

"Suppose we take a little turn before the others come back? That  big, easy carriage will be quite safe and comfortable, and a breath  of fresh air will do you good. Get a cushion and a shawl, Demi,  and let's carry Dan off."

The boys thought it a capital joke, and Dan looked delighted, but  asked, with an unexpected burst of virtue,

"Will Mrs. Bhaer like it?"

"Oh, yes; we settled all that a minute ago."

"You didn't say any thing about it, so I don't see how you could,"  said Demi, inquisitively.

"We have a way of sending messages to one another, without any  words. It is a great improvement on the telegraph."

"I know it's eyes; I saw you lift your eyebrows, and nod toward the  carriage, and Mrs. Bhaer laughed and nodded back again," cried  Nat, who was quite at his ease with kind Mr. Laurie by this time.

"Right. Now them, come on," and in a minute Dan found himself  settled in the carriage, his foot on a cushion on the seat opposite,  nicely covered with a shawl, which fell down from the upper  regions in a most mysterious manner, just when they wanted it.  Demi climbed up to the box beside Peter, the black coachman. Nat  sat next Dan in the place of honor, while Uncle Teddy would sit  opposite, to take care of the foot, he said, but really that he might  study the faces before him both so happy, yet so different, for  Dan's was square, and brown, and strong, while Nat's was long,  and fair, and rather weak, but very amiable with its mild eyes and  good forehead.

"By the way, I've got a book somewhere here that you may like to  see," said the oldest boy of the party, diving under the seat and  producing a book which make Dan exclaim,

"Oh! by George, isn't that a stunner?" as he turned the leaves, and  saw fine plates of butterflies, and birds, and every sort of  interesting insect, colored like life. He was so charmed that he  forgot his thanks, but Mr. Laurie did not mind, and was quite  satisfied to see the boy's eager delight, and to hear this  exclamations over certain old friends as he came to them. Nat  leaned on his shoulder to look, and Demi turned his back to the  horses, and let his feet dangle inside the carriage, so that he might  join in the conversation.

When they got among the beetles, Mr. Laurie took a curious little  object out of his vest-pocket, and laying it in the palm of his hand,  said,

"There's a beetle that is thousands of years old;" and then, while  the lads examined the 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 money for  Tommy, a flower for Daisy, a hoop for Nan, who had driven twice  round the triangle without stopping, a star for Emil, who put on  airs because he studied astronomy, and, best of all, an omnibus for  Franz, whose great delight was to drive the family bus. Stuffy got a  fat pig, and the little folks had birds, and cats, and rabbits, with  black currant eyes.

"Now I must go. Where is my Goldilocks? Mamma will come  flying out to get her if I'm not back early," said Uncle Teddy, when  the last crumb had vanished, which it speedily did, you may be  sure.

The young ladies had gone into the garden, and while they waited  till Franz looked them up, Jo and Laurie stood at the door talking  together.

"How does little Giddy-gaddy come on?" he asked, for Nan's  pranks amused him very much, and he was never tired of teasing  Jo about her.

"Nicely; she is getting quite mannerly, and begins to see the error  of her wild ways."

"Don't the boys encourage her in them?"

"Yes; but I keep talking, and lately she has improved much. You  saw how prettily she shook hands with you, and how gentle she  was with Bess. Daisy's example has its effect upon her, and I'm  quite sure that a few months will work wonders."

Here Mrs. Jo's remarks were cut short by the appearance of Nan  tearing round the corner at a break-neck pace, driving a  mettlesome team of four boys, and followed by Daisy trundling  Bess in a wheelbarrow. Hat off, hair flying, whip cracking, and  barrow bumping, up they came in a cloud of dust, looking as wild  a set of little hoydens as one would wish to see.

"So, these are the model children, are they? It's lucky I didn't bring  Mrs. Curtis out to see your school for the cultivation of morals and  manners; she would never have recovered from the shock of this  spectacle," said Mr. Laurie, laughing at Mrs. Jo's premature  rejoicing over Nan's improvement.

"Laugh away; I'll succeed yet. As you used to say at College,  quoting some professor, 'Though the experiment has failed, the  principle remains the same,' " said Mrs. Bhaer, joining in the  merriment.

"I'm afraid Nan's example is taking effect upon Daisy, instead of  the other way. Look at my little princess! she has utterly forgotten  her dignity, and is screaming like the rest. Young ladies, what does  this mean?" and Mr. Laurie rescued his small daughter from  impending destruction, for the four horses were champing their  bits and curvetting madly all about her, as she sat brandishing a  great whip in both hands.

"We're having a race, and I beat," shouted Nan.

"I could have run faster, only I was afraid of spilling Bess,"  screamed Daisy.

"Hi! go long!" cried the princess, giving such a flourish with her  whip that the horses ran away, and were seen no more.

"My precious child! come away from this ill-mannered crew  before you are quite spoilt. Good-by, Jo! Next time I come, I shall  expect to find the boys making patchwork."

"It wouldn't hurt them a bit. I don't give in, mind you; for my  experiments always fail a few times before they succeed. Love to  Amy and my blessed Marmee," called Mrs. Jo, as the carriage  drove away; and the last Mr. Laurie saw of her, she was consoling  Daisy for her failure by a ride in the wheelbarrow, and looking as  if she liked it.

Great was the excitement all the week about the repairs in the  carriage-house, which went briskly on in spite of the incessant  questions, advice, and meddling of the boys. Old Gibbs was nearly  driven wild with it all, but managed to do his work nevertheless;  and by Friday night the place was all in order roof mended, shelves  up, walls whitewashed, a great window cut at the back, which let  in a flood of sunshine, and gave them a fine view of the brook, the  meadows, and the distant hills; and over the great door, painted in  red letters, was "The Laurence Museum."

All Saturday morning the boys were planning how it should be  furnished with their spoils, and when Mr. Laurie arrived, bringing  an aquarium which Mrs. Amy said she was tired of, their rapture  was great.

The afternoon was spent in arranging things, and when the running  and lugging and hammering was over, the ladies were invited to  behold the institution.

It certainly was a pleasant place, airy, clean, and bright. A  hop-vine shook its green bells round the open window, the pretty  aquarium stood in the middle of the room, with some delicate  water plants rising above the water, and gold-fish showing their  brightness as they floated to and fro below. On either side of the  window were rows of shelves ready to receive the curiosities yet to  be found. Dan's tall cabinet stood before the great door which was  fastened up, while the small door was to be used. On the cabinet  stood a 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 no presented by Mrs. Jo. The walls were  decorated with all sorts of things. A snake's skin, a big wasp's nest,  a birch-bark canoe, a string of birds' eggs, wreaths of gray moss  from the South, and a bunch of cotton-pods. The dead bats had a  place, also a large turtle-shell, and an ostrich-egg proudly  presented by Demi, who volunteered to explain these rare  curiosities to guests whenever they liked. There were so many  stones that it was impossible to accept them all, so only a few of  the best were arranged among the shells on the shelves, the rest  were piled up in corners, to be examined by Dan at his leisure.

Every one was eager to give something, even Silas, who sent home  for a stuffed wild-cat killed in his youth. It was rather moth-eaten  and shabby, but on a high bracket and best side foremost the effect  was fine, for the yellow glass eyes glared, and the mouth snarled  so naturally, that Teddy shook in his little shoes at sight of it, when  he came bringing his most cherished treasure, one cocoon, to lay  upon the shrine of science.

"Isn't it beautiful? I'd no idea we had so many curious things. I  gave that; don't it look well? We might make a lot by charging  something for letting folks see it."

Jack added that last suggestion to the general chatter that went on  as the family viewed the room.

"This is a free museum and if there is any speculating on it I'll  paint out the name over the door," said Mr. Laurie, turning so  quickly that Jack wished he had held his tongue.

"Hear! hear!" cried Mr. Bhaer.

"Speech! speech!" added Mrs. Jo.

"Can't, I'm too bashful. You give them a lecture yourself you are  used to it," Mr. Laurie answered, retreating towards the window,  meaning to escape. But she held him fast, and said, laughing as she  looked at the dozen pairs of dirty hands about her,

"If I did lecture, it would on the chemical and cleansing properties  of soap. Come now, as the founder of the institution, you really  ought to give us a few moral remarks, and we will applaud  tremendously."

Seeing that there was no way of escaping, Mr. Laurie looked up at  Polly hanging overhead, seemed to find inspiration in the brilliant  old bird, and sitting down upon the table, said, in his pleasant way,

"There is one thing I'd like to suggest, boys, and that is, I want you  to get some good as well as much pleasure out of this. Just putting  curious or pretty things here won't do it; so suppose you read up  about them, so that when anybody asks questions you can answer  them, and understand the matter. I used to like these things myself,  and should enjoy hearing about them now, for I've forgotten all I  once knew. It wasn't much, was it, Jo? Here's Dan now, full of  stories about birds, and bugs, and so on; let him take care of the  museum, and once a week the rest of you take turns to read a  composition, or tell about some animal, mineral, or vegetable. We  should all like that, and I think it would put considerable useful  knowledge into our heads. What do you say, Professor?"

"I like it much, and will give the lads all the help I can. But they  will need books to read up these new subjects, and we have not  many, I fear," began Mr. Bhaer, looking much pleased, planning  many fine lectures on geology, which he liked. "We should have a  library for the special purpose."

"Is that a useful sort of book, Dan?" asked Mr. Laurie, pointing to  the volume that lay open by the cabinet.

"Oh, yes! it tells all I want to know about insects. I had it here to  see how to fix the butterflies right. I covered it, so it is not hurt;"  and Dan caught it up, fearing the lender might think him careless.

"Give it here a minute;" and, pulling out his pencil, Mr. Laurie  wrote Dan's name in it, saying, as he set the book up on one of the  corner shelves, where nothing stood but a stuffed bird without a  tail, "There, that is the beginning of the museum library. I'll hunt  up some more books, and Demi shall keep them in order. Where  are those jolly little books we used to read, Jo? 'Insect Architecture'  or some such name, all about ants having battles, and bees having  queens, and crickets eating holes in our clothes and stealing milk,  and larks of that sort."

"In the garret at home. I'll have them sent out, and we will plunge  into Natural History with a will," said Mrs. Jo, ready for any thing.

"Won't it be hard to write about such things?" asked Nat, who  hated compositions.

"At first, perhaps; but you will soon like it. If you think that hard,  how would you like to have this subject given to you, as it was to a  girl of thirteen: A conversation between Themistocles, Aristides,  and Pericles on the proposed appropriation of funds of the  confederacy of Delos for the ornamentation of Athens?" said Mrs.  Jo.

The boys groaned at the mere sound of the long names, and the  gentlemen laughed at the absurdity of the lesson.

"Did she write it?" asked Demi, in an awe-stricken tone.

"Yes, but you can imagine what a piece of work she make of it,  though she was rather a bright child."

"I'd like to have seen it," said Mr. Bhaer.

"Perhaps I can find it for you; I went to school with her," and Mrs.  Jo looked so wicked that every one knew who the little girl was.

Hearing of this fearful subject for a composition quite reconciled  the boys to the thought of writing about familiar things.  Wednesday afternoon was appointed for the lectures, as they  preferred to call them, for some chose to talk instead of write. Mr.  Bhaer promised a portfolio in which the written productions  should be kept, and Mrs. Bhaer said she would attend the course  with great pleasure.

Then the dirty-handed society went off the wash, followed by the  Professor, trying to calm the anxiety of Rob, who had been told by  Tommy that all water was full of invisible pollywogs.

"I like your plan very much, only don't be too generous, Teddy,"  said Mrs. Bhaer, when they were left alone. "You know most of  the boys have got to paddle their own canoes when they leave us,  and too much sitting in the lap of luxury will unfit them for it."

"I'll be moderate, but do let me amuse myself. I get desperately  tired of business sometimes, and nothing freshens me up like a  good frolic with your boys. I like that Dan very much, Jo. He isn't  demonstrative; but he has the eye of a hawk, and when you have  tamed him a little he will do you credit."

"I'm so glad you think so. Thank you very much for your kindness  to him, especially for this museum affair; it will keep him happy  while he is lame, give me a chance to soften and smooth this poor,  rough lad, and make him love us. What did inspire you with such a  beautiful, helpful idea, Teddy?" asked Mrs. Bhaer, glancing back  at the pleasant room, as she turned to leave it.

Laurie took both her hands in his, and answered, with a look that  made her eyes fill with happy tears,

"Dear Jo! I have known what it is to be a motherless boy, and I  never can forget how much you and yours have done for me all  these years."

CHAPTER XII HUCKLEBERRIES

There was a great clashing of tin pails, much running to and fro,  and frequent demands for something to eat, one August afternoon,  for the boys were going huckleberrying, and made as much stir  about it as if they were setting out to find the North West Passage.

"Now, my lads, get off as quietly as you can, for Rob is safely out  of the way, and won't see you," said Mrs. Bhaer, as she tied Daisy's  broad-brimmed hat, and settled the great blue pinafore in which  she had enveloped Nan.

But the plan did not succeed, for Rob had heard the bustle, decided  to go, and prepared himself, without a thought of disappointment.  The troop was just getting under way when the little man came  marching downstairs with his best hat on, a bright tin pail in his  hand, and a face beaming with satisfaction.

"Oh, dear! now we shall have a scene," sighed Mrs. Bhaer, who  found her eldest son very hard to manage at times.

"I'm all ready," said Rob, and took his place in the ranks with such  perfect unconsciousness of his mistake, that it really was very hard  to undeceive him.

"It's too far for you, my love; stay and take care of me, for I shall  be all alone," began his mother.

"You've got Teddy. I'm a big boy, so I can go; you said I might  when I was bigger, and I am now," persisted Rob, with a cloud  beginning to dim the brightness of his happy face.

"We are going up to the great pasture, and it's ever so far; we don't  want you tagging on," cried Jack, who did not admire the little  boys.

"I won't tag, I'll run and keep up. O Mamma! let me go! I want to  fill my new pail, and I'll bring 'em all to you. Please, please, I will  be good!" prayed Robby, looking up at his mother, so grieved and  disappointed that her heart began to fail her.

"But, my deary, you'll get so tired and hot you won't have a good  time. Wait till I go, and then we will stay all day, and pick as many  berries as you want."

"You never do go, you are so busy, and I'm tired of waiting. I'd  rather go and get the berries for you all myself. I love to pick 'em,  and I want to fill my new pail dreffly," sobbed Rob.

The pathetic sight of great tears tinkling into the dear new pail,  and threatening to fill it with salt water instead of huckleberries,  touched all the ladies present. His mother patted the weeper on his  back; Daisy offered to stay home with him; and Nan said, in her  decided way,

"Let him come; I'll take care of him."

"If Franz was going I wouldn't mind, for he is very careful; but he  is haying with the father, and I'm not sure about the rest of you,"  began Mrs. Bhaer.

"It's so far," put in Jack.

"I'd carry him if I was going wish I was," said Dan, with a sigh.

"Thank you, dear, but you must take care of your foot. I wish I  could go. Stop a minute, I think I can manage it after all;" and Mrs.  Bhaer ran out to the steps, waving her apron wildly.

Silas was just driving away in the hay-cart, but turned back, and  agreed at once, when Mrs. Jo proposed that he should take the  whole party to the pasture, and go for them at five o'clock.

"It will delay your work a little, but never mind; we will pay you in  huckleberry pies," said Mrs. Jo, knowing Silas's weak point.

His rough, brown face brightened up, and he said, with a cheery  "Haw! haw!" "Wal now, Mis' Bhaer, if you go to bribin' of me, I  shall give in right away."

"Now, boys, I have arranged it so that you can all go," said Mrs.  Bhaer, running back again, much relieved, for she loved to make  them happy, and always felt miserable when she had disturbed the  serenity of her little sons; for she believed that the small hopes and  plans and pleasures of children should be tenderly respected by  grown-up people, and never rudely thwarted or ridiculed.

"Can I go?" said Dan, delighted.

"I thought especially of you. Be careful, and never mind the  berries, but sit about and enjoy the lovely things which you know  how to find all about you," answered Mrs. Bhaer, who  remembered his kind offer to her boy.

"Me too! me too!" sung Rob, dancing with joy, and clapping his  precious pail and cover like castanets.

"Yes, and Daisy and Nan must take good care of you. Be at the  bars at five o'clock, and Silas will come for you all."

Robby cast himself upon his mother in a burst of gratitude,  promising to bring her every berry he picked, and not eat one.  Then they were all packed into the hay-cart, and went rattling  away, the brightest face among the dozen being that of Rob, as he  sat between his two temporary little mothers, beaming upon the  whole world, and waving his best hat; for his indulgent mamma  had not the heart to bereave him of it, since this was a gala-day to  him.

Such a happy afternoon as they had, in spite of the mishaps which  usually occur on such expeditions! Of course Tommy came to  grief, tumbled upon a hornet's nest and got stung; but being used to  woe, he bore the smart manfully, till Dan suggested the application  of damp earth, which much assuaged the pain. Daisy saw a snake,  and flying from it lost half her berries; but Demi helped her to fill  up again, and discussed reptiles most learnedly the while. Ned fell  out of a tree, and split his jacket down the back, but suffered no  other fracture. Emil and Jack established rival claims to a certain  thick patch, and while they were squabbling about it, Stuffy  quickly and quietly stripped the bushes and fled to the protection  of Dan, who was enjoying himself immensely. The crutch was no  longer necessary, and he was delighted to see how strong his foot  felt as he roamed about the great pasture, full of interesting rocks  and stumps, with familiar little creatures in the grass, and  well-known insects dancing in the air.

But of all the adventures that happened on this afternoon that  which befell Nan and Rob was the most exciting, and it long  remained one of the favorite histories of the household. Having  explored the country pretty generally, torn three rents in her frock,  and scratched her face in a barberry-bush, Nan began to pick the  berries that shone like big, black beads on the low, green bushes.  Her nimble fingers flew, but still her basket did not fill up as  rapidly as she desired, so she kept wandering here and there to  search for better places, instead of picking contentedly and steadily  as Daisy did. Rob followed Nan, for her energy suited him better  than his cousin's patience, and he too was anxious to have the  biggest and best berries for Marmar.

