Little Men: Life at Plumfield With Jo's Boys
feel as if, boy though he was, she had some one to depend on.
Off she jumped, and ordered him on to Toby, in spite of his pleading to
walk; then they went on again along the dusty, solitary road, stopping
every now and then to call and hearken breathlessly for little voices to
reply.
When they came to the great pasture, other lights were already flitting
to and fro like will-o'-the-wisps, and Mr. Bhaer's voice was heard
shouting, “Nan! Rob! Rob! Nan!” in every part of the field. Silas
whistled and roared, Dan plunged here and there on Toby, who seemed
to understand the case, and went over the roughest places with unusual
docility. Often Mrs. Jo hushed them all, saying, with a sob in her
throat, “The noise may frighten them, let me call; Robby will know my
voice;” and then she would cry out the beloved little name in every tone
of tenderness, till the very echoes whispered it softly, and the winds
seemed to waft it willingly; but still no answer came.
The sky was overcast now, and only brief glimpses of the moon were seen,
heat-lightening darted out of the dark clouds now and then, and a faint
far-off rumble as of thunder told that a summer-storm was brewing.
“O my Robby! my Robby!” mourned poor Mrs. Jo, wandering up and down like
a pale ghost, while Dan kept beside her like a faithful fire-fly. “What
shall I say to Nan's father if she comes to harm? Why did I ever trust
my darling so far away? Fritz, do you hear any thing?” and when a
mournful, “No” came back, she wrung her hands so despairingly that Dan
sprung down from Toby's back, tied the bridle to the bars, and said, in
his decided way,
“They may have gone down the spring I'm going to look.”
He was over the wall and away so fast that she could hardly follow him;
but when she reached the spot, he lowered the lantern and showed her
with joy the marks of little feet in the soft ground about the spring.
She fell down on her knees to examine the tracks, and then sprung up,
saying eagerly,
“Yes; that is the mark of my Robby's little boots! Come this way, they
must have gone on.”
Such a weary search! But now some inexplicable instinct seemed to lead
the anxious mother, for presently Dan uttered a cry, and caught up a
little shining object lying in the path. It was the cover of the new
tin pail, dropped in the first alarm of being lost. Mrs. Jo hugged and
kissed it as if it were a living thing; and when Dan was about to utter
a glad shout to bring the others to the spot, she stopped him, saying,
as she hurried on, “No, let me find them; I let Rob go, and I want to
give him back to his father all myself.”
A little farther on Nan's hat appeared, and after passing the place
more than once, they came at last upon the babes in the wood, both sound
asleep. Dan never forgot the little picture on which the light of his
lantern shone that night. He thought Mrs. Jo would cry out, but she
only whispered, “Hush!” as she softly lifted away the apron, and saw the
little ruddy face below. The berry-stained lips were half-open as the
breath came and went, the yellow hair lay damp on the hot forehead, and
both the chubby hands held fast the little pail still full.
The sight of the childish harvest, treasured through all the troubles of
that night for her, seemed to touch Mrs. Jo to the heart, for suddenly
she gathered up her boy, and began to cry over him, so tenderly, yet
so heartily, that he woke up, and at first seemed bewildered. Then he
remembered, and hugged her close, saying with a laugh of triumph,
“I knew you'd come! O Marmar! I did want you so!” For a moment they
kissed and clung to one another, quite forgetting all the world; for no
matter how lost and soiled and worn-out wandering sons may be, mothers
can forgive and forget every thing as they fold them in their fostering
arms. Happy the son whose faith in his mother remains unchanged, and
who, through all his wanderings, has kept some filial token to repay her
brave and tender love.
Dan meantime picked Nan out of her bush, and, with a gentleness none but
Teddy ever saw in him before, he soothed her first alarm at the sudden
waking, and wiped away her tears; for Nan also began to cry for joy,
it was so good to see a kind face and feel a strong arm round her after
what seemed to her ages of loneliness and fear.
“My poor little girl, don't cry! You are all safe now, and no one
shall say a word of blame to-night,” said Mrs. Jo, taking Nan into her
capacious embrace, and cuddling both children as a hen might gather her
lost chickens under her motherly wings.
“It was my fault; but I am sorry. I tried to take care of him, and I
covered him up and let him sleep, and didn't touch his berries, though I
was so hungry; and I never will do it again truly, never, never,” sobbed
Nan, quite lost in a sea of penitence and thankfulness.
“Call them now, and let us get home,” said Mrs. Jo; and Dan, getting
upon the wall, sent a joyful word “Found!” ringing over the field.
How the wandering lights came dancing from all sides, and gathered
round the little group among the sweet fern bushes! Such a hugging,
and kissing, and talking, and crying, as went on must have amazed the
glowworms, and evidently delighted the mosquitoes, for they hummed
frantically, while the little moths came in flocks to the party, and
the frogs croaked as if they could not express their satisfaction loudly
enough.
Then they set out for home, a queer party, for Franz rode on to tell
the news; Dan and Toby led the way; then came Nan in the strong arms of
Silas, who considered her “the smartest little baggage he ever saw,” and
teased her all the way home about her pranks. Mr. Bhaer would let no
one carry Rob but himself, and the little fellow, refreshed by sleep,
sat up, and chattered gayly, feeling himself a hero, while his mother
went beside him holding on to any part of his precious little body that
came handy, and never tired of hearing him say, “I knew Marmar would
come,” or seeing him lean down to kiss her, and put a plump berry into
her mouth, “'Cause he picked 'em all for her.”
The moon shone out just as they reached the avenue, and all the boys
came shouting to meet them, so the lost lambs were borne in triumph
and safety, and landed in the dining-room, where the unromantic little
things demanded supper instead of preferring kisses and caresses. They
were set down to bread and milk, while the entire household stood round
to gaze upon them. Nan soon recovered her spirits, and recounted her
perils with a relish now that they were all over. Rob seemed absorbed in
his food, but put down his spoon all of a sudden, and set up a doleful
roar.
“My precious, why do you cry?” asked his mother, who still hung over
him.
“I'm crying 'cause I was lost,” bawled Rob, trying to squeeze out a
tear, and failing entirely.
“But you are found now. Nan says you didn't cry out in the field, and I
was glad you were such a brave boy.”
“I was so busy being frightened I didn't have any time then. But I want
to cry now, 'cause I don't like to be lost,” explained Rob, struggling
with sleep, emotion, and a mouthful of bread and milk.
The boys set up such a laugh at this funny way of making up for lost
time, that Rob stopped to look at them, and the merriment was so
infectious, that after a surprised stare he burst out into a merry,
“Ha, ha!” and beat his spoon upon the table as if he enjoyed the joke
immensely.
“It is ten o'clock; into bed, every man of you,” said Mr. Bhaer, looking
at his watch.
“And, thank Heaven! there will be no empty ones to-night,” added Mrs.
Bhaer, watching, with full eyes, Robby going up in his father's
arms, and Nan escorted by Daisy and Demi, who considered her the most
interesting heroine of their collection.
“Poor Aunt Jo is so tired she ought to be carried up herself,” said
