Little Men: Life at Plumfield With Jo's Boys
As she spoke every one stared at Nat, and then whisked into their seats,
trying to be orderly and failing utterly. The Bhaers did their best to
have the lads behave well at meal times, and generally succeeded pretty
well, for their rules were few and sensible, and the boys, knowing that
they tried to make things easy and happy, did their best to obey.
But there are times when hungry boys cannot be repressed without real
cruelty, and Saturday evening, after a half-holiday, was one of those
times.
“Dear little souls, do let them have one day in which they can howl and
racket and frolic to their hearts' content. A holiday isn't a holiday
without plenty of freedom and fun; and they shall have full swing once
a week,” Mrs. Bhaer used to say, when prim people wondered why
banister-sliding, pillow-fights, and all manner of jovial games were
allowed under the once decorous roof of Plumfield.
It did seem at times as if the aforesaid roof was in danger of flying
off, but it never did, for a word from Father Bhaer could at any time
produce a lull, and the lads had learned that liberty must not be
abused. So, in spite of many dark predictions, the school flourished,
and manners and morals were insinuated, without the pupils exactly
knowing how it was done.
Nat found himself very well off behind the tall pitchers, with Tommy
Bangs just around the corner, and Mrs. Bhaer close by to fill up plate
and mug as fast as he could empty them.
“Who is that boy next the girl down at the other end?” whispered Nat to
his young neighbor under cover of a general laugh.
“That's Demi Brooke. Mr. Bhaer is his uncle.”
“What a queer name!”
“His real name is John, but they call him Demi-John, because his
father is John too. That's a joke, don't you see?” said Tommy, kindly
explaining. Nat did not see, but politely smiled, and asked, with
interest:
“Isn't he a very nice boy?”
“I bet you he is; knows lots and reads like any thing.”
“Who is the fat one next him?”
“Oh, that's Stuffy Cole. His name is George, but we call him Stuffy
'cause he eats so much. The little fellow next Father Bhaer is his boy
Rob, and then there's big Franz his nephew; he teaches some, and kind of
sees to us.”
“He plays the flute, doesn't he?” asked Nat as Tommy rendered himself
speechless by putting a whole baked apple into his mouth at one blow.
Tommy nodded, and said, sooner than one would have imagined possible
under the circumstances, “Oh, don't he, though? And we dance sometimes,
and do gymnastics to music. I like a drum myself, and mean to learn as
soon as ever I can.”
“I like a fiddle best; I can play one too,” said Nat, getting
confidential on this attractive subject.
“Can you?” and Tommy stared over the rim of his mug with round eyes,
full of interest. “Mr. Bhaer's got an old fiddle, and he'll let you play
on it if you want to.”
“Could I? Oh, I would like it ever so much. You see, I used to go round
fiddling with my father, and another man, till he died.”
“Wasn't that fun?” cried Tommy, much impressed.
“No, it was horrid; so cold in winter, and hot in summer. And I got
tired; and they were cross sometimes; and I didn't get enough to eat.”
Nat paused to take a generous bite of gingerbread, as if to assure
himself that the hard times were over; and then he added regretfully:
“But I did love my little fiddle, and I miss it. Nicolo took it away
when father died, and wouldn't have me any longer, 'cause I was sick.”
“You'll belong to the band if you play good. See if you don't.”
“Do you have a band here?” Nat's eyes sparkled.
“Guess we do; a jolly band, all boys; and they have concerts and things.
You just see what happens to-morrow night.”
After this pleasantly exciting remark, Tommy returned to his supper, and
Nat sank into a blissful reverie over his full plate.
Mrs. Bhaer had heard all they said, while apparently absorbed in filling
mugs, and overseeing little Ted, who was so sleepy that he put his spoon
in his eye, nodded like a rosy poppy, and finally fell fast asleep, with
his cheek pillowed on a soft bun. Mrs. Bhaer had put Nat next to Tommy,
because that roly-poly boy had a frank and social way with him, very
attractive to shy persons. Nat felt this, and had made several small
confidences during supper, which gave Mrs. Bhaer the key to the new
boy's character, better than if she had talked to him herself.
In the letter which Mr. Laurence had sent with Nat, he had said:
“DEAR JO: Here is a case after your own heart. This poor lad is an
orphan now, sick and friendless. He has been a street-musician; and
I found him in a cellar, mourning for his dead father, and his lost
violin. I think there is something in him, and have a fancy that between
us we may give this little man a lift. You cure his overtasked body,
Fritz help his neglected mind, and when he is ready I'll see if he is
a genius or only a boy with a talent which may earn his bread for him.
Give him a trial, for the sake of your own boy,
“TEDDY.”
“Of course we will!” cried Mrs. Bhaer, as she read the letter; and when
she saw Nat she felt at once that, whether he was a genius or not, here
was a lonely, sick boy who needed just what she loved to give, a home
and motherly care. Both she and Mr. Bhaer observed him quietly; and in
spite of ragged clothes, awkward manners, and a dirty face, they saw
much about Nat that pleased them. He was a thin, pale boy, of twelve,
with blue eyes, and a good forehead under the rough, neglected hair; an
anxious, scared face, at times, as if he expected hard words, or blows;
and a sensitive mouth that trembled when a kind glance fell on him;
while a gentle speech called up a look of gratitude, very sweet to see.