"I keep putting 'em in, but it don't fill up, and I'm so tired," said  Rob, pausing a moment to rest his short legs, and beginning to  think huckleberrying was not all his fancy painted it; for the sun  blazed, Nan skipped hither and thither like a grasshopper, and the  berries fell out of his pail almost as fast as he put them in, because,  in his struggles with the bushes, it was often upside-down.

"Last time we came they were ever so much thicker over that wall  great bouncers; and there is a cave there where the boys made a  fire. Let's go and fill our things quick, and then hide in the cave  and let the others find us," proposed Nan, thirsting for adventures.

Rob consented, and away they went, scrambling over the wall and  running down the sloping fields on the other side, till they were  hidden among the rocks and underbrush. The berries were thick,  and at last the pails were actually full. It was shady and cool down  there, and a little spring gave the thirsty children a refreshing drink  out of its mossy cup.

"Now we will go and rest in the cave, and eat our lunch," said Nan,  well satisfied with her success so far.

"Do you know the way?" asked Rob.

"'Course I do; I've been once, and I always remember. Didn't I go  and get my box all right?"

That convinced Rob, and he followed blindly as Nan led him over  stock and stone, and brought him, after much meandering, to a  small recess in the rock, where the blackened stones showed that  fires had been made.

"Now, isn't it nice?" asked Nan, as she took out a bit of  bread-and-butter, rather damaged by being mixed up with nails,  fishhooks, stones and other foreign substances, in the young lady's  pocket.

"Yes; do you think they will find us soon?" asked Rob, who found  the shadowy glen rather dull, and began to long for more society.

"No, I don't; because if I hear them, I shall hide, and have fun  making them find me."

"P'raps they won't come."

"Don't care; I can get home myself."

"Is it a great way?" asked Rob, looking at his little stubby boots,  scratched and wet with his long wandering.

"It's six miles, I guess." Nan's ideas of distance were vague, and her  faith in her own powers great.

"I think we better go now," suggested Rob, presently.

"I shan't till I have picked over my berries;" and Nan began what  seemed to Rob an endless task.

"Oh, dear! you said you'd take good care of me," he sighed, as the  sun seemed to drop behind the hill all of a sudden.

"Well I am taking good care of you as hard as I can. Don't be cross,  child; I'll go in a minute," said Nan, who considered five-year-old  Robby a mere infant compared to herself.

So little Rob sat looking anxiously about him, and waiting  patiently, for, spite of some misgivings, he felt great confidence in  Nan.

"I guess it's going to be night pretty soon," he observed, as if to  himself, as a mosquito bit him, and the frogs in a neighboring  marsh began to pipe up for the evening concert.

"My goodness me! so it is. Come right away this minute, or they  will be gone," cried Nan, looking up from her work, and suddenly  perceiving that the sun was down.

"I heard a horn about an hour ago; may be they were blowing for  us," said Rob, trudging after his guide as she scrambled up the  steep hill.

"Where was it?" asked Nan, stopping short.

"Over that way;" he pointed with a dirty little finger in an entirely  wrong direction.

"Let's go that way and meet them;" and Nan wheeled about, and  began to trot through the bushes, feeling a trifle anxious, for there  were so many cow-paths all about she could not remember which  way they came.

On they went over stock and stone again, pausing now and then to  listen for the horn, which did not blow any more, for it was only  the moo of a cow on her way home.

"I don't remember seeing that pile of stones do you?" asked Nan, as  she sat on a wall to rest a moment and take an observation.

"I don't remember any thing, but I want to go home," and Rob's  voice had a little tremble in it that made Nan put her arms round  him and lift him gently down, saying, in her most capable way,

"I'm going just as fast as I can, dear. Don't cry, and when we come  to the road, I'll carry you."

"Where is the road?" and Robby wiped his eyes to look for it.

"Over by that big tree. Don't you know that's the one Ned tumbled  out of?"

"So it is. May be they waited for us; I'd like to ride home wouldn't  you?" and Robby brightened up as he plodded along toward the  end of the great pasture.

"No, I'd rather walk," answered Nan, feeling quite sure that she  would be obliged to do so, and preparing her mind for it.

Another long trudge through the fast-deepening twilight and  another disappointment, for when they reached the tree, they found  to their dismay that it was not the one Ned climbed, and no road  anywhere appeared.

"Are we lost?" quavered Rob, clasping his pail in despair.

"Not much. I don't just see which way to go, and I guess we'd  better call."

So they both shouted till they were hoarse, yet nothing answered  but the frogs in full chorus.

"There is another tall tree over there, perhaps that's the one," said  Nan, whose heart sunk within her, though she still spoke bravely.

"I don't think I can go any more; my boots are so heavy I can't pull  'em;" and Robby sat down on a stone quite worn out.

"Then we must stay here all night. I don't care much, if snakes  don't come."

"I'm frightened of snakes. I can't stay all night. Oh, dear! I don't  like to be lost," and Rob puckered up his face to cry, when  suddenly a thought occurred to him, and he said, in a tone of  perfect confidence,

"Marmar will come and find me she always does; I ain't afraid  now."

"She won't know where we are."

"She didn't know I was shut up in the ice-house, but she found me.  I know she'll come," returned Robby, so trustfully, that Nan felt  relieved, and sat down by him, saying, with a remorseful sigh,

"I wish we hadn't run away."

"You made me; but I don't mind much Marmar will love me just  the same," answered Rob, clinging to his sheet-anchor when all  other hope was gone.

"I'm so hungry. Let's eat our berries," proposed Nan, after a pause,  during which Rob began to nod.

"So am I, but I can't eat mine, 'cause I told Marmar I'd keep them  all for her."

"You'll have to eat them if no one comes for us," said Nan, who  felt like contradicting every thing just then. "If we stay here a great  many days, we shall eat up all the berries in the field, and then we  shall starve," she added grimly.

"I shall eat sassafras. I know a big tree of it, and Dan told me how  squirrels dig up the roots and eat them, and I love to dig," returned  Rob, undaunted by the prospect of starvation.

"Yes; and we can catch frogs, and cook them. My father ate some  once, and he said they were nice," put in Nan, beginning to find a  spice of romance even in being lost in a huckleberry pasture.

"How could we cook frogs? we haven't got any fire."

"I don't know; next time I'll have matches in my pocket," said Nan,  rather depressed by this obstacle to the experiment in  frog-cookery.

"Couldn't we light a fire with a fire-fly?" asked Rob, hopefully, as  he watched them flitting to and fro like winged sparks.

"Let's try;" and several minutes were pleasantly spent in catching  the flies, and trying to make them kindle a green twig or two. "It's  a lie to call them fire -flies when there isn't a fire in them," Nan  said, throwing one unhappy insect away with scorn, though it  shone its best, and obligingly walked up and down the twigs to  please the innocent little experimenters.

"Marmar's a good while coming," said Rob, after another pause,  during which they watched the stars overhead, smelt the sweet fern  crushed under foot, and listened to the crickets' serenade.

"I don't see why God made any night; day is so much pleasanter,"  said Nan, thoughtfully.

"It's to sleep in," answered Rob, with a yawn.

"Then do go to sleep," said Nan, pettishly.

"I want my own bed. Oh, I wish I could see Teddy!" cried Rob,  painfully reminded of home by the soft chirp of birds safe in their  little nests.

"I don't believe your mother will ever find us," said Nan, who was  becoming desperate, for she hated patient waiting of any sort. "It's  so dark she won't see us."

"It was all black in the ice-house, and I was so scared I didn't call  her, but she saw me; and she will see me now, no matter how dark  it is," returned confiding Rob, standing up to peer into the gloom  for the help which never failed him.

"I see her! I see her!" he cried, and ran as fast as his tired legs  would take him toward a dark figure slowly approaching.  Suddenly he stopped, then turned about, and came stumbling back,  screaming in a great panic,

"No, it's a bear, a big black one!" and hid his face in Nan's skirts.

For a moment Nan quailed; ever her courage gave out at the  thought of a real bear, and she was about to turn and flee in great  disorder, when a mild "Moo!" changed her fear to merriment, as  she said, laughing,

"It's a cow, Robby! the nice, black cow we saw this afternoon."

The cow seemed to feel that it was not just the thing to meet two  little people in her pasture after dark, and the amiable beast paused  to inquire into the case. She let them stroke her, and stood  regarding them with her soft eyes so mildly, that Nan, who feared  no animal but a bear, was fired with a desire to milk her.

"Silas taught me how; and berries and milk would be so nice," she  said, emptying the contents of her pail into her hat, and boldly  beginning her new task, while Rob stood by and repeated, at her  command, the poem from Mother Goose:

"Cushy cow, bonny, let down your milk,

Let down your milk to me,

And I will give you a gown of silk,

A gown of silk and a silver tee."

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

"Shoo! get away! you are an old cross patch," cried Nan,  ungratefully, as she gave up the attempt in despair; and poor Molly  walked on with a gentle gurgle of surprise and reproof.

"Each can have a sip, and then we must take a walk. We shall go  to sleep if we don't; and lost people mustn't sleep. Don't you know  how Hannah Lee in the pretty story slept under the snow and  died?"

"But there isn't any snow now, and it's nice and warm," said Rob,  who was not blessed with as lively a fancy as Nan.

"No matter, we will poke about a little, and call some more; and  then, if nobody comes, we will hide under the bushes, like  Hop-'o-my-thumb and his brothers."

It was a very short walk, however, for Rob was so sleepy he could  not get on, and tumbled down so often that Nan entirely lost  patience, being half distracted by the responsibility she had taken  upon herself.

"If you tumble down again, I'll shake you," she said, lifting the  poor little man up very kindly as she spoke, for Nan's bark was  much worse than her bite.

"Please don't. It's my boots they keep slipping so;" and Rob  manfully checked the sob just ready to break out, adding, with a  plaintive patience that touched Nan's heart, "If the skeeters didn't  bite me so, I could go to sleep till Marmar comes."

"Put your head on my lap, and I'll cover you up with my apron; I'm  not afraid of the night," said Nan, sitting down and trying to  persuade herself that she did not mind the shadow nor the  mysterious rustlings all about her.

"Wake me up when she comes," said rob, and was fast asleep in  five minutes with his head in Nan's lap under the pinafore.

The little girl sat for some fifteen minutes, staring about her with  anxious eyes, and feeling as if each second was an hour. Then a  pale light began to glimmer over the hill-top and she said to herself

"I guess the night is over and morning is coming. I'd like to see the  sun rise, so I'll watch, and when it comes up we can find our way  right home."

But before the moon's round face peeped above the hill to destroy  her hope, Nan had fallen asleep, leaning back in a little bower of  tall ferns, and was deep in a mid-summer night's dream of fire-flies  and blue aprons, mountains of huckleberries, and Robby wiping  away the tears of a black cow, who sobbed, "I want to go home! I  want to go home!"

While the children were sleeping, peacefully lulled by the drowsy  hum of many neighborly mosquitoes, the family at home were in a  great state of agitation. The hay-cart came at five, and all but Jack,  Emil, Nan, and Rob were at the bars ready for it. Franz drove  instead of Silas, and when the boys told him that the others were  going home through the wood, he said, looking ill-pleased, "They  ought to have left Rob to ride, he will be tired out by the long  walk."

"It's shorter that way, and they will carry him," said Stuffy, who  was in a hurry for his supper.

"You are sure Nan and Rob went with them?"

"Of course they did; I saw them getting over the wall, and sung out  that it was most five, and Jack called back that they were going the  other way," explained Tommy.

"Very well, pile in then," and away rattled the hay-cart with the  tired children and the full pails.

Mrs. Jo looked sober when she heard of the division of the party,  and sent Franz back with Toby to find and bring the little ones  home. Supper was over, and the family sitting about in the cool  hall as usual, when Franz came trotting back, hot, dusty, and  anxious.

"Have they come?" he called out when half-way up the avenue.

"No!" and Mrs. Jo flew out of her chair looking so alarmed that  every one jumped up and gathered round Franz.

"I can't find them anywhere," he began; but the words were hardly  spoken when a loud "Hullo!" startled them all, and the next minute  Jack and Emil came round the house.

"Where are Nan and Rob?" cried Mrs. Jo, clutching Emil in a way  that caused him to think his aunt had suddenly lost her wits.

"I don't know. They came home with the others, didn't they?" he  answered, quickly.

"No; George and Tommy said they went with you."

"Well, they didn't. Haven't seen them. We took a swim in the pond,  and came by the wood," said Jack, looking alarmed, as well he  might.

"Call Mr. Bhaer, get the lanterns, and tell Silas I want him."

That was all Mrs. Jo said, but they knew what she meant, and flew  to obey her orders. In ten minutes, Mr. Bhaer and Silas were off to  the wood, and Franz tearing down the road on old Andy to search  the great pasture. Mrs. Jo caught up some food from the table, a  little bottle of brandy from the medicine-closet, took a lantern, and  bidding Jack and Emil come with her, and the rest not stir, she  trotted away on Toby, never stopping for hat or shawl. She heard  some one running after her, but said not a word till, as she paused  to call and listen, the light of her lantern shone on Dan's face.

"You here! I told Jack to come," she said, half-inclined to send him  back, much as she needed help.

"I wouldn't let him; he and Emil hadn't had any supper, and I  wanted to come more than they did," he said, taking the lantern  from her and smiling up in her face with the steady look in his eyes  that made her feel as if, boy though he was, she had some one to  depend on.

Off she jumped, and ordered him on to Toby, in spite of his  pleading to walk; then they went on again along the dusty, solitary  road, stopping every now and then to call and hearken breathlessly  for little voices to reply.

When they came to the great pasture, other lights were already  flitting to and fro like will-o'-the-wisps, and Mr. Bhaer's voice was  heard shouting, "Nan! Rob! Rob! Nan!" in every part of the field.  Silas whistled and roared, Dan plunged here and there on Toby,  who seemed to understand the case, and went over the roughest  places with unusual docility. Often Mrs. Jo hushed them all,  saying, with a sob in her throat, "The noise may frighten them, let  me call; Robby will know my voice;" and then she would cry out  the beloved little name in every tone of tenderness, till the very  echoes whispered it softly, and the winds seemed to waft it  willingly; but still no answer came.

The sky was overcast now, and only brief glimpses of the moon  were seen, heat-lightening darted out of the dark clouds now and  then, and a faint far-off rumble as of thunder told that a  summer-storm was brewing.

"O my Robby! my Robby!" mourned poor Mrs. Jo, wandering up  and down like a pale ghost, while Dan kept beside her like a  faithful fire-fly. "What shall I say to Nan's father if she comes to  harm? Why did I ever trust my darling so far away? Fritz, do you  hear any thing?" and when a mournful, "No" came back, she wrung  her hands so despairingly that Dan sprung down from Toby's back,  tied the bridle to the bars, and said, in his decided way,

"They may have gone down the spring I'm going to look."

He was over the wall and away so fast that she could hardly follow  him; but when she reached the spot, he lowered the lantern and  showed her with joy the marks of little feet in the soft ground  about the spring. She fell down on her knees to examine the tracks,  and then sprung up, saying eagerly,

"Yes; that is the mark of my Robby's little boots! Come this way,  they must have gone on."

Such a weary search! But now some inexplicable instinct seemed  to lead the anxious mother, for presently Dan uttered a cry, and  caught up a little shining object lying in the path. It was the cover  of the new tin pail, dropped in the first alarm of being lost. Mrs. Jo  hugged and kissed it as if it were a living thing; and when Dan was  about to utter a glad shout to bring the others to the spot, she  stopped him, saying, as she hurried on, "No, let me find them; I let  Rob go, and I want to give him back to his father all myself."

A little farther on Nan's hat appeared, and after passing the place  more than once, they came at last upon the babes in the wood, both  sound asleep. Dan never forgot the little picture on which the light  of his lantern shone that night. He thought Mrs. Jo would cry out,  but she only whispered, "Hush!" as she softly lifted away the  apron, and saw the little ruddy face below. The berry-stained lips  were half-open as the breath came and went, the yellow hair lay  damp on the hot forehead, and both the chubby hands held fast the  little pail still full.

The sight of the childish harvest, treasured through all the troubles  of that night for her, seemed to touch Mrs. Jo to the heart, for  suddenly she gathered up her boy, and began to cry over him, so  tenderly, yet so heartily, that he woke up, and at first seemed  bewildered. Then he remembered, and hugged her close, saying  with a laugh of triumph,

"I knew you'd come! O Marmar! I did want you so!" For a moment  they kissed and clung to one another, quite forgetting all the world;  for no matter how lost and soiled and worn-out wandering sons  may be, mothers can forgive and forget every thing as they fold  them in their fostering arms. Happy the son whose faith in his  mother remains unchanged, and who, through all his wanderings,  has kept some filial token to repay her brave and tender love.

Dan meantime picked Nan out of her bush, and, with a gentleness  none but Teddy ever saw in him before, he soothed her first alarm  at the sudden waking, and wiped away her tears; for Nan also  began to cry for joy, it was so good to see a kind face and feel a  strong arm round her after what seemed to her ages of loneliness  and fear.

"My poor little girl, don't cry! You are all safe now, and no one  shall say a word of blame to-night," said Mrs. Jo, taking Nan into  her capacious embrace, and cuddling both children as a hen might  gather her lost chickens under her motherly wings.

"It was my fault; but I am sorry. I tried to take care of him, and I  covered him up and let him sleep, and didn't touch his berries,  though I was so hungry; and I never will do it again truly, never,  never," sobbed Nan, quite lost in a sea of penitence and  thankfulness.

"Call them now, and let us get home," said Mrs. Jo; and Dan,  getting upon the wall, sent a joyful word "Found!" ringing over the  field.

