Little Men: Life at Plumfield With Jo's Boys
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.”