“Bless the poor dear, he shall fiddle all day long if he likes,” said
Mrs. Bhaer to herself, as she saw the eager, happy expression on his
face when Tommy talked of the band.
So, after supper, when the lads flocked into the schoolroom for more
“high jinks,” Mrs. Jo appeared with a violin in her hand, and after a
word with her husband, went to Nat, who sat in a corner watching the
scene with intense interest.
“Now, my lad, give us a little tune. We want a violin in our band, and I
think you will do it nicely.”
She expected that he would hesitate; but he seized the old fiddle at
once, and handled it with such loving care, it was plain to see that
music was his passion.
“I'll do the best I can, ma'am,” was all he said; and then drew the bow
across the strings, as if eager to hear the dear notes again.
There was a great clatter in the room, but as if deaf to any sounds but
those he made, Nat played softly to himself, forgetting every thing in
his delight. It was only a simple Negro melody, such as street-musicians
play, but it caught the ears of the boys at once, and silenced them,
till they stood listening with surprise and pleasure. Gradually they got
nearer and nearer, and Mr. Bhaer came up to watch the boy; for, as if he
was in his element now, Nat played away and never minded any one, while
his eyes shone, his cheeks reddened, and his thin fingers flew, as he
hugged the old fiddle and made it speak to all their hearts the language
that he loved.
A hearty round of applause rewarded him better than a shower of pennies,
when he stopped and glanced about him, as if to say:
“I've done my best; please like it.”
“I say, you do that first rate,” cried Tommy, who considered Nat his
protege.
“You shall be the first fiddle in my band,” added Franz, with an
approving smile.
Mrs. Bhaer whispered to her husband:
“Teddy is right: there's something in the child.” And Mr. Bhaer nodded
his head emphatically, as he clapped Nat on the shoulder, saying,
heartily:
“You play well, my son. Come now and play something which we can sing.”
It was the proudest, happiest minute of the poor boy's life when he was
led to the place of honor by the piano, and the lads gathered round,
never heeding his poor clothes, but eying him respectfully and waiting
eagerly to hear him play again.
They chose a song he knew; and after one or two false starts they got
going, and violin, flute, and piano led a chorus of boyish voices that
made the old roof ring again. It was too much for Nat, more feeble than
he knew; and as the final shout died away, his face began to work, he
dropped the fiddle, and turning to the wall sobbed like a little child.
“My dear, what is it?” asked Mrs. Bhaer, who had been singing with all
her might, and trying to keep little Rob from beating time with his
boots.
“You are all so kind and it's so beautiful I can't help it,” sobbed Nat,
coughing till he was breathless.
“Come with me, dear; you must go to bed and rest; you are worn out, and
this is too noisy a place for you,” whispered Mrs. Bhaer; and took him
away to her own parlor, where she let him cry himself quiet.
Then she won him to tell her all his troubles, and listened to the
little story with tears in her own eyes, though it was not a new one to
her.
“My child, you have got a father and a mother now, and this is home.
Don't think of those sad times any more, but get well and happy; and be
sure you shall never suffer again, if we can help it. This place is made
for all sorts of boys to have a good time in, and to learn how to help
themselves and be useful men, I hope. You shall have as much music as
you want, only you must get strong first. Now come up to Nursey and have
a bath, and then go to bed, and to-morrow we will lay some nice little
plans together.”
Nat held her hand fast in his, but had not a word to say, and let his
grateful eyes speak for him, as Mrs. Bhaer led him up to a big room,
where they found a stout German woman with a face so round and cheery
that it looked like a sort of sun, with the wide frill of her cap for
rays.
“This is Nursey Hummel, and she will give you a nice bath, and cut your
hair, and make you all 'comfy,' as Rob says. That's the bath-room in
there; and on Saturday nights we scrub all the little lads first, and
pack them away in bed before the big ones get through singing. Now then,
Rob, in with you.”
As she talked, Mrs. Bhaer had whipped off Rob's clothes and popped him
into a long bath-tub in the little room opening into the nursery.
There were two tubs, besides foot-baths, basins, douche-pipes, and all
manner of contrivances for cleanliness. Nat was soon luxuriating in the
other bath; and while simmering there, he watched the performances of
the two women, who scrubbed, clean night-gowned, and bundled into bed
four or five small boys, who, of course, cut up all sorts of capers
during the operation, and kept every one in a gale of merriment till
they were extinguished in their beds.
By the time Nat was washed and done up in a blanket by the fire, while
Nursey cut his hair, a new detachment of boys arrived and were shut into
the bath-room, where they made as much splashing and noise as a school
of young whales at play.
“Nat had better sleep here, so that if his cough troubles him in the
night you can see that he takes a good draught of flax-seed tea,” said
Mrs. Bhaer, who was flying about like a distracted hen with a large
brood of lively ducklings.
Nursey approved the plan, finished Nat off with a flannel night-gown, a
drink of something warm and sweet, and then tucked him into one of the
three little beds standing in the room, where he lay looking like a
contented mummy and feeling that nothing more in the way of luxury
could be offered him. Cleanliness in itself was a new and delightful
sensation; flannel gowns were unknown comforts in his world; sips of
“good stuff” soothed his cough as pleasantly as kind words did his
lonely heart; and the feeling that somebody cared for him made that
plain room seem a sort of heaven to the homeless child. It was like a