How the wandering lights came dancing from all sides, and  gathered round the little group among the sweet fern bushes! Such  a hugging, and kissing, and talking, and crying, as went on must  have amazed the glowworms, and evidently delighted the  mosquitoes, for they hummed frantically, while the little moths  came in flocks to the party, and the frogs croaked as if they could  not express their satisfaction loudly enough.

Then they set out for home, a 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. Mrs.  Bhaer would let no one carry Rob but himself, and the little fellow,  refreshed by sleep, sat up, and chattered gayly, feeling himself a  hero, while his mother went beside him holding on to any pat of  his precious little body that came handy, and never tired of hearing  him say, "I knew Marmar would come," or seeing him lean down  to kiss her, and put a plump berry into her mouth, "'Cause he  picked 'em all for her."

The moon shone out just as they reached the avenue, and all the  boys came shouting to meet them, so the lost lambs were borne in  triumph and safety, and landed in the dining-room, where the  unromantic little things demanded supper instead of preferring  kisses and caresses. They were set down to bread and milk, while  the entire household stood round to gaze upon them. Nan soon  recovered her spirits, and recounted her perils with a relish now  that they were all over. Rob seemed absorbed in his food, but put  down his spoon all of a sudden, and set up a doleful roar.

"My precious, why do you cry?" asked his mother, who still hung  over him.

"I'm crying 'cause I was lost," bawled Rob, trying to squeeze out a  tear, and failing entirely.

"But you are found now. Nan says you didn't cry out in the field,  and I was glad you were such a brave boy."

"I was so busy being frightened I didn't have any time then. But I  want to cry now, 'cause I don't like to be lost," explained Rob,  struggling with sleep, emotion, and a mouthful of bread and milk.

The boys set up such a laugh at this funny way of making up for  lost time, that Rob stopped to look at them, and the merriment was  so infectious, that after a surprised stare he burst out into a merry,  "Ha, ha!" and beat his spoon upon the table as if he enjoyed the  joke immensely.

"It is ten o'clock; into bed, every man of you," said Mr. Bhaer,  looking at his watch.

"And, thank Heaven! there will be no empty ones to-night," added  Mrs. Bhaer, watching, with full eyes, Robby going up in his  father's arms, and Nan escorted by Daisy and Demi, who  considered her the most interesting heroine of their collection.

"Poor Aunt Jo is so tired she ought to be carried up herself," said  gentle Franz, putting his arm round her as she paused at the  stair-foot, looking quite exhausted by her fright and long walk.

"Let's make an arm-chair," proposed Tommy.

"No, thank you, my lads; but somebody may lend me a shoulder to  lean on," answered Mrs. Jo.

"Me! me!" and half-a-dozen jostled one another, all eager to be  chosen, for there was something in the pale motherly face that  touched the warm hearts under the round jackets.

Seeing that they considered it an honor, Mrs. Jo gave it to the one  who had earned it, and nobody grumbled when she put her arm on  Dan's broad shoulder, saying, with a look that made him color up  with pride and pleasure,

"He found the children; so I think he must help me up."

Dan felt richly rewarded for his evening's work, not only that he  was chosen from all the rest to go proudly up bearing the lamp, but  because Mrs. Jo said heartily, "Good-night, my boy! God bless  you!" as he left her at her door.

"I wish I was your boy," said Dan, who felt as if danger and trouble  had somehow brought him nearer than ever to her.

"You shall be my oldest son," and she sealed her promise with a  kiss that made Dan hers entirely.

Little Rob was all right next day, but Nan had a headache, and lay  on Mother Bhaer's sofa with cold-cream upon her scratched face.  Her remorse was quite gone, and she evidently thought being lost  rather a fine amusement. Mrs. Jo was not pleased with this state of  things, and had no desire to have her children led from the paths of  virtue, or her pupils lying round loose in huckleberry fields. So she  talked soberly to Nan, and tried to impress upon her mind the  difference between liberty and license, telling several tales to  enforce her lecture. She had not decided how to punish Nan, but  one of these stories suggested a way, and as Mrs. Jo liked odd  penalties, she tried it.

"All children run away," pleaded Nan, as if it was as natural and  necessary a thing as measles or hooping cough.

"Not all, and some who do run away don't get found again,"  answered Mrs. Jo.

"Didn't you do it yourself?" asked Nan, whose keen little eyes saw  some traces of a kindred spirit in the serious lady who was sewing  so morally before her.

Mrs. Jo laughed, and owned that she did.

"Tell about it," demanded Nan, feeling that she was getting the  upper hand in the discussion.

Mrs. Jo saw that, and sobered down at once, saying, with a  remorseful shake of the head,

"I did it a good many times, and led my poor mother rather a hard  life with my pranks, till she cured me."

"How?" and Nan sat up with a face full of interest.

"I had a new pair of shoes once, and wanted to show them; so,  though I was told not to leave the garden, I ran away and was  wandering about all day. It was in the city, and why I wasn't killed  I don't know. Such a time as I had. I frolicked in the park with  dogs, sailed boats in the Back Bay with strange boys, dined with a  little Irish beggar-girl on salt fish and potatoes, and was found at  last fast asleep on a door-step with my arms round a great dog. It  was late in the evening, and I was a dirty as a little pig, and the  new shoes were worn out I had travelled so far."

"How nice!" cried Nan, looking all ready to go and do it herself.

"It was not nice next day;" and Mrs. Jo tried to keep her eyes from  betraying how much she enjoyed the memory of her early capers.

"Did your mother whip you?" asked Nan, curiously.

"She never whipped me but once, and then she begged my pardon,  or I don't think I ever should have forgiven her, it hurt my feelings  so much."

"Why did she beg your pardon? my father don't."

"Because, when she had done it, I turned round and said, 'Well,  you are mad yourself, and ought to be whipped as much as me.'  She looked at me a minute, then her anger all died out, and she  said, as if ashamed, 'You are right, Jo, I am angry; and why should  I punish you for being in a passion when I set you such a bad  example? Forgive me, dear, and let us try to help one another in a  better way.' I never forgot it, and it did me more good than a dozen  rods."

Nan sat thoughtfully turning the little cold-cream jar for a minute,  and Mrs. Jo said nothing, but let that idea get well into the busy  little mind that was so quick to see and feel what went on about  her.

"I like that," said Nan, presently, and her face looked less elfish,  with its sharp eyes, inquisitive nose, and mischievous mouth.  "What did your mother do to you when you ran away that time?"

"She tied me to the bed-post with a long string, so that I could not  go out of the room, and there I stayed all day with the little  worn-out shoes hanging up before me to remind me of my fault."

"I should think that would cure anybody," cried Nan, who loved  her liberty above all things.

"It did cure me, and I think it will you, so I am going to try it," said  Mrs. Jo, suddenly taking a ball of strong twine out of a drawer in  her work-table.

Nan looked as if she was decidedly getting the worst of the  argument now, and sat feeling much crestfallen while Mrs. Jo tied  one end round her waist and the other to the arm of the sofa,  saying, as she finished,

"I don't like to tie you up like a naughty little dog, but if you don't  remember any better than a dog, I must treat you like one."

"I'd just as lief be tied up as not I like to play dog;" and Nan put on  a don't-care face, and began to growl and grovel on the floor.

Mrs. Jo took no notice, but leaving a book or two and a  handkerchief to hem, she went away, and left Miss Nan to her own  devices. This was not agreeable, and after sitting a moment she  tried to untie the cord. But it was fastened in the belt of her apron  behind, so she began on the knot at the other end. It soon came  loose, and, gathering it up, Nan was about to get out of the  window, when she heard Mrs. Jo say to somebody as she passed  through the hall,

"No, I don't think she will run away now; she is an honorable little  girl, and knows that I do it to help her."

In a minute, Nan whisked back, tied herself up, and began to sew  violently. Rob came in a moment after, and was so charmed with  the new punishment, that he got a jump-rope and tethered himself  to the other arm of the sofa in the most social manner.

"I got lost too, so I ought to be tied up as much as Nan," he  explained to his mother when she saw the new captive.

"I'm not sure that you don't deserve a little punishment, for you  knew it was wrong to go far away from the rest."

"Nan took me," began Rob, willing to enjoy the novel penalty, but  not willing to take the blame.

"You needn't have gone. You have got a conscience, though you  are a little boy, and you must learn to mind it."

"Well, my conscience didn't prick me a bit when she said 'Let's get  over the wall,' " answered Rob, quoting one of Demi's expressions.

"Did you stop to see if it did?"

"No."

"Then you cannot tell."

"I guess it's such a little conscience that it don't prick hard enough  for me to feel it," added Rob, after thinking the matter over for a  minute.

"We must sharpen it up. It's bad to have a dull conscience; so you  may stay here till dinner-time, and talk about it with Nan. I trust  you both not to untie yourselves till I say the word."

"No, we won't," said both, feeling a certain sense of virtue in  helping to punish themselves.

For an hour they were very good, then they grew tired of one room,  and longed to get out. Never had the hall seemed so inviting; even  the little bedroom acquired a sudden interest, and they would  gladly have gone in and played tent with the curtains of the best  bed. The open windows drove them wild because they could not  reach them; and the outer world seemed so beautiful, they  wondered how they ever found the heart to say it was dull. Nan  pined for a race round the lawn, and Rob remembered with dismay  that he had not fed his dog that morning, and wondered what poor  Pollux would do. They watched the clock, and Nan did some nice  calculations in minutes and seconds, while Rob learned to tell all  the hours between eight and one so well that he never forgot them.  It was maddening to smell the dinner, to know that there was to be  succotash and huckleberry pudding, and to feel that they would not  be on the spot to secure good helps of both. When Mary Ann  began to set the table, they nearly cut themselves in two trying to  see what meat there was to be; and Nan offered to help her make  the beds, if she would only see that she had "lots of sauce on her  pudding."

When the boys came bursting out of school, they found the  children tugging at their halters like a pair of restive little colts,  and were much edified, as well as amused, by the sequel to the  exciting adventures of the night.

"Untie me now, Marmar; my conscience will prick like a pin next  time, I know it will," said Rob, as the bell rang, and Teddy came to  look at him with sorrowful surprise.

"We shall see," answered his mother, setting him free. He took a  good run down the hall, back through the dining-room, and  brought up beside Nan, quite beaming with virtuous satisfaction.

"I'll bring her dinner to her, may I?" he asked, pitying his  fellow-captive.

"That's my kind little son! Yes, pull out the table, and get a chair;"  and Mrs. Jo hurried away to quell the ardor of the others, who  were always in a raging state of hunger at noon.

Nan ate alone, and spent a long afternoon attached to the sofa.  Mrs. Bhaer lengthened her bonds so that she could look out of the  window; and there she stood watching the boys play, and all the  little summer creatures enjoying their liberty. Daisy had a picnic  for the dolls on the lawn, so that Nan might see the fun if she could  not join in it. Tommy turned his best somersaults to console her;  Demi sat on the steps reading aloud to himself, which amused Nan  a good deal; and Dan brought a little tree-toad to show her as the  most delicate attention in his power.

But nothing atoned for the loss of freedom; and a few hours of  confinement taught Nan how precious it was. A good many  thoughts went through the little head that lay on the window-sill  during the last quiet hour when all the children went to the brook  to see Emil's new ship launched. She was to have christened it, and  had depended on smashing a tiny bottle of currant-wine over the  prow as it was named Josephine in honor of Mrs. Bhaer. Now she  had lost her chance, and Daisy wouldn't do it half so well. Tears  rose to her eyes as she remembered that it was all her own fault;  and she said aloud, addressing a fat bee who was rolling about in  the yellow heart of a rose just under the window,

"If you have run away, you'd better go right home, and tell your  mother you are sorry, and never do so any more."

"I am glad to hear you give him such good advice, and I think he  has taken it," said Mrs. Jo, smiling, as the bee spread his dusty  wings and flew away.

Nan brushed off a bright drop or two that shone on the  window-sill, and nestled against her friend as she took her on her  knee, adding kindly for she had seen the little drops, and knew  what they meant

"Do you think my mother's cure for running away a good one?"

"Yes, ma'am," answered Nan, quite subdued by her quiet day.

"I hope I shall not have to try it again."

"I guess not;" and Nan looked up with such an earnest little face  that Mrs. Jo felt satisfied, and said no more, for she liked to have  her penalties do their own work, and did not spoil the effect by too  much moralizing.

Here Rob appeared, bearing with infinite care what Asia called a  "sarcer pie," meaning one baked in a saucer.

"It's made out of some of my berries, and I'm going to give you half  at supper-time," he announced with a flourish.

"What makes you, when I'm so naughty?" asked Nan, meekly.

"Because we got lost together. You ain't going to be naughty again,  are you?"

"Never," said Nan, with great decision.

"Oh, goody! now let's go and get Mary Ann to cut this for us all  ready to eat; it's 'most tea time;" and Rob beckoned with the  delicious little pie.

Nan started to follow, then stopped, and said,

"I forgot, I can't go."

"Try and see," said Mrs. Bhaer, who had quietly untied the cord  sash while she had been talking.

Nan saw that she was free, and with one tempestuous kiss to Mrs.  Jo, she was off like a humming-bird, followed by Robby, dribbling  huckleberry juice as he ran.

CHAPTER XIII GOLDILOCKS

After the last excitement peace descended upon Plumfield and  reigned unbroken for several weeks, for the elder boys felt that the  loss of Nan and Rob lay at their door, and all became so paternal  in their care that they were rather wearying; while the little ones  listened to Nan's recital of her perils so many times, that they  regarded being lost as the greatest ill humanity was heir to, and  hardly dared to put their little noses outside the great gate lest  night should suddenly descend upon them, and ghostly black cows  come looming through the dusk.

"It is too good to last," said Mrs. Jo; for years of boy-culture had  taught her that such lulls were usually followed by outbreaks of  some sort, and when less wise women would have thought that the  boys had become confirmed saints, she prepared herself for a  sudden eruption of the domestic volcano.

One cause of this welcome calm was a visit from little Bess,  whose parents lent her for a week while they were away with  Grandpa Laurence, who was poorly. The boys regarded Goldilocks  as a mixture of child, angel, and fairy, for she was a lovely little  creature, and the golden hair which she inherited from her blonde  mamma enveloped her like a shining veil, behind which she  smiled upon her worshippers when gracious, and hid herself when  offended. Her father would not have it cut and it hung below her  waist, so soft and fine and bright, that Demi insisted that it was  silk spun from a cocoon. Every one praised the little Princess, but  it did not seem to do her harm, only to teach her that her presence  brought sunshine, her smiles made answering smiles on other  faces, and her baby griefs filled every heart with tenderest  sympathy.

Unconsciously, she did her young subjects more good than many a  real sovereign, for her rule was very gentle and her power was felt  rather than seen. Her natural refinement made her dainty in all  things, and had a good effect upon the careless lads about her. She  would let no one touch her roughly or with unclean hands, and  more soap was used during her visits than at any other time,  because the boys considered it the highest honor to be allowed to  carry her highness, and the deepest disgrace to be repulsed with  the disdainful command, "Do away, dirty boy!"

Lour voices displeased her and quarrelling frightened her; so  gentler tones came into the boyish voices as they addressed her,  and squabbles were promptly suppressed in her presence by  lookers-on if the principles could not restrain themselves. She  liked to be waited on, and the biggest boys did her little errands  without a murmur, while the small lads were her devoted slaves in  all things. They begged to be allowed to draw her carriage, bear  her berry-basket, or pass her plate at table. No service was too  humble, and Tommy and Ned came to blows before they could  decide which should have the honor of blacking her little boots.

Nan was especially benefited by a week in the society of a  well-bred lady, though such a very small one; for Bess would look  at her with a mixture of wonder and alarm in her great blue eyes  when the hoyden screamed and romped; and she shrunk from her  as if she thought her a sort of wild animal. Warm-hearted Nan felt  this very much. She said at first, "Pooh! I don't care!" But she did  care, and was so hurt when Bess said, "I love my tuzzin best, tause  she is twiet," that she shook poor Daisy till her teeth chattered in  her head, and then fled to the barn to cry dismally. In that general  refuge for perturbed spirits she found comfort and good counsel  from some source or other. Perhaps the swallows from their  mud-built nests overhead twittered her a little lecture on the beauty  of gentleness. However that might have been, she came out quite  subdued, and carefully searched the orchard for a certain kind of  early apple that Bess liked because it was sweet and small and  rosy. Armed with this peace-offering, she approached the little  Princess, and humbly presented it. To her great joy it was  graciously accepted, and when Daisy gave Nan a forgiving kiss,  Bess did likewise, as if she felt that she had been too severe, and  desired to apologize. After this they played pleasantly together,  and Nan enjoyed the royal favor for days. To be sure she felt a  little like a wild bird in a pretty cage at first, and occasionally had  to slip out to stretch her wings in a long flight, or to sing at the top  of her voice, where neither would disturb the plump turtle-dove  Daisy, nor the dainty golden canary Bess. But it did her good; for,  seeing how every one loved the little Princess for her small graces  and virtues, she began to imitate her, because Nan wanted much  love, and tried hard to win it.

Not a boy in the house but felt the pretty child's influence, and was  improved by it without exactly knowing how or why, for babies  can work miracles in the hearts that love them. Poor Billy found  infinite satisfaction in staring at her, and though she did not like it  she permitted without a frown, after she had been made to  understand that he was not quite like the others, and on that  account must be more kindly treated. 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 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 might okum (ocean),

And a peasant land.

"Little words 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 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 is 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 lone 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 tem  minutes, then he forgot all about it, and sowed a handful of bright  buttons which he had collected, evidently thinking in his feeble  mind that they were money, and would come up and multiply, so  that he might make many quarters, as Tommy did. No one  disturbed him, and he did what he liked with his plot, which soon  looked as if a series of small earthquakes had stirred it up. When  the general harvest-day came, he would have had nothing but  stones and weeds to show, if kind old Asia had not hung  half-a-dozen oranges on the dead tree he stuck up in the middle.  Billy was delighted with his crop; and no one spoiled his pleasure  in the little miracle which pity wrought for him, by making  withered branches bear strange fruit.

Stuffy had various trials with his melons; for, being impatient to  taste them, he had a solitary revel before they were ripe, and made  himself so ill, that for a day or two it seemed doubtful if he would  ever eat any more. But he pulled through it, and served up his first  cantaloupe without tasting a mouthful himself. They were  excellent melons, for he had a warm slope for them, and they  ripened fast. The last and best were lingering on the vines, and  Stuffy had announced that he should sell them to a neighbor. This  disappointed the boys, who had hoped to eat the melons  themselves, and they expressed their displeasure in a new and  striking manner. Going one morning to gaze upon the three fine  watermelons which he had kept for the market, Stuffy was  horrified to find the word "PIG" cut in white letters on the green  rind, staring at him from every one. He was in a great rage, and  flew to Mrs. Jo for redress. She listened, condoled with him, and  then said,

"If you want to turn the laugh, I'll tell you how, but you must give  up the melons."

"Well, I will; for I can't thrash all the boys, but I'd like to give them  something to remember, the mean sneaks," growled Stuff, still in a  fume.

Now Mrs. Jo was pretty sure who had done the trick, for she had  seen three heads suspiciously near to one another in the  sofa-corner the evening before; and when these heads had nodded  with chuckles and whispers, this experienced woman knew  mischief was afoot. A moonlight night, a rustling in the old  cherry-tree near Emil's window, a cut on Tommy's finger, all  helped to confirm her suspicions; and having cooled Stuffy's wrath  a little, she bade him bring his maltreated melons to her room, and  say not a word to any one of what had happened. He did so, and  the three wags were amazed to find their joke so quietly taken. It  spoilt the fun, and the entire disappearance of the melons made  them uneasy. So did Stuffy's good-nature, for he looked more  placid and plump than ever, and surveyed them with an air of calm  pity that perplexed them very much.

At dinner-time they discovered why; for then Stuffy's vengeance  fell upon them, and the laugh was turned against them. When the  pudding was eaten, and the fruit was put on, Mary Ann  re-appeared in a high state of giggle, bearing a large watermelon;  Silas followed with another; and Dan brought up the rear with a  third. One was placed before each of the three guilty lads; and they  read on the smooth green skins this addition to their own work,  "With the compliments of the PIG." Every one else read it also,  and the whole table was in a roar, for the trick had been whispered  about; so every one understood the sequel. Emil, Ned, and Tommy  did not know where to look, and had not a word to say for  themselves; so they wisely joined in the laugh, cut up the melons,  and handed them round, saying, what all the rest agreed to, that  Stuffy had taken a wise and merry way to return good for evil.

Dan had no garden, for he was away or lame the greater part of the  summer; so he had helped Silas wherever he could, chopped wood  for Asia, and taken care of the lawn so well, that Mrs. Jo always  had smooth paths and nicely shaven turf before her door.

When the others got in their crops, he looked sorry that he had so  little to show; but as autumn went on, he bethought himself of a  woodland harvest which no one would dispute with him, and  which was peculiarly his own. Every Saturday he was away alone  to the forests, fields, and hills, and always came back loaded with  spoils; for he seemed to know the meadows where the best  flag-root grew, the thicket where the sassafras was spiciest, the  haunts where the squirrels went for nuts, the white oak whose bark  was most valuable, and the little gold-thread vine that Nursey liked  to cure the canker with. All sorts of splendid red and yellow leaves  did Dan bring home for Mrs. Jo to dress her parlor with,  graceful-seeded grasses, clematis tassels, downy, soft, yellow  wax-work berries, and mosses, red-brimmed, white, or emerald  green.

"I need not sigh for the woods now, because Dan brings the woods  to me," Mrs. Jo used to say, as she glorified the walls with yellow  maple boughs and scarlet woodbine wreaths, or filled her vases  with russet ferns, hemlock sprays full of delicate cones, and hardy  autumn flowers; for Dan's crop suited her well.

The great garret was full of the children's little stores and for a  time was one of the sights of the house. Daisy's flower seeds in  neat little paper bags, all labelled, lay in a drawer of a three-legged  table. Nan's herbs hung in bunches against the wall, filling the air  with their aromatic breath. Tommy had a basket of thistle-down  with the tiny seeds attached, for he meant to plant them next year,  if they did not all fly away before that time. Emil had bunches of  pop-corn hanging there to dry, and Demi laid up acorns and  different sorts of grain for the pets. But Dan's crop made the best  show, for fully one half of the floor was covered with the nuts he  brought. All kinds were there, for he ranged the woods for miles  round, climbed the tallest trees, and forced his way into the  thickest hedges for his plunder. Walnuts, chestnuts, hazelnuts, and  beechnuts lay in separate compartments, getting brown, and dry,  and sweet, ready for winter revels.

There was one butternut-tree on the place, and Rob and Teddy  called it theirs. It bore well this year, and the great dingy nuts came  dropping down to hide among the dead leaves, where the busy  squirrels found them better than the lazy Bhaers. Their father had  told them (the boys, not the squirrels) they should have the nuts if  they would pick them up, but no one was to help. It was easy work,  and Teddy liked it, only he soon got tired, and left his little basket  half full for another day. But the other day was slow to arrive, and,  meantime, the sly squirrels were hard at work, scampering up and  down the old elm-trees stowing the nuts away till their holes were  full, then all about the crotches of the boughs, to be removed at  their leisure. Their funny little ways amused the boys, till one day  Silas said,

"Hev you sold them nuts to the squirrels?"

"No," answered Rob, wondering what Silas meant.

"Wal, then, you'd better fly round, or them spry little fellers won't  leave you none."

"Oh, we can beat them when we begin. There are such lots of nuts  we shall have a plenty."

"There ain't many more to come down, and they have cleared the  ground pretty well, see if they hain't."

Robby ran to look, and was alarmed to find how few remained. He  called Teddy, and they worked hard all one afternoon, while the  squirrels sat on the fence and scolded.

"Now, Ted, we must keep watch, and pick up just as fast as they  fall, or we shan't have more than a bushel, and every one will  laugh at us if we don't."

"The naughty quillies tarn't have 'em. I'll pick fast and run and put  'em in the barn twick," said Teddy, frowning at little Frisky, who  chattered and whisked his tail indignantly.

That night a high wind blew down hundreds of nuts, and when  Mrs. Jo came to wake her little sons, she said, briskly,

"Come, my laddies, the squirrels are hard at it, and you will have  to work well to-day, or they will have every nut on the ground."

"No, they won't," and Robby tumbled up in a great hurry, gobbled  his breakfast, and rushed out to save his property.

Teddy went too, and worked like a little beaver, trotting to and fro  with full and empty baskets. Another bushel was soon put away in  the corn-barn, and they were scrambling among the leaves for  more nuts when the bell rang for school.

"O father! let me stay out and pick. Those horrid squirrels will  have my nuts if you don't. I'll do my lessons by and by," cried Rob,  running into the school-room, flushed and tousled by the fresh cold  wind and his eager work.

"If you had been up early and done a little every morning there  would be no hurry now. I told you that, Rob, and you never  minded. I cannot have the lessons neglected as the work has been.  The squirrels will get more than their share this year, and they  deserve it, for they have worked best. You may go an hour earlier,  but that is all," and Mr. Bhaer led Rob to his place where the little  man dashed at his books as if bent on making sure of the precious  hour promised him.

It was almost maddening to sit still and see the wind shaking down  the last nuts, and the lively thieves flying about, pausing now and  then to eat one in his face, and flirt their tails, as if they said,  saucily, "We'll have them in spite of you, lazy Rob." The only  thing that sustained the poor child in this trying moment was the  sight of Teddy working away all alone. It was really splendid the  pluck and perseverance of the little lad. He picked and picked till  his back ached; he trudged to and fro till his small legs were tired;  and he defied wind, weariness, and wicked "quillies," till his  mother left her work and did the carrying for him, full of  admiration for the kind little fellow who tried to help his brother.  When Rob was dismissed, he found Teddy reposing in the  bushel-basket quite used up, but unwilling to quit the field; for he  flapped his hat at the thieves with one grubby little hand, while he  refreshed himself with the big apple held in the other.

Rob fell to work and the ground was cleared before two o'clock,  the nuts safely in the corn-barn loft, and the weary workers exulted  in their success. But Frisky and his wife were not to be vanquished  so easily; and when Rob went up to look at his nuts a few days  later he was amazed to see how many had vanished. None of the  boys could have stolen them, because the door had been locked;  the doves could not have eaten them, and there were no rats about.  There was great lamentation among the young Bhaers till Dick  said

"I saw Frisky on the roof of the corn-barn, may be he took them."

"I know he did! I'll have a trap, and kill him dead," cried Rob,  disgusted with Frisky's grasping nature.

"Perhaps if you watch, you can find out where he puts them, and I  may be able to get them back for you," said Dan, who was much  amused by the fight between the boys and squirrels.

So Rob watched and saw Mr. and Mrs. Frisky drop from the  drooping elm boughs on to the roof of the corn-barn, dodge in at  one of the little doors, much to the disturbance of the doves, and  come out with a nut in each mouth. So laden they could not get  back the way they came, but ran down the low roof, along the wall,  and leaping off at a corner they vanished a minute and re-appeared  without their plunder. Rob ran to the place, and in a hollow under  the leaves he found a heap of the stolen property hidden away to  be carried off to the holes by and by.

"Oh, you little villains! I'll cheat you now, and not leave one," said  Rob. So he cleared the corner and the corn-barn, and put the  contested nuts in the garret, making sure that no broken  window-pane could anywhere let in the unprincipled squirrels.  They seemed to feel that the contest was over, and retired to their  hole, but now and then could not resist throwing down nut-shells  on Rob's head, and scolding violently as if they could not forgive  him nor forget that he had the best of the battle.

Father and Mother Bhaer's crop was of a different sort, and not so  easily described; but they were satisfied with it, felt that their  summer work had prospered well, and by and by had a harvest that  made them very happy.

CHAPTER XIX JOHN BROOKE

"Wake up, Demi, dear! I want you."

"Why, I've just gone to bed; it can't be morning yet;" and Demi  blinked like a little owl as he waked from his first sound sleep.

"It's only ten, but your father is ill, and we must go to him. O my  little John! my poor little John!" and Aunt Jo laid her head down  on the pillow with a sob that scared sleep from Demi's eyes and  filled his heart with fear and wonder; for he dimly felt why Aunt  Jo called him "John," and wept over him as if some loss had come  that left him poor. He clung to her without a word, and in a minute  she was quite steady again, and said, with a tender kiss as she saw  his troubled face,

"We are going to say good-by to him, my darling, and there is no  time to lose; so dress quickly and come to me in my room. I must  go to Daisy."

"Yes, I will;" and when Aunt Jo was gone, little Demi got up  quietly, dressed as if in a dream, and leaving Tommy fast asleep  went away through the silent house, feeling that something new  and sorrowful was going to happen something that set him apart  from the other boys for a time, and made the world seem as dark  and still and strange as those familiar rooms did in the night. A  carriage sent by Mr. Laurie stood before the door. Daisy was soon  ready, and the brother and sister held each other by the hand all the  way into town, as they drove swiftly and silently with aunt and  uncle through the shadowy roads to say good-by to father.

None of the boys but Franz and Emil knew what had happened,  and when they came down next morning, great was their  wonderment and discomfort, for the house seemed forlorn without  its master and mistress. Breakfast was a dismal meal with no  cheery Mrs. Jo behind the teapots; and when school-time came,  Father Bhaer's place was empty. They wandered about in a  disconsolate kind of way for an hour, waiting for news and hoping  it would be all right with Demi's father, for good John Brooke was  much beloved by the boys. Ten o'clock came, and no one arrived  to relieve their anxiety. They did not feel like playing, yet the time  dragged heavily, and they sat about listless and sober. All at once,  Franz got up, and said, in his persuasive way,

"Look here, boys! let's go into school and do our lessons just as if  Uncle was here. It will make the day go faster, and will please  him, I know."

"But who will hear us say them?" asked Jack.

"I will; I don't know much more than you do, but I'm the oldest  here, and I'll try to fill Uncle's place till he comes, if you don't  mind."

Something in the modest, serious way Franz said this impressed  the boys, for, though the poor lad's eyes were red with quiet crying  for Uncle John in that long sad night, there was a new manliness  about him, as if he had already begun to feel the cares and troubles  of life, and tried to take them bravely.

"I will, for one," and Emil went to his seat, remembering that  obedience to his superior officer is a seaman's first duty.

The others followed; Franz took his uncle's seat, and for an hour  order reigned. Lessons were learned and said, and Franz made a  patient, pleasant teacher, wisely omitting such lessons as he was  not equal to, and keeping order more by the unconscious dignity  that sorrow gave him than by any words of his own. The little boys  were reading when a step was heard in the hall, and every one  looked up to read the news in Mr. Bhaer's face as he came in. The  kind face told them instantly that Demi had no father now, for it  was worn and pale, and full of tender grief, which left him no  words with which to answer Rob, as he ran to him, saying,  reproachfully,

"What made you go and leave me in the night, papa?"

The memory of the other father who had left his children in the  night, never to return, made Mr. Bhaer hold his own boy close,  and, for a minute, hide his face in Robby's curly hair. Emil laid his  head down on his arms, Franz, went to put his hand on his uncle's  shoulder, his boyish face pale with sympathy and sorrow, and the  others sat so still that the soft rustle of the falling leaves outside  was distinctly heard.

Rob did not clearly understand what had happened, but he hated to  see papa unhappy, so he lifted up the bent head, and said, in his  chirpy little voice,

"Don't cry, mein Vater! we were all so good, we did our lessons,  without you, and Franz was the master."

Mr. Bhaer looked up then, tried to smile, and said in a grateful  tone that made the lads feel like saints, "I thank you very much, my  boys. It was a beautiful way to help and comfort me. I shall not  forget it, I assure you."

"Franz proposed it, and was a first-rate master, too," said Nat; and  the others gave a murmur of assent most gratifying to the young  dominie.

Mr. Bhaer put Rob down, and, standing up, put his arm round his  tall nephew's shoulder, as he said, with a look of genuine pleasure,

"This makes my hard day easier, and gives me confidence in you  all. I am needed there in town, and must leave you for some hours.  I thought to give you a holiday, or send some of you home, but if  you like to stay and go on as you have begun, I shall be glad and  proud of my good boys."

"We'll stay;" "We'd rather;" "Franz can see to us;" cried several,  delighted with the confidence shown in them.

"Isn't Marmar coming home?" asked Rob, wistfully; for home  without "Marmar" was the world without the sun to him.

"We shall both come to-night; but dear Aunt Meg needs Mother  more than you do now, and I know you like to lend her for a little  while."

"Well, I will; but Teddy's been crying for her, and he slapped  Nursey, and was dreadful naughty," answered Rob, as if the news  might bring mother home.

"Where is my little man?" asked Mr. Bhaer.

"Dan took him out, to keep him quiet. He's all right now," said  Franz, pointing to the window, through which they could see Dan  drawing baby in his little wagon, with the dogs frolicking about  him.

"I won't see him, it would only upset him again; but tell Dan I  leave Teddy in his care. You older boys I trust to manage  yourselves for a day. Franz will direct you, and Silas is here to over  see matters. So good-by till to-night."

"Just tell me a word about Uncle John," said Emil, detaining Mr.  Bhaer, as he was about hurrying away again.

"He was only ill a few hours, and died as he has lived, so  cheerfully, so peacefully, that it seems a sin to mar the beauty of it  with any violent or selfish grief. We were in time to say good-by:  and Daisy and Demi were in his arms as he fell asleep on Aunt  Meg's breast. No more now, I cannot bear it," and Mr. Bhaer went  hastily away quite bowed with grief, for in John Brooke he had lost  both friend and brother, and there was no one left to take his place.

All that day the house was very still; the small boys played quietly  in the nursery; the others, feeling as if Sunday had come in the  middle of the week, spent it in walking, sitting in the willow, or  among their pets, all talking much of "Uncle John," and feeling  that something gentle, just, and strong, had gone out of their little  world, leaving a sense of loss that deepened every hour. At dusk,  Mr. and Mrs. Bhaer came home alone, for Demi and Daisy were  their mother's best comfort now, and could not leave her. Poor  Mrs. Jo seemed quite spent, and evidently needed the same sort of  comfort, for her first words, as she came up the stairs, were,  "Where is my baby?"

"Here I is," answered a little voice, as Dan put Teddy into her  arms, adding, as she hugged him close, "My Danny tooked tare of  me all day, and I was dood."

Mrs. Jo turned to thank the faithful nurse, but Dan was waving off  the boys, who had gathered in the hall to meet her, and was saying,  in a low voice, "Keep back; she don't want to be bothered with us  now."

"No, don't keep back. I want you all. Come in and see me, my  boys. I've neglected you all day," and Mrs. Jo held out her hands to  them as they gathered round and escorted her into her own room,  saying little, but expressing much by affectionate looks and clumsy  little efforts to show their sorrow and sympathy.

"I am so tired, I will lie here and cuddle Teddy, and you shall bring  me in some tea," she said, trying to speak cheerfully for their  sakes.

A general stampede into the dining-room followed, and the  supper-table would have been ravaged if Mr. Bhaer had not  interfered. It was agreed that one squad should carry in the  mother's tea, and another bring it out. The four nearest and dearest  claimed the first honor, so Franz bore the teapot, Emil the bread,  Rob the milk, and Teddy insisted on carrying the sugar basin,  which was lighter by several lumps when it arrived than when it  started. Some women might have found it annoying at such a time  to have boys creaking in and out, upsetting cups and rattling  spoons in violent efforts to be quiet and helpful; but it suited Mrs.  Jo, because just then her heart was very tender; and remembering  that many of her boys were fatherless or motherless, she yearned  over them, and found comfort in their blundering affection. It was  the sort of food that did her more good than the very thick  bread-and-butter that they gave her, and the rough Commodore's  broken whisper,

"Bear up, Aunty, it's a hard blow; but we'll weather it somehow;"  cheered her more than the sloppy cup he brought her, full of tea as  bitter as if some salt tear of his own had dropped into it on the  way. When supper was over, a second deputation removed the  tray; and Dan said, holding out his arms for sleepy little Teddy,

"Let me put him to bed, you're so tired, Mother."

"Will you go with him, lovey?" asked Mrs. Jo of her small lord and  master, who lay on her arm among the sofa-pillows.

"Torse I will;" and he was proudly carried off by his faithful  bearer.

"I wish I could do something," said Nat, with a sigh, as Franz  leaned over the sofa, and softly stroked Aunt Jo's hot forehead.

"You can, dear. Go and get your violin, and play me the sweet  little airs Uncle Teddy sent you last. Music will comfort me better  than any thing else to-night."

Nat flew for his fiddle, and, sitting just outside her door, played as  he had never done before, for now his heart was in it, and seemed  to magnetize his fingers. The other lads sat quietly upon the steps,  keeping watch that no new-comer should disturb the house; Franz  lingered at his post; and so, soothed, served, and guarded by her  boys, poor Mrs. Jo slept at last, and forgot her sorrow for an hour.

Two quiet days, and on the third Mr. Bhaer came in just after  school, with a note in his hand, looking both moved and pleased.

"I want to read you something, boys," he said; and as they stood  round him he read this:

"DEAR BROTHER FRITZ, I hear that you do not mean to bring  your flock today, thinking that I may not like it. Please do. The  sight of his friends will help Demi through the hard hour, and I  want the boys to hear what father says of my John. It will do them  good, I know. If they would sing one of the sweet old hymns you  have taught them so well, I should like it better than any other  music, and feel that it was beautifully suited to the occasion.  Please ask them, with my love.

MEG."

"Will you go?" and Mr. Bhaer looked at the lads, who were greatly  touched by Mrs. Brooke's kind words and wishes.

"Yes," they answered, like one boy; and an hour later they went  away with Franz to bear their part in John Brooke's simple funeral.

The little house looked as quiet, sunny, and home-like as when  Meg entered it as a bride, ten years ago, only then it was early  summer, and rose blossomed everywhere; now it was early  autumn, and dead leaves rustled softly down, leaving the branches  bare. The bride was a widow now; but the same beautiful serenity  shone in her face, and the sweet resignation of a truly pious soul  made her presence a consolation to those who came to comfort  her.

"O Meg! how can you bear it so?" whispered Jo, as she met them  at the door with a smile of welcome, and no change in her gentle  manner, except more gentleness.

"Dear Jo, the love that has blest me for ten happy years supports  me still. It could not die, and John is more my own than ever,"  whispered Meg; and in her eyes the tender trust was so beautiful  and bright, that Jo believed her, and thanked God for the  immortality of love like hers.

They were all there father and mother, Uncle Teddy, and Aunt  Amy, old Mr. Laurence, white-haired and feeble now, Mr. and  Mrs. Bhaer, with their flock, and many friends, come to do honor  to the dead. One would have said that modest John Brooke, in his  busy, quiet, humble life, had had little time to make friends; but  now they seemed to start up everywhere, old and young, rich and  poor, high and low; for all unconsciously his influence had made  itself widely felt, his virtues were remembered, and his hidden  charities rose up to bless him. The group about his coffin was a far  more eloquent eulogy than any Mr. March could utter. There were  the rich men whom he had served faithfully for years; the poor old  women whom he cherished with his little store, in memory of his  mother; the wife to whom he had given such happiness that death  could not mar it utterly; the brothers and sisters in whose hearts he  had made a place for ever; the little son and daughter, who already  felt the loss of his strong arm and tender voice; the young children,  sobbing for their kindest playmate, and the tall lads, watching with  softened faces a scene which they never could forget. A very  simple service, and very short; for the fatherly voice that had  faltered in the marriage-sacrament now failed entirely as Mr.  March endeavored to pay his tribute of reverence and love to the  son whom he most honored. Nothing but the soft coo of Baby  Josy's voice up-stairs broke the long hush that followed the last  Amen, till, at a sign from Mr. Bhaer, the well-trained boyish  voices broke out in a hymn, so full of lofty cheer, that one by one  all joined in it, singing with full hearts, and finding their troubled  spirits lifted into peace on the wings of that brave, sweet psalm.

As Meg listened, she felt that she had done well; for not only did  the moment comfort her with the assurance that John's last lullaby  was sung by the young voices he loved so well, but in the faces of  the boys she saw that they had caught a glimpse of the beauty of  virtue in its most impressive form, and that the memory of the  good man lying dead before them would live long and helpfully in  their remembrance. Daisy's head lay in her lap, and Demi held her  hand, looking often at her, with eyes so like his father's, and a little  gesture that seemed to say, "Don't be troubled, mother; I am here;"  and all about her were friends to lean upon and love; so patient,  pious Meg put by her heavy grief, feeling that her best help would  be to live for others, as her John had done.

That evening, as the Plumfield boys sat on the steps, as usual, in  the mild September moonlight, they naturally fell to talking of the  event of the day.

Emil began by breaking out, in his impetuous way, "Uncle Fritz is  the wisest, and Uncle Laurie the jolliest, but Uncle John was the  best; and I'd rather be like him than any man I ever saw."

"So would I. Did you hear what those gentlemen said to Grandpa  to-day? I would like to have that said of me when I was dead;" and  Franz felt with regret that he had not appreciated Uncle John  enough.

"What did they say?" asked Jack, who had been much impressed  by the scenes of the day.

"Why, one of the partners of Mr. Laurence, where Uncle John has  been ever so long, was saying that he was conscientious almost to  a fault as a business man, and above reproach in all things.  Another gentleman said no money could repay the fidelity and  honesty with which Uncle John had served him, and then Grandpa  told them the best of all. Uncle John once had a place in the office  of a man who cheated, and when this man wanted uncle to help  him do it, uncle wouldn't, though he was offered a big salary. The  man was angry and said, 'You will never get on in business with  such strict principles;' and uncle answered back, 'I never will try to  get on without them,' and left the place for a much harder and  poorer one."

"Good!" cried several of the boys warmly, for they were in the  mood to understand and value the little story as never before.

"He wasn't rich, was he?" asked Jack.

"No."

"He never did any thing to make a stir in the world, did he?"

"No."

"He was only good?"

"That's all;" and Franz found himself wishing that Uncle John had  done something to boast of, for it was evident that Jack was  disappointed by his replies.

"Only good. That is all and every thing," said Mr. Bhaer, who had  overheard the last few words, and guessed what was going on the  minds of the lads.

"Let me tell you a little about John Brooke, and you will see why  men honor him, and why he was satisfied to be good rather than  rich or famous. He simply did his duty in all things, and did it so  cheerfully, so faithfully, that it kept him patient and brave, and  happy through poverty and loneliness and years of hard work. He  was a good son, and gave up his own plans to stay and live with his  mother while she needed him. He was a good friend, and taught  Laurie much beside his Greek and Latin, did it unconsciously,  perhaps, by showing him an example of an upright man. He was a  faithful servant, and made himself so valuable to those who  employed him that they will find it hard to fill his place. He was a  good husband and father, so tender, wise, and thoughtful, that  Laurie and I learned much of him, and only knew how well he  loved his family, when we discovered all he had done for them,  unsuspected and unassisted."

Mr. Bhaer stopped a minute, and the boys sat like statues in the  moonlight until he went on again, in a subdued, but earnest voice:  "As he lay dying, I said to him, 'Have no care for Meg and the little  ones; I will see that they never want.' Then he smiled and pressed  my hand, and answered, in his cheerful way, 'No need of that; I  have cared for them.' And so he had, for when we looked among  his papers, all was in order, not a debt remained; and safely put  away was enough to keep Meg comfortable and independent. Then  we knew why he had lived so plainly, denied himself so many  pleasures, except that of charity, and worked so hard that I fear he  shortened his good life. He never asked help for himself, though  often for others, but bore his own burden and worked out his own  task bravely and quietly. No one can say a word of complaint  against him, so just and generous and kind was he; and now, when  he is gone, all find so much to love and praise and honor, that I am  proud to have been his friend, and would rather leave my children  the legacy he leaves his than the largest fortune ever made. Yes!  Simple, generous goodness is the best capital to found the business  of this life upon. It lasts when fame and money fail, and is the only  riches we can take out of this world with us. Remember that, my  boys; and if you want to earn respect and confidence and love  follow in the footsteps of John Brooke."

When Demi returned to school, after some weeks at home, he  seemed to have recovered from his loss with the blessed elasticity  of childhood, and so he had in a measure; but he did not forget, for  his was a nature into which things sank deeply, to be pondered  over, and absorbed into the soil where the small virtues were  growing fast. He played and studied, worked and sang, just as  before, and few suspected any change; but there was one and Aunt  Jo saw it for she watched over the boy with her whole heart, trying  to fill John's place in her poor way. He seldom spoke of his loss,  but Aunt Jo often heard a stifled sobbing in the little bed at night;  and when she went to comfort him, all his cry was, "I want my  father! oh, I want my father!" for the tie between the two had been  a very tender one, and the child's heart bled when it was broken.  But time was kind to him, and slowly he came to feel that father  was not lost, only invisible for a while, and sure to be found again,  well and strong and fond as ever, even though his little son should  see the purple asters blossom on his grave many, many times  before they met. To this belief Demi held fast, and in it found both  help and comfort, because it led him unconsciously through a  tender longing for the father whom he had seen to a childlike trust  in the Father whom he had not seen. Both were in heaven, and he  prayed to both, trying to be good for love of them.

The outward change corresponded to the inward, for in those few  weeks Demi seemed to have grown tall, and began to drop his  childish plays, not as if ashamed of them, as some boys do, but as  if he had outgrown them, and wanted something manlier. He took  to the hated arithmetic, and held on so steadily that his uncle was  charmed, though he could not understand the whim, until Demi  said,

"I am going to be a bookkeeper when I grow up, like papa, and I  must know about figures and things, else I can't have nice, neat  ledgers like his."

At another time he came to his aunt with a very serious face, and  said

"What can a small boy do to earn money?"

"Why do you ask, my deary?"

"My father told me to take care of mother and the little girls, and I  want to, but I don't know how to begin."

"He did not mean now, Demi, but by and by, when you are large."

"But I wish to begin now, if I can, because I think I ought to make  some money to buy things for the family. I am ten, and other boys  no bigger than I earn pennies sometimes."

"Well, then, suppose you rake up all the dead leaves and cover the  strawberry bed. I'll pay you a dollar for the job," said Aunt Jo.

"Isn't that a great deal? I could do it in one day. You must be fair,  and no pay too much, because I want to truly earn it."

"My little John, I will be fair, and not pay a penny too much. Don't  work too hard; and when that is done I will have something else  for you to do," said Mrs. Jo, much touched by his desire to help,  and his sense of justice, so like his scrupulous father.

When the leaves were done, many barrowloads of chips were  wheeled from the wood to the shed, and another dollar earned.  Then Demi helped cover the schoolbooks, working in the evenings  under Franz's direction, tugging patiently away at each book,  letting no one help, and receiving his wages with such satisfaction  that the dingy bills became quite glorified in his sight.

"Now, I have a dollar for each of them, and I should like to take  my money to mother all myself, so she can see that I have minded  my father."

So Demi made a duteous pilgrimage to his mother, who received  his little earnings as a treasure of great worth, and would have kept  it untouched, if Demi had not begged her to buy some useful thing  for herself and the women-children, whom he felt were left to his  care.

This made him very happy, and, though he often forgot his  responsibilities for a time, the desire to help was still there,  strengthening with his years. He always uttered the words "my  father" with an air of gentle pride, and often said, as if he claimed  a title full of honor, "Don't call me Demi any more. I am John  Brooke now." So, strengthened by a purpose and a hope, the little  lad of ten bravely began the world, and entered into his  inheritance, the memory of a wise and tender father, the legacy of  an honest name.

CHAPTER XX ROUND THE FIRE

With the October frosts came the cheery fires in the great  fireplaces; and Demi's dry pine-chips helped Dan's oak-knots to  blaze royally, and go roaring up the chimney with a jolly sound.  All were glad to gather round the hearth, as the evenings grew  longer, to play games, read, or lay plans for the winter. But the  favorite amusement was story-telling, and Mr. and Mrs. Bhaer  were expected to have a store of lively tales always on hand. Their  supply occasionally gave out, and then the boys were thrown upon  their own resources, which were not always successful.  Ghost-parties were the rage at one time; for the fun of the thing  consisted in putting out the lights, letting the fire die down, and  then sitting in the dark, and telling the most awful tales they could  invent. As this resulted in scares of all sorts among the boys,  Tommy's walking in his sleep on the shed roof, and a general state  of nervousness in the little ones, it was forbidden, and they fell  back on more harmless amusements.

One evening, when the small boys were snugly tucked in bed, and  the older lads were lounging about the school-room fire, trying to  decide what they should do, Demi suggested a new way of settling  the question.

Seizing the hearth-brush, he marched up and down the room,  saying, "Row, row, row;" and when the boys, laughing and  pushing, had got into line, he said, "Now, I'll give you two minutes  to think of a play." Franz was writing, and Emil reading the Life of  Lord Nelson, and neither joined the party, but the others thought  hard, and when the time was up were ready to reply.

"Now, Tom!" and the poker softly rapped him on the head.

"Blind-man's Buff."

"Jack!"

"Commerce; a good round game, and have cents for the pool."

"Uncle forbids our playing for money. Dan, what do you want?"

"Let's have a battle between the Greeks and Romans."

"Stuffy?"

"Roast apples, pop corn, and crack nuts."

"Good! good!" cried several; and when the vote was taken, Stuffy's  proposal carried the day.

Some went to the cellar for apples, some to the garret for nuts, and  others looked up the popper and the corn.

"We had better ask the girls to come in, hadn't we?" said Demi, in  a sudden fit of politeness.

"Daisy pricks chestnuts beautifully," put in Nat, who wanted his  little friend to share the fun.

"Nan pops corn tip-top, we must have her," added Tommy.

"Bring in your sweethearts then, we don't mind," said Jack, who  laughed at the innocent regard the little people had for one  another.

"You shan't call my sister a sweetheart; it is so silly!" cried Demi,  in a way that made Jack laugh.

"She is Nat's darling, isn't she, old chirper?"

"Yes, if Demi don't mind. I can't help being fond of her, she is so  good to me," answered Nat, with bashful earnestness, for Jack's  rough ways disturbed him.

"Nan is my sweetheart, and I shall marry her in about a year, so  don't you get in the way, any of you," said Tommy, stoutly; for he  and Nan had settled their future, child-fashion, and were to live in  the willow, lower down a basket for food, and do other charmingly  impossible things.

Demi was quenched by the decision of Bangs, who took him by  the arm and walked him off to get the ladies. Nan and Daisy were  sewing with Aunt Jo on certain small garments, for Mrs. Carney's  newest baby.

"Please, ma'am, could you lend us the girls for a little while? We'll  be very careful of them," said Tommy, winking one eye to express  apples, snapping his fingers to signify pop-corn, and gnashing his  teeth to convey the idea of nut-cracking.

The girls understood this pantomime at once, and began to pull of  their thimbles before Mrs. Jo could decide whether Tommy was  going into convulsions or was brewing some unusual piece of  mischief. Demi explained with elaboration, permission was readily  granted, and the boys departed with their prize.

"Don't you speak to Jack," whispered Tommy, as he and Nan  promenaded down the hall to get a fork to prick the apples.

"Why not?"

"He laughs at me, so I don't wish you to have any thing to do with  him."

"Shall, if I like," said Nan, promptly resenting this premature  assumption of authority on the part of her lord.

"Then I won't have you for my sweetheart."

"I don't care."

"Why, Nan, I thought you were fond of me!" and Tommy's voice  was full of tender reproach.

"If you mind Jack's laughing I don't care for you one bit."

"Then you may take back your old ring; I won't wear it any  longer;" and Tommy plucked off a horsehair pledge of affection  which Nan had given him in return for one made of a lobster's  feeler.

"I shall give it to Ned," was her cruel reply; for Ned liked Mrs.  Giddy-gaddy, and had turned her clothespins, boxes, and spools  enough to set up housekeeping with.

Tommy said, "Thunder turtles!" as the only vent equal to the  pent-up anguish of the moment, and, dropping Nan's arm, retired  in high dudgeon, leaving her to follow with the fork, a neglect  which naughty Nan punished by proceeding to prick his heart with  jealousy as if it were another sort of apple.

The hearth was swept, and the rosy Baldwins put down to roast. A  shovel was heated, and the chestnuts danced merrily upon it, while  the corn popped wildly in its wire prison. Dan cracked his best  walnuts, and every one chattered and laughed, while the rain beat  on the window-pane and the wind howled round the house.

"Why is Billy like this nut?" asked Emil, who was frequently  inspired with bad conundrums.

"Because he is cracked," answered Ned.

"That's not fair; you mustn't make fun of Billy, because he can't hit  back again. It's mean," cried Dan, smashing a nut wrathfully.

"To what family of insects does Blake belong?" asked peacemaker  Franz, seeing that Emil looked ashamed and Dan lowering.

"Gnats," answered Jack.

"Why is Daisy like a bee?" cried Nat, who had been wrapt in  thought for several minutes.

"Because she is queen of the hive," said Dan.

"No."

"Because she is sweet."

"Bees are not sweet."

"Give it up."

"Because she makes sweet things, is always busy, and likes  flowers," said Nat, piling up his boyish compliments till Daisy  blushed like a rosy clover.

"Why is Nan like a hornet?" demanded Tommy, glowering at her,  and adding, without giving any one time to answer, "Because she  isn't sweet, makes a great buzzing about nothing, and stings like  fury."

"Tommy's mad, and I'm glad," cried Ned, as Nan tossed her head  and answered quickly

"What thing in the china-closet is Tom like?"

"A pepper pot," answered Ned, giving Nan a nut meat with a  tantalizing laugh that made Tommy feel as if he would like to  bounce up like a hot chestnut and hit somebody.

Seeing that ill-humor was getting the better of the small supply of  wit in the company, Franz cast himself into the breach again.

"Let's make a law that the first person who comes into the room  shall tell us a story. No matter who it is, he must do it, and it will  be fun to see who comes first."

The others agreed, and did not have to wait long, for a heavy step  soon came clumping through the hall, and Silas appeared, bearing  an armful of wood. He was greeted by a general shout, and stood  staring about him with a bewildered grin on his big red face, till  Franz explained the joke.

"Sho! I can't tell a story," he said, putting down his load and  preparing to leave the room. But the boys fell upon him, forced  him into a seat, and held him there, laughing, and clamoring for  their story, till the good-natured giant was overpowered.

"I don't know but jest one story, and that's about a horse," he said,  much flattered by the reception he received.

"Tell it! tell it!" cried the boys.

"Wal," began Silas, tipping his chair back against the wall, and  putting his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat, "I jined a  cavalry regiment durin' the war, and see a consid'able amount of  fightin'. My horse, Major, was a fust-rate animal, and I was as fond  on him as ef he'd ben a human critter. He warn't harnsome, but he  was the best-tempered, stiddyest, lovenest brute I ever see. I fust  battle we went into, he gave me a lesson that I didn't forgit in a  hurry, and I'll tell you how it was. It ain't no use tryin' to picter the  noise and hurry, and general horridness of a battle to you young  fellers, for I ain't no words to do it in; but I'm free to confess that I  got so sort of confused and upset at the fust on it, that I didn't know  what I was about. We was ordered to charge, and went ahead like  good ones, never stoppin' to pick up them that went down in the  scrimmage. I got a shot in the arm, and was pitched out of the  saddle don't know how, but there I was left behind with two or  three others, dead and wounded, for the rest went on, as I say. Wal,  I picked myself up and looked round for Major, feeling as ef I'd  had about enough for that spell. I didn't see him nowhere, and was  kinder walking back to camp, when I heard a whinny that sounded  nateral. I looked round, and there was Major stopping for me a  long way off, and lookin' as ef he didn't understand why I was  loiterin' behind. I whistled, and he trotted up to me as I'd trained  him to do. I mounted as well as I could with my left arm bleedin'  and was for going on to camp, for I declare I felt as sick and  wimbly as a woman; folks often do in their fust battle. But, no sir!  Major was the bravest of the two, and he wouldn't go, not a peg; he  jest rared up, and danced, and snorted, and acted as ef the smell of  powder and the noise had drove him half wild. I done my best, but  he wouldn't give in, so I did; and what do you think that plucky  brute done? He wheeled slap round, and galloped back like a  hurricane, right into the thickest of the scrimmage!"

"Good for him!" cried Dan excitedly, while the other boys forgot  apples and nuts in their interest.

"I wish I may die ef I warn't ashamed of myself," continued Silas,  warming up at the recollection of that day. "I was mad as a hornet,  and I forgot my waound, and jest pitched in, rampagin' raound like  fury till there come a shell into the midst of us, and in bustin'  knocked a lot of us flat. I didn't know nothin' for a spell, and when  I come-to, the fight was over just there, and I found myself layin'  by a wall of poor Major long-side wuss wounded than I was. My  leg was broke, and I had a ball in my shoulder, but he, poor old  feller! was all tore in the side with a piece of that blasted shell."

"O Silas! what did you do?" cried Nan, pressing close to him with  a face full of eager sympathy and interest.

"I dragged myself nigher, and tried to stop the bleedin' with sech  rags as I could tear off of me with one hand. But it warn't no use,  and he lay moanin' with horrid pain, and lookin' at me with them  lovin' eyes of his, till I thought I couldn't bear it. I give him all the  help I could, and when the sun got hotter and hotter, and he began  to lap out his tongue, I tried to get to a brook that was a good piece  away, but I couldn't do it, being stiff and faint, so I give it up and  fanned him with my hat. Now you listen to this, and when you hear  folks comin' down on the rebs, you jest remember what one on 'em  did, and give him credit of it. I poor feller in gray laid not fur off,  shot through the lungs and dyin' fast. I'd offered him my  handkerchief to keep the sun off his face, and he'd thanked me  kindly, for in sech times as that men don't stop to think on which  side they belong, but jest buckle-to and help one another. When he  see me mournin' over Major and tryin' to ease his pain, he looked  up with his face all damp and white with sufferin', and sez he,  'There's water in my canteen; take it, for it can't help me,' and he  flung it to me. I couldn't have took it ef I hadn't had a little brandy  in a pocket flask, and I made him drink it. It done him good, and I  felt as much set up as if I'd drunk it myself. It's surprisin' the good  sech little things do folks sometime;" and Silas paused as if he felt  again the comfort of that moment when he and his enemy forgot  their feud, and helped one another like brothers.

"Tell about Major," cried the boys, impatient for the catastrophe.

"I poured the water over his poor pantin' tongue, and ef ever a  dumb critter looked grateful, he did then. But it warn't of much  use, for the dreadful waound kep on tormentin' him, till I couldn't  bear it any longer. It was hard, but I done it in mercy, and I know  he forgive me."

"What did you do?" asked Emil, as Silas stopped abruptly with a  loud "hem," and a look in his rough face that made Daisy go and  stand by him with her little hand on his knee.

"I shot him."

Quite a thrill went through the listeners as Silas said that, for  Major seemed a hero in their eyes, and his tragic end roused all  their sympathy.

"Yes, I shot him, and put him out of his misery. I patted him fust,  and said, 'Good-by;' then I laid his head easy on the grass, give a  last look into his lovin' eyes, and sent a bullet through his head. He  hardly stirred, I aimed so true, and when I seen him quite still, with  no more moanin' and pain, I was glad, and yet wal, I don't know as  I need by ashamed on't I jest put my arms raound his neck and  boo-hooed like a great baby. Sho! I didn't know I was sech a fool;"  and Silas drew his sleeve across his eyes, as much touched by  Daisy's sob, as by the memory of faithful Major.

No one spoke for a minute, because the boys were as quick to feel  the pathos of the little story as tender-hearted Daisy, though they  did not show it by crying.

"I'd like a horse like that," said Dan, half-aloud.

"Did the rebel man die, too?" asked Nan, anxiously.

"Not then. We laid there all day, and at night some of our fellers  came to look after the missing ones. They nat'rally wanted to take  me fust, but I knew I could wait, and the rebel had but one chance,  maybe, so I made them carry him off right away. He had jest  strength enough to hold out his hand to me and say, 'Thanky,  comrade!' and them was the last words he spoke, for he died an  hour after he got to the hospital-tent."

"How glad you must have been that you were kind to him!" said  Demi, who was deeply impressed by this story.

"Wal, I did take comfort thinkin' of it, as I laid there alone for a  number of hours with my head on Major's neck, and see the moon  come up. I'd like to have buried the poor beast decent, but it warn't  possible; so I cut off a bit of his mane, and I've kep it ever sence.  Want to see it, sissy?"

"Oh, yes, please," answered Daisy, wiping away her tears to look.

Silas took out an old "wallet" as he called his pocket-book, and  produced from an inner fold a bit of brown paper, in which was a  rough lock of white horse-hair. The children looked at it silently,  as it lay in the broad palm, and no one found any thing to ridicule  in the love Silas bore his good horse Major.

"That is a sweet story, and I like it, though it did make me cry.  Thank you very much, Si," and Daisy helped him fold and put  away his little relic; while Nan stuffed a handful of pop-corn into  his pocket, and the boys loudly expressed their flattering opinions  of his story, feeling that there had been two heroes in it.

He departed, quite overcome by his honors, and the little  conspirators talked the tale over, while they waited for their next  victim. It was Mrs. Jo, who came in to measure Nan for some new  pinafores she was making for her. They let her get well in, and  then pounced upon her, telling her the law, and demanding the  story. Mrs. Jo was very much amused at the new trap, and  consented at once, for the sound of happy voices had been coming  across the hall so pleasantly that she quite longed to join them, and  forget her own anxious thoughts of Sister Meg.

"Am I the first mouse you have caught, you sly pussies-in-boots?"  she asked, as she was conducted to the big chair, supplied with  refreshments, and surrounded by a flock of merry-faced listeners.

They told her about Silas and his contribution, and she slapped her  forehead in despair, for she was quite at her wits' end, being called  upon so unexpectedly for a bran new tale.

"What shall I tell about?" she said.

"Boys," was the general answer.

"Have a party in it," said Daisy.

"And something good to eat," added Stuffy.

"That reminds me of a story, written years ago, by a dear old lady.  I used to be very fond of it, and I fancy you will like it, for it has  both boys, and 'something good to eat' in it."

"What is it called?" asked Demi.

"'The Suspected Boy.' "

Nat looked up from the nuts he was picking, and Mrs. Jo smiled at  him, guessing what was in his mind.

"Miss Crane kept a school for boys in a quiet little town, and a  very good school it was, of the old-fashioned sort. Six boys lived  in her house, and four or five more came in from the town. Among  those who lived with her was one named Lewis White. Lewis was  not a bad boy, but rather timid, and now and then he told a lie. One  day a neighbor sent Miss Crane a basket of gooseberries. There  were not enough to go round, so kind Miss Crane, who liked to  please her boys, went to work and made a dozen nice little  gooseberry tarts."

"I'd like to try gooseberry tarts. I wonder if she made them as I do  my raspberry ones," said Daisy, whose interest in cooking had  lately revived.

"Hush," said Nat, tucking a plump pop-corn into her mouth to  silence her, for he felt a particular interest in this tale, and thought  it opened well.

"When the tarts were done, Miss Crane put them away in the best  parlor closet, and said not a word about them, for she wanted to  surprise the boys at tea-time. When the minute came and all were  seated at table, she went to get her tarts, but came back looking  much troubled, for what do you think had happened?"

"Somebody had hooked them!" cried Ned.

"No, there they were, but some one had stolen all the fruit out of  them by lifting up the upper crust and then putting it down after  the gooseberry had been scraped out."

"What a mean trick!" and Nan looked at Tommy, as if to imply  that he would do the same.

"When she told the boys her plan and showed them the poor little  patties all robbed of their sweetness, the boys were much grieved  and disappointed, and all declared that they knew nothing about  the matter. 'Perhaps the rats did it,' said Lewis, who was among the  loudest to deny any knowledge of the tarts. 'No, rats would have  nibbled crust and all, and never lifted it up and scooped out the  fruit. Hands did that,' said Miss Crane, who was more troubled  about the lie that some one must have told than about her lost  patties. Well, they had supper and went to bed, but in the night  Miss Crane heard some one groaning, and going to see who it was  she found Lewis in great pain. He had evidently eaten something  that disagreed with him, and was so sick that Miss Crane was  alarmed, and was going to send for the doctor, when Lewis  moaned out, 'It's the gooseberries; I ate them, and I must tell before  I die,' for the thought of a doctor frightened him. 'If that is all, I'll  give you an emetic and you will soon get over it,' said Miss Crane.  So Lewis had a good dose, and by morning was quite comfortable.  'Oh, don't tell the boys; they will laugh at me so,' begged the  invalid. Kind Miss Crane promised not to, but Sally, the girl, told  the story, and poor Lewis had no peace for a long time. His mates  called him Old Gooseberry, and were never tired of asking him the  price of tarts."

"Served him right," said Emil.

"Badness always gets found out," added Demi, morally.

"No, it don't," muttered Jack, who was tending the apples with  great devotion, so that he might keep his back to the rest and  account for his red face.

"Is that all?" asked Dan.

"No, that is only the first part; the second part is more interesting.  Some time after this a peddler came by one day and stopped to  show his things to the boys, several of whom bought  pocket-combs, jew's-harps, and various trifles of that sort. Among  the knives was a little white-handled penknife that Lewis wanted  very much, but he had spent all his pocket-money, and no one had  any to lend him. He held the knife in his hand, admiring and  longing for it, till the man packed up his goods to go, then he  reluctantly laid it down, and the man went on his way. The next  day, however, the peddler returned to say that he could not find  that very knife, and thought he must have left it at Miss Crane's. It  was a very nice one with a pearl handle, and he could not afford to  lose it. Every one looked, and every one declared they knew  nothing about it. 'This young gentleman had it last, and seemed to  want it very much. Are you quite sure you put it back?' said the  man to Lewis, who was much troubled at the loss, and vowed over  and over again that he did return it. His denials seemed to do no  good, however, for every one was sure he had taken it, and after a  stormy scene Miss Crane paid for it, and the man went grumbling  away."

"Did Lewis have it?" cried Nat, much excited.

"You will see. Now poor Lewis had another trial to bear, for the  boys were constantly saying, 'Lend me your pearl-handled knife,  Gooseberry,' and things of that sort, till Lewis was so unhappy he  begged to be sent home. Miss Crane did her best to keep the boys  quiet, but it was hard work, for they would tease, and she could not  be with them all the time. That is one of the hardest things to teach  boys; they won't 'hit a fellow when he is down,' as they say, but  they will torment him in little ways till he would thank them to  fight it out all round."

"I know that," said Dan.

"So do I," added Nat, softly.

Jack said nothing, but he quite agreed; for he knew that the elder  boys despised him, and let him alone for that very reason.

"Do go on about poor Lewis, Aunt Jo. I don't believe he took the  knife, but I want to be sure," said Daisy, in great anxiety.

"Well, week after week went on and the matter was not cleared up.  The boys avoided Lewis, and he, poor fellow, was almost sick with  the trouble he had brought upon himself. He resolved never to tell  another lie, and tried so hard that Miss Crane pitied and helped  him, and really came at last to believe that he did not take the  knife. Two months after the peddler's first visit, he came again,  and the first thing he said was

"'Well, ma'am, I found that knife after all. It had slipped behind the  lining of my valise, and fell out the other day when I was putting in  a new stock of goods. I thought I'd call and let you know, as you  paid for it, and maybe would like it, so here it is.' "

"The boys had all gathered round, and at these words they felt  much ashamed, and begged Lewis' pardon so heartily that he could  not refuse to give it. Miss Crane presented the knife to him, and he  kept it many years to remind him of the fault that had brought him  so much trouble."

"I wonder why it is that things you eat on the sly hurt you, and  don't when you eat them at table," observed Stuffy, thoughtfully.

"Perhaps your conscience affects your stomach," said Mrs. Jo,  smiling at his speech.

"He is thinking of the cucumbers," said Ned, and a gale of  merriment followed the words, for Stuffy's last mishap had been a  funny one.

He ate two large cucumbers in private, felt very ill, and confided  his anguish to Ned, imploring him to do something. Ned  good-naturedly recommended a mustard plaster and a hot flat iron  to the feet; only in applying these remedies he reversed the order  of things, and put the plaster on the feet, the flat iron on the  stomach, and poor Stuffy was found in the barn with blistered  soles and a scorched jacket.

"Suppose you tell another story, that was such an interesting one,"  said Nat, as the laughter subsided.

Before Mrs. Jo could refuse these insatiable Oliver Twists, Rob  walked into the room trailing his little bed-cover after him, and  wearing an expression of great sweetness as he said, steering  straight to his mother as a sure haven of refuge,

"I heard a great noise, and I thought sumfin dreffle might have  happened, so I came to see."

"Did you think I would forget you, naughty boy?" asked his  mother, trying to look stern.

"No; but I thought you'd feel better to see me right here,"  responded the insinuating little party.

"I had much rather see you in bed, so march straight up again,  Robin."

"Everybody that comes in here has to tell a story, and you can't so  you'd better cut and run," said Emil.

"Yes, I can! I tell Teddy lots of ones, all about bears and moons,  and little flies that say things when they buzz," protested Rob,  bound to stay at any price.

"Tell one now, then, right away," said Dan, preparing to shoulder  and bear him off.

"Well, I will; let me fink a minute," and Rob climbed into his  mother's lap, where he was cuddled, with the remark

"It is a family failing, this getting out of bed at wrong times. Demi  used to do it; and as for me, I was hopping in and out all night  long. Meg used to think the house was on fire, and send me down  to see, and I used to stay and enjoy myself, as you mean to, my bad  son."

"I've finked now," observed Rob, quite at his ease, and eager to  win the entree into this delightful circle.

Every one looked and listened with faces full of suppressed  merriment as Rob, perched on his mother's knee and wrapped in  the gay coverlet, told the following brief but tragic tale with an  earnestness that made it very funny:

"Once a lady had a million children, and one nice little boy. She  went up-stairs and said, 'You mustn't go in the yard.' But he  wented, and fell into the pump, and was drowned dead."

"Is that all?" asked Franz, as Rob paused out of breath with this  startling beginning.

"No, there is another piece of it," and Rob knit his downy  eyebrows in the effort to evolve another inspiration.

"What did the lady do when he fell into the pump?" asked his  mother, to help him on.

"Oh, she pumped him up, and wrapped him in a newspaper, and  put him on a shelf to dry for seed."

A general explosion of laughter greeted this surprising conclusion,  and Mrs. Jo patted the curly head, as she said, solemnly,

"My son, you inherit your mother's gift of story-telling. Go where  glory waits thee."

"Now I can stay, can't I? Wasn't it a good story?" cried Rob, in high  feather at his superb success.

"You can stay till you have eaten these twelve pop-corns," said his  mother, expecting to see them vanish at one mouthful.

But Rob was a shrewd little man, and got the better of her by  eating them one by one very slowly, and enjoying every minute  with all his might.

"Hadn't you better tell the other story, while you wait for him?"  said Demi, anxious that no time should be lost.

"I really have nothing but a little tale about a wood-box," said Mrs.  Jo, seeing that Rob had still seven corns to eat.

"Is there a boy in it?"

"It is all boy."

"Is it true?" asked Demi.

"Every bit of it."

"Goody! tell on, please."

"James Snow and his mother lived in a little house, up in New  Hampshire. They were poor, and James had to work to help his  mother, but he loved books so well he hated work, and just wanted  to sit and study all day long."

"How could he! I hate books, and like work," said Dan, objecting  to James at the very outset.

"It takes all sorts of people to make a world; workers and students  both are needed, and there is room for all. But I think the workers  should study some, and the students should know how to work if  necessary," answered Mrs. Jo, looking from Dan to Demi with a  significant expression.

"I'm sure I do work," and Demi showed three small hard spots in  his little palm, with pride.

"And I'm sure I study," added Dan, nodding with a groan toward  the blackboard full of neat figures.

"See what James did. He did not mean to be selfish, but his mother  was proud of him, and let him do as he liked, working by herself  that he might have books and time to read them. One autumn  James wanted to go to school, and went to the minister to see if he  would help him, about decent clothes and books. Now the minister  had heard the gossip about James's idleness, and was not inclined  to do much for him, thinking that a boy who neglected his mother,  and let her slave for him, was not likely to do very well even at  school. But the good man felt more interested when he found how  earnest James was, and being rather an odd man, he made this  proposal to the boy, to try now sincere he was.

"'I will give you clothes and books on one condition, James.'

"'What is that, sir?' and the boy brightened up at once.

"'You are to keep your mother's wood-box full all winter long, and  do it yourself. If you fail, school stops.' James laughed at the queer  condition and readily agreed to it, thinking it a very easy one.

"He began school, and for a time got on capitally with the  wood-box, for it was autumn, and chips and brushwood were  plentiful. He ran out morning and evening and got a basket full, or  chopped up the cat sticks for the little cooking stove, and as his  mother was careful and saving, the task was not hard. But in  November the frost came, the days were dull and cold, and wood  went fast. His mother bought a load with her own earnings, but it  seemed to melt away, and was nearly gone, before James  remembered that he was to get the next. Mrs. Snow was feeble and  lame with rheumatism, and unable to work as she had done, so  James had to put down the books, and see what he could do.

"It was hard, for he was going on well, and so interested in his  lessons that he hated to stop except for food and sleep. But he  knew the minister would keep his word, and much against his will  James set about earning money in his spare hours, lest the  wood-box should get empty. He did all sorts of things, ran errands,  took care of a neighbor's cow, helped the old sexton dust and warm  the church on Sundays, and in these ways got enough to buy fuel in  small quantities. But it was hard work; the days were short, the  winter was bitterly cold, and precious time went fast, and the dear  books were so fascinating, that it was sad to leave them, for dull  duties that never seemed done.

"The minister watched him quietly, and seeing that he was in  earnest helped him without his knowledge. He met him often  driving the wood sleds from the forest, where the men were  chopping and as James plodded beside the slow oxen, he read or  studied, anxious to use every minute. 'The boy is worth helping,  this lesson will do him good, and when he has learned it, I will  give him an easier one,' said the minister to himself, and on  Christmas eve a splendid load of wood was quietly dropped at the  door of the little house, with a new saw and a bit of paper, saying  only

"'The Lord helps those who help themselves.'

"Poor James expected nothing, but when he woke on that cold  Christmas morning, he found a pair of warm mittens, knit by his  mother, with her stiff painful fingers. This gift pleased him very  much, but her kiss and tender look as she called him her 'good son,'  was better still. In trying to keep her warm, he had warmed his  own heart, you see, and in filling the wood-box he had also filled  those months with duties faithfully done. He began to see this, to  feel that there was something better than books, and to try to learn  the lessons God set him, as well as those his school-master gave.

"When he saw the great pile of oak and pine logs at his door, and  read the little paper, he knew who sent it, and understood the  minister's plan; thanked him for it, and fell to work with all his  might. Other boys frolicked that day, but James sawed wood, and I  think of all the lads in the town the happiest was the one in the  new mittens, who whistled like a blackbird as he filled his  mother's wood-box."

"That's a first rater!" cried Dan, who enjoyed a simple  matter-of-face story better than the finest fairy tale; "I like that  fellow after all."

"I could saw wood for you, Aunt Jo!" said Demi, feeling as if a  new means of earning money for his mother was suggested by the  story.

"Tell about a bad boy. I like them best," said Nan.

"You'd better tell about a naughty cross-patch of a girl," said  Tommy, whose evening had been spoilt by Nan's unkindness. It  made his apple taste bitter, his pop-corn was insipid, his nuts were  hard to crack, and the sight of Ned and Nan on one bench made  him feel his life a burden.

But there were no more stories from Mrs. Jo, for on looking down  at Rob he was discovered to be fast asleep with his last corn firmly  clasped in his chubby hand. Bundling him up in his coverlet, his  mother carried him away and tucked him up with no fear of his  popping out again.

"Now let's see who will come next," said Emil, setting the door  temptingly ajar.

Mary Ann passed first, and he called out to her, but Silas had  warned her, and she only laughed and hurried on in spite of their  enticements. Presently a door opened, and a strong voice was  heard humming in the hall

"Ich weiss nicht was soll es bedeuten

Dass ich so traurig bin."

"It's Uncle Fritz; all laugh loud and he will be sure to come in,"  said Emil.

A wild burst of laughter followed, and in came Uncle Fritz, asking,  "What is the joke, my lads?"

"Caught! caught! you can't go out till you've told a story," cried the  boys, slamming the door.

"So! that is the joke then? Well, I have no wish to go, it is so  pleasant here, and I pay my forfeit at once," which he did by sitting  down and beginning instantly

"A long time ago your Grandfather, Demi, went to lecture in a  great town, hoping to get some money for a home for little orphans  that some good people were getting up. His lecture did well, and  he put a considerable sum of money in his pocket, feeling very  happy about it. As he was driving in a chaise to another town, he  came to a lonely bit of road, late in the afternoon, and was just  thinking what a good place it was for robbers when he saw a  bad-looking man come out of the woods in front of him and go  slowly along as if waiting till he came up. The thought of the  money made Grandfather rather anxious, and at first he had a mind  to turn round and drive away. But the horse was tired, and then he  did not like to suspect the man, so he kept on, and when he got  nearer and saw how poor and sick and ragged the stranger looked,  his heart reproached him, and stopping, he said in a kind voice

"'My friend, you look tired; let me give you a lift.' The man seemed  surprised, hesitated a minute, and then got in. He did not seem  inclined to talk, but Grandfather kept on in his wise, cheerful way,  speaking of what a hard year it had been, how much the poor had  suffered, and how difficult it was to get on sometimes. The man  slowly softened a little, and won by the kind chat, told his story.  How he had been sick, could get no work, had a family of children,  and was almost in despair. Grandfather was so full of pity that he  forgot his fear, and, asking the man his name, said he would try to  get him work in the next town, as he had friends there. Wishing to  get at pencil and paper to write down the address, Grandfather  took out his plump pocket-book, and the minute he did so, the  man's eye was on it. Then Grandfather remembered what was in it  and trembled for his money, but said quietly

"'Yes, I have a little sum here for some poor orphans. I wish it was  my own, I would so gladly give you some of it. I am not rich, but I  know many of the trials of the poor; this five dollars is mine, and I  want to give it to you for your children.'

"The hard, hungry look in the man's eyes changed to a grateful one  as he took the small sum, freely given, and left the orphans' money  untouched. He rode on with Grandfather till they approached the  town, then he asked to be set down. Grandpa shook hands with  him, and was about to drive on, when the man said, as if  something made him, 'I was desperate when we met, and I meant  to rob you, but you were so kind I couldn't do it. God bless you, sir,  for keeping me from it!' "

"Did Grandpa ever see him again?" asked Daisy, eagerly.

"No; but I believe the man found work, and did not try robbery any  more."

"That was a curious way to treat him; I'd have knocked him down,"  said Dan.

"Kindness is always better than force. Try it and see," answered  Mr. Bhaer, rising.

"Tell another, please," cried Daisy.

"You must, Aunt Jo did," added Demi.

"Then I certainly won't, but keep my others for next time. Too  many tales are as bad as too many bonbons. I have paid my forfeit  and I go," and Mr. Bhaer ran for his life, with the whole flock in  full pursuit. He had the start, however, and escaped safely into his  study, leaving the boys to go rioting back again.

They were so stirred up by the race that they could not settle to  their former quiet, and a lively game of Blindman's Buff followed,  in which Tommy showed that he had taken the moral of the last  story to heart, for, when he caught Nan, he whispered in her ear,  "I'm sorry I called you a cross-patch."

Nan was not to be outdone in kindness, so, when they played  "Button, button, who's got the button?" and it was her turn to go  round, she said, "Hold fast all I give you," with such a friendly  smile at Tommy, that he was not surprised to find the horse-hair  ring in his hand instead of the button. He only smiled back at her  then, but when they were going to bed, he offered Nan the best bite  of his last apple; she saw the ring on his stumpy little finger,  accepted the bite, and peace was declared. Both were ashamed of  the temporary coldness, neither was ashamed to say, "I was wrong,  forgive me," so the childish friendship remained unbroken, and the  home in the willow lasted long, a pleasant little castle in the air.

CHAPTER XXI THANKSGIVING

This yearly festival was always kept at Plumfield in the good  old-fashioned way, and nothing was allowed to interfere with it.  For days beforehand, the little girls helped Asia and Mrs. Jo in  store-room and kitchen, making pies and puddings, sorting fruit,  dusting dishes, and being very busy and immensely important. The  boys hovered on the outskirts of the forbidden ground, sniffing the  savory odors, peeping in at the mysterious performances, and  occasionally being permitted to taste some delicacy in the process  of preparation.

Something more than usual seemed to be on foot this year, for the  girls were as busy up-stairs as down, so were the boys in  school-room and barn, and a general air of bustle pervaded the  house. There was a great hunting up of old ribbons and finery,  much cutting and pasting of gold paper, and the most remarkable  quantity of straw, gray cotton, flannel, and big black beads, used  by Franz and Mrs. Jo. Ned hammered at strange machines in the  workshop, Demi and Tommy went about murmuring to themselves  as if learning something. A fearful racket was heard in Emil's room  at intervals, and peals of laughter from the nursery when Rob and  Teddy were sent for and hidden from sight whole hours at a time.  But the thing that puzzled Mr. Bhaer the most was what became of  Rob's big pumpkin. It had been borne in triumph to the kitchen,  where a dozen golden-tinted pies soon after appeared. It would not  have taken more than a quarter of the mammoth vegetable to make  them, yet where was the rest? It disappeared, and Rob never  seemed to care, only chuckled when it was mentioned, and told his  father, "To wait and see," for the fun of the whole thing was to  surprise Father Bhaer at the end, and not let him know a bit about  what was to happen.

He obediently shut eyes, ears, and mouth, and went about trying  not to see what was in plain sight, not to hear the tell-tale sounds  that filled the air, not to understand any of the perfectly transparent  mysteries going on all about him. Being a German, he loved these  simple domestic festivals, and encouraged them with all his heart,  for they made home so pleasant that the boys did not care to go  elsewhere for fun.

When at last the day came, the boys went off for a long walk, that  they might have good appetites for dinner; as if they ever needed  them! The girls remained at home to help set the table, and give  last touches to various affairs which filled their busy little souls  with anxiety. The school-room had been shut up since the night  before, and Mr. Bhaer was forbidden to enter it on pain of a  beating from Teddy, who guarded the door like a small dragon,  though he was dying to tell about it, and nothing but his father's  heroic self-denial in not listening, kept him from betraying a grand  secret.

"It's all done, and it's perfectly splendid," cried Nan, coming out at  last with an air of triumph.

"The you know goes beautifully, and Silas knows just what to do  now," added Daisy, skipping with delight at some unspeakable  success.

"I'm blest if it ain't the 'cutest thing I ever see, them critters in  particular," said Silas, who had been let into the secret, went off  laughing like a great boy.

"They are coming; I hear Emil roaring 'Land lubbers lying down  below,' so we must run and dress," cried Nan, and up-stairs they  scampered in a great hurry.

The boys came trooping home with appetites that would have  made the big turkey tremble, if it had not been past all fear. They  also retired to dress; and for half-an-hour there was a washing,  brushing, and prinking that would have done any tidy woman's  heart good to see. When the bell rang, a troop of fresh-faced lads  with shiny hair, clean collars, and Sunday jackets on, filed into the  dining-room, where Mrs. Jo, in her one black silk, with a knot of  her favorite white chrysanthemums in her bosom, sat at the head of  the table, "looking splendid," as the boys said, whenever she got  herself up. Daisy and Nan were as gay as a posy bed in their new  winter dresses, with bright sashes and hair ribbons. Teddy was  gorgeous to behold in a crimson merino blouse, and his best button  boots, which absorbed and distracted him as much as Mr. Toot's  wristbands did on one occasion.

As Mr. and Mrs. Bhaer glanced at each other down the long table,  with those rows of happy faces on either side, they had a little  thanksgiving all to themselves, and without a word, for one heart  said to the other,

"Our work has prospered, let us be grateful and go on."

The clatter of knives and forks prevented much conversation for a  few minutes, and Mary Ann with an amazing pink bow in her hair  "flew round" briskly, handing plates and ladling out gravy. Nearly  every one had contributed to the feast, so the dinner was a  peculiarly interesting ones to the eaters of it, who beguiled the  pauses by remarks on their own productions.

"If these are not good potatoes I never saw any," observed Jack, as  he received his fourth big mealy one.

"Some of my herbs are in the stuffing of the turkey, that's why it's  so nice," said Nan, taking a mouthful with intense satisfaction.

"My ducks are prime any way; Asia said she never cooked such fat  ones," added Tommy.

"Well, our carrots are beautiful, ain't they, and our parsnips will be  ever so good when we dig them," put in Dick, and Dolly  murmured his assent from behind the bone he was picking.

"I helped make the pies with my pumpkin," called out Robby, with  a laugh which he stopped by retiring into his mug.

"I picked some of the apples that the cider is made of," said Demi.

"I raked the cranberries for the sauce," cried Nat.

"I got the nuts," added Dan, and so it went on all round the table.

"Who made up Thanksgiving?" asked Rob, for being lately  promoted to jacket and trousers he felt a new and manly interest in  the institutions of his country.

"See who can answer that question," and Mr. Bhaer nodded to one  or two of his best history boys.

"I know," said Demi, "the Pilgrims made it."

"What for?" asked Rob, without waiting to learn who the Pilgrims  were.

"I forget," and Demi subsided.

"I believe it was because they were starved once, and so when they  had a good harvest, they said, 'We will thank God for it,' and they  had a day and called it Thanksgiving," said Dan, who liked the  story of the brave men who suffered so nobly for their faith.

"Good! I didn't think you would remember any thing but natural  history," and Mr. Bhaer tapped gently on the table as applause for  his pupil.

Dan looked pleased; and Mrs. Jo said to her son, "Now do you  understand about it, Robby?"

"No, I don't. I thought pil-grins were a sort of big bird that lived on  rocks, and I saw pictures of them in Demi's book."

"He means penguins. Oh, isn't he a little goosey!" and Demi laid  back in his chair and laughed aloud.

"Don't laugh at him, but tell him all about it if you can," said Mrs.  Bhaer, consoling Rob with more cranberry sauce for the general  smile that went round the table at his mistake.

"Well, I will;" and, after a pause to collect his ideas, Demi  delivered the following sketch of the Pilgrim Fathers, which would  have made even those grave gentlemen smile if they could have  heard it.

"You see, Rob, some of the people in England didn't like the king,  or something, so they got into ships and sailed away to this  country. It was all full of Indians, and bears, and wild creatures,  and they lived in forts, and had a dreadful time."

"The bears?" asked Robby, with interest.

"No; the Pilgrims, because the Indians troubled them. They hadn't  enough to eat, and they went to church with guns, and ever so  many died, and they got out of the ships on a rock, and it's called  Plymouth Rock, and Aunt Jo saw it and touched it. The Pilgrims  killed all the Indians, and got rich; and hung the witches, and were  very good; and some of the greatest great-grandpas came in the  ships. One was the Mayflower; and they made Thanksgiving, and  we have it always, and I like it. Some more turkey, please."

"I think Demi will be an historian, there is such order and  clearness in his account of events;" and Uncle Fritz's eyes laughed  at Aunt Jo, as he helped the descendant of the Pilgrims to his third  bit of turkey.

"I thought you must eat as much as ever you could on  Thanksgiving. But Franz says you mustn't even then;" and Stuffy  looked as if he had received bad news.

"Franz is right, so mind your knife and fork, and be moderate, or  else you won't be able to help in the surprise by and by," said Mrs.  Jo.

"I'll be careful; but everybody does eat lots, and I like it better than  being moderate," said Stuffy, who leaned to the popular belief that  Thanksgiving must be kept by coming as near apoplexy as  possible, and escaping with merely a fit of indigestion or a  headache.

"Now, my 'pilgrims' amuse yourselves quietly till tea-time, for you  will have enough excitement this evening," said Mrs. Jo, as they  rose from the table after a protracted sitting, finished by drinking  every one's health in cider.

"I think I will take the whole flock for a drive, it is so pleasant;  then you can rest, my dear, or you will be worn out this evening,"  added Mr. Bhaer; and as soon as coats and hats could be put on,  the great omnibus was packed full, and away they went for a long  gay drive, leaving Mrs. Jo to rest and finish sundry small affairs in  peace.

An early and light tea was followed by more brushing of hair and  washing of hands; then the flock waited impatiently for the  company to come. Only the family was expected; for these small  revels were strictly domestic, and such being the case, sorrow was  not allowed to sadden the present festival. All came; Mr. and Mrs.  March, with Aunt Meg, so sweet and lovely, in spite of her black  dress and the little widow's cap that encircled her tranquil face.  Uncle Teddy and Aunt Amy, with the Princess looking more  fairy-like than ever, in a sky-blue gown, and a great bouquet of  hot-house flowers, which she divided among the boys, sticking one  in each button-hole, making them feel peculiarly elegant and  festive. One strange face appeared, and Uncle Teddy led the  unknown gentleman up to the Bhaers, saying

"This is Mr. Hyde; he has been inquiring about Dan, and I ventured  to bring him to-night, that he might see how much the boy has  improved."

The Bhaers received him cordially, for Dan's sake, pleased that the  lad had been remembered. But, after a few minutes' chat, they  were glad to know Mr. Hyde for his own sake, so genial, simple,  and interesting was he. It was pleasant to see the boy's face light up  when he caught sight of his friend; pleasanter still to see Mr.  Hyde's surprise and satisfaction in Dan's improved manners and  appearance, and pleasantest of all to watch the two sit talking in a  corner, forgetting the differences of age, culture, and position, in  the one subject which interested both, as man and boy compared  notes, and told the story of their summer life.

"The performance must begin soon, or the actors will go to sleep,"  said Mrs. Jo, when the first greetings were over.

So every one went into the school-room, and took seats before a  curtain made of two bed-covers. The children had already  vanished; but stifled laughter, and funny little exclamations from  behind the curtain, betrayed their whereabouts. The entertainment  began with a spirited exhibition of gymnastics, led by Franz. The  six elder lads, in blue trousers and red shirts, made a fine display  of muscle with dumb-bells, clubs, and weights, keeping time to the  music of the piano, played by Mrs. Jo behind the scenes. Dan was  so energetic in this exercise, that there was some danger of his  knocking down his neighbors, like so many nine-pins, or sending  his bean-bags whizzing among the audience; for he was excited by  Mr. Hyde's presence, and a burning desire to do honor to his  teachers.

"A fine, strong lad. If I go on my trip to South America, in a year  or two, I shall be tempted to ask you to lend him to me, Mr.  Bhaer," said Mr. Hyde, whose interest in Dan was much increased  by the report he had just heard of him.

"You shall have him, and welcome, though we shall miss our  young Hercules very much. It would do him a world of good, and I  am sure he would serve his friend faithfully."

Dan heard both question and answer, and his heart leaped with joy  at the thought of travelling in a new country with Mr. Hyde, and  swelled with gratitude for the kindly commendation which  rewarded his efforts to be all these friends desired to see him.

After the gymnastics, Demi and Tommy spoke the old school  dialogue, "Money makes the mare go." Demi did very well, but  Tommy was capital as the old farmer; for he imitated Silas in a  way that convulsed the audience, and caused Silas himself to laugh  so hard that Asia had to slap him on the back, as they stood in the  hall enjoying the fun immensely.

Then Emil, who had got his breath by this time, gave them a  sea-song in costume, with a great deal about "stormy winds," "lee  shores," and a rousing chorus of "Luff, boys, luff," which made the  room ring; after which Ned performed a funny Chinese dance, and  hopped about like a large frog in a pagoda hat. As this was the only  public exhibition ever held at Plumfield, a few exercises in  lightning-arithmetic, spelling, and reading were given. Jack quite  amazed the public by his rapid calculations on the blackboard.  Tommy won in the spelling match, and Demi read a little French  fable so well that Uncle Teddy was charmed.

"Where are the other children?" asked every one as the curtain fell,  and none of the little ones appeared.

"Oh, that is the surprise. It's so lovely, I pity you because you don't  know it," said Demi, who had gone to get his mother's kiss, and  stayed by her to explain the mystery when it should be revealed.

Goldilocks had been carried off by Aunt Jo, to the great  amazement of her papa, who quite outdid Mr. Bhaer in acting  wonder, suspense, and wild impatience to know "what was going  to happen."

At last, after much rustling, hammering, and very audible  directions from the stage manager, the curtain rose to soft music,  and Bess was discovered sitting on a stool beside a brown paper  fire-place. A dearer little Cinderella was never seen; for the gray  gown was very ragged, the tiny shoes all worn, the face so pretty  under the bright hair, and the attitude so dejected, it brought tears,  as well as smiles, to the fond eyes looking at the baby actress. She  sat quite still, till a voice whispered, "Now!" then she sighed a  funny little sigh, and said, "Oh I wish I tood go to the ball!" so  naturally, that her father clapped frantically, and her mother called  out, "Little darling!" These highly improper expressions of feeling  caused Cinderella to forget herself, and shake her head at them,  saying, reprovingly, "You mustn't 'peak to me."

Silence instantly prevailed, and three taps were heard on the wall.  Cinderella looked alarmed, but before she could remember to say,  "What is dat?" the back of the brown paper fire-place opened like a  door, and, with some difficulty, the fairy godmother got herself  and her pointed hat through. It was Nan, in a red cloak, a cap, and  a wand, which she waved as she said decidedly,

"You shall go to the ball, my dear."

"Now you must pull and show my pretty dress," returned  Cinderella, tugging at her brown gown.

"No, no; you must say, 'How can I go in my rags?' " said the  godmother in her own voice.

"Oh yes, so I mus';" and the Princess said it, quite undisturbed by  her forgetfulness.

"I change your rags into a splendid dress, because you are good,"  said the godmother in her stage tones; and deliberately  unbuttoning the brown pinafore, she displayed a gorgeous sight.

The little Princess really was pretty enough to turn the heads of  any number of small princes, for her mamma had dressed her like  a tiny court lady, in a rosy silk train with satin under-skirt, and bits  of bouquets here and there, quite lovely to behold. The godmother  put a crown, with pink and white feathers drooping from it, on her  head, and gave her a pair of silver paper slippers, which she put  on, and then stood up, lifting her skirts to show them to the  audience, saying, with pride, "My dlass ones, ain't they pitty?"

She was so charmed with them, that she was with difficulty  recalled to her part, and made to say

"But I have no toach, Dodmother."

"Behold it!" and Nan waved her wand with such a flourish, that  she nearly knocked off the crown of the Princess.

Then appeared the grand triumph of the piece. First, a rope was  seen to flap on the floor, to tighten with a twitch as Emil's voice  was heard to say, "Heave, ahoy!" and Silas's gruff one to reply,  "Stiddy, now, stiddy!" A shout of laughter followed, for four large  gray rats appeared, rather shaky as to their legs, and queer as to  their tails, but quite fine about the head, where black beads shone  in the most lifelike manner. They drew, or were intended to appear  as if they did, a magnificent coach made of half the mammoth  pumpkin, mounted on the wheels of Teddy's wagon, painted  yellow to match the gay carriage. Perched on a seat in front sat a  jolly little coachman in a white cotton-wool wig, cocked hat,  scarlet breeches, and laced coat, who cracked a long whip and  jerked the red reins so energetically, that the gray steeds reared  finely. It was Teddy, and he beamed upon the company so affably  that they gave him a round all to himself; and Uncle Laurie said,  "If I could find as sober a coachman as that one, I would engage  him on the spot." The coach stopped, the godmother lifted in the  Princess, and she was trundled away in state, kissing her hand to  the public, with her glass shoes sticking up in front, and her pink  train sweeping the ground behind, for, elegant as the coach was, I  regret to say that her Highness was rather a tight fit.

The next scene was the ball, and here Nan and Daisy appeared as  gay as peacocks in all sorts of finery. Nan was especially good as  the proud sister, and crushed many imaginary ladies as she swept  about the palace-hall. The Prince, in solitary state upon a  somewhat unsteady throne, sat gazing about him from under an  imposing crown, as he played with his sword and admired the  rosettes in his shoes. When Cinderella came in he jumped up, and  exclaimed, with more warmth than elegance,

"My gracious! who is that?" and immediately led the lady out to  dance, while the sisters scowled and turned up their noses in the  corner.

The stately jig executed by the little couple was very pretty, for the  childish faces were so earnest, the costumes so gay, and the steps  so peculiar, that they looked like the dainty quaint figures painted  on a Watteau fan. The Princess's train was very much in her way,  and the sword of Prince Rob nearly tripped him up several times.  But they overcame these obstacles remarkably well, and finished  the dance with much grace and spirit, considering that neither  knew what the other was about.

"Drop your shoe," whispered Mrs. Jo's voice as the lady was about  to sit down.

"Oh, I fordot!" and, taking off one of the silvery slippers,  Cinderella planted it carefully in the middle of the stage, said to  Rob, "Now you must try and tatch me," and ran away, while the  Prince, picking up the shoe, obediently trotted after her.

The third scene, as everybody knows, is where the herald comes to  try on the shoe. Teddy, still in coachman's dress, came in blowing  a tin fish-horn melodiously, and the proud sisters each tried to put  on the slipper. Nan insisted on playing cut off her toe with a  carving-knife, and performed that operation so well that the herald  was alarmed, and begged her to be "welly keerful." Cinderella then  was called, and came in with the pinafore half on, slipped her foot  into the slipper, and announced, with satisfaction,

"I am the Pinsiss."

Daisy wept, and begged pardon; but Nan, who liked tragedy,  improved upon the story, and fell in a fainting-fit upon the floor,  where she remained comfortably enjoying the rest of the play. It  was not long, for the Prince ran in, dropped upon his knees, and  kissed the hand of Goldilocks with great ardor, while the herald  blew a blast that nearly deafened the audience. The curtain had no  chance to fall, for the Princess ran off the stage to her father,  crying, "Didn't I do well?" while the Prince and herald had a  fencing-match with the tin horn and wooden sword.

"It was beautiful!" said every one; and, when the raptures had a  little subsided, Nat came out with his violin in his hand.

"Hush! hush!" cried all the children, and silence followed, for  something in the boy's bashful manner and appealing eyes make  every one listen kindly.

The Bhaers thought he would play some of the old airs he knew so  well, but, to their surprise, they heard a new and lovely melody, so  softly, sweetly played, that they could hardly believe it could be  Nat. It was one of those songs without words that touch the heart,  and sing of all tender home-like hopes and joys, soothing and  cheering those who listen to its simple music. Aunt Meg leaned  her head on Demi's shoulder, Grandmother wiped her eyes, and  Mrs. Jo looked up at Mr. Laurie, saying, in a choky whisper,

"You composed that."

"I wanted your boy to do you honor, and thank you in his own  way," answered Laurie, leaning down to answer her.

When Nat made his bow and was about to go, he was called back  by many hands, and had to play again. He did so with such a happy  face, that it was good to see him, for he did his best, and gave them  the gay old tunes that set the feet to dancing, and made quietude  impossible.

"Clear the floor!" cried Emil; and in a minute the chairs were  pushed back, the older people put safely in corners and the  children gathered on the stage.

"Show your manners!" called Emil; and the boys pranced up to the  ladies, old and young; with polite invitations to "tread the mazy,"  as dear Dick Swiveller has it. The small lads nearly came to blows  for the Princess, but she chose Dick, like a kind, little  gentlewoman as she was, and let him lead her proudly to her place.  Mrs. Jo was not allowed to decline; and Aunt Amy filled Dan with  unspeakable delight by refusing Franz and taking him. Of course  Nan and Tommy, Nat and Daisy paired off, while Uncle Teddy  went and got Asia, who was longing to "jig it," and felt much  elated by the honor done her. Silas and Mary Ann had a private  dance in the hall; and for half-an-hour Plumfield was at its  merriest.

The party wound up with a grand promenade of all the young  folks, headed by the pumpkin-coach with the Princess and driver  inside, and the rats in a wildly frisky state.

While the children enjoyed this final frolic, the elders sat in the  parlor looking on as they talked together of the little people with  the interest of parents and friends.

"What are you thinking of, all by yourself, with such a happy face,  sister Jo?" asked Laurie, sitting down beside her on the sofa.

"My summer's work, Teddy, and amusing myself by imagining the  future of my boys," she answered, smiling as she made room for  him.

"They are all to be poets, painters, and statesmen, famous soldiers,  or at least merchant princes, I suppose."

"No, I am not as aspiring as I once was, and I shall be satisfied if  they are honest men. But I will confess that I do expect a little  glory and a career for some of them. Demi is not a common child,  and I think he will blossom into something good and great in the  best sense of the word. The others will do well, I hope, especially  my last two boys, for, after hearing Nat play to-night, I really think  he has genius."

"Too soon to say; talent he certainly has, and there is no doubt that  the boy can soon earn his bread by the work he loves. Build him up  for another year or so, and then I will take him off your hands, and  launch him properly."

"That is such a pleasant prospect for poor Nat, who came to me six  months ago so friendless and forlorn. Dan's future is already plain  to me. Mr. Hyde will want him soon, and I mean to give him a  brave and faithful little servant. Dan is one who can serve well if  the wages are love and confidence, and he has the energy to carve  out his own future in his own way. Yes, I am very happy over our  success with these boys one so weak, and one so wild; both so  much better now, and so full of promise."

"What magic did you use, Jo?"

"I only loved them, and let them see it. Fritz did the rest."

"Dear soul! you look as if 'only loving' had been rather hard work  sometimes," said Laurie, stroking her thin cheek with a look of  more tender admiration than he had ever given her as a girl.

"I'm a faded old woman, but I'm a very happy one; so don't pity  me, Teddy;" and she glanced about the room with eyes full of a  sincere content.

"Yes, your plan seems to work better and better every year," he  said, with an emphatic nod of approval toward the cheery scene  before him.

"How can it fail to work well when I have so much help from you  all?" answered Mrs. Jo, looking gratefully at her most generous  patron.

"It is the best joke of the family, this school of yours and its  success. So unlike the future we planned for you, and yet so suited  to you after all. It was a regular inspiration, Jo," said Laurie,  dodging her thanks as usual.

"Ah! but you laughed at it in the beginning, and still make all  manner of fun of me and my inspirations. Didn't you predict that  having girls with the boys would be a dead failure? Now see how  well it works;" and she pointed to the happy group of lads and  lassies dancing, singing, and chattering together with every sign of  kindly good fellowship.

"I give in, and when my Goldilocks is old enough I'll send her to  you. Can I say more than that?"

"I shall be so proud to have your little treasure trusted to me. But  really, Teddy, the effect of these girls has been excellent. I know  you will laugh at me, but I don't mind, I'm used to it; so I'll tell you  that one of my favorite fancies is to look at my family as a small  world, to watch the progress of my little men, and, lately, to see  how well the influence of my little women works upon them.  Daisy is the domestic element, and they all feel the charm of her  quiet, womanly ways. Nan is the restless, energetic, strong-minded  one; they admire her courage, and give her a fair chance to work  out her will, seeing that she has sympathy as well as strength, and  the power to do much in their small world. Your Bess is the lady,  full of natural refinement, grace, and beauty. She polishes them  unconsciously, and fills her place as any lovely woman may, using  her gentle influence to lift and hold them above the coarse, rough  things of life, and keep them gentlemen in the best sense of the  fine old word."

"It is not always the ladies who do that best, Jo. It is sometimes the  strong brave woman who stirs up the boy and makes a man of  him;" and Laurie bowed to her with a significant laugh.

"No; I think the graceful woman, whom the boy you allude to  married, has done more for him than the wild Nan of his youth; or,  better still, the wise, motherly woman who watched over him, as  Daisy watches over Demi, did more to make him what he is;" and  Jo turned toward her mother, who sat a little apart with Meg,  looking so full of the sweet dignity and beauty of old age, that  Laurie gave her a glance of filial respect and love as he replied, in  serious earnest,

"All three did much for him, and I can understand how well these  little girls will help your lads."

"Not more than the lads help them; it is mutual, I assure you. Nat  does much for Daisy with his music; Dan can manage Nan better  than any of us; and Demi teaches your Goldilocks so easily and  well that Fritz calls them Roger Ascham and Lady Jane Grey. Dear  me! if men and women would only trust, understand, and help one  another as my children do, what a capital place the world would  be!" and Mrs. Jo's eyes grew absent, as if she was looking at a new  and charming state of society in which people lived as happily and  innocently as her flock at Plumfield.

"You are doing your best to help on the good time, my dear.  Continue to believe in it, to work for it, and to prove its possibility  by the success of her small experiment," said Mr. March, pausing  as he passed to say an encouraging word, for the good man never  lost his faith in humanity, and still hoped to see peace, good-will,  and happiness reign upon the earth.

"I am not so ambitious as that, father. I only want to give these  children a home in which they can be taught a few simple things  which will help to make life less hard to them when they go out to  fight their battles in the world. Honesty, courage, industry, faith in  God, their fellow-creatures, and themselves; that is all I try for."

"That is every thing. Give them these helps, then let them go to  work out their life as men and women; and whatever their success  or failure is, I think they will remember and bless your efforts, my  good son and daughter."

The Professor had joined them, and as Mr. March spoke he gave a  hand to each, and left them with a look that was a blessing. As Jo  and her husband stood together for a moment talking quietly, and  feeling that their summer work had been well done if father  approved, Mr. Laurie slipped into the hall, said a word to the  children, and all of a sudden the whole flock pranced into the  room, joined hands and danced about Father and Mother Bhaer,  singing blithely

"Summer days are over,

Summer work is done;

Harvests have been gathered

Gayly one by one.

Now the feast is eaten,

Finished is the play;

But one rite remains for

Our Thanksgiving-day.

"Best of all the harvest

In the dear God's sight,

Are the happy children

In the home to-night;

And we come to offer

Thanks where thanks are due,

With grateful hearts and voices,

Father, mother, unto you."

With the last words the circle narrowed till the good Professor and  his wife were taken prisoner by many arms, and half hidden by the  bouquet of laughing young faces which surrounded them, proving  that one plant had taken root and blossomed beautifully in all the  little gardens. For love is a flower that grows in any soil, works its  sweet miracles undaunted by autumn frost or winter snow,  blooming fair and fragrant all the year, and blessing those who  give and those who receive.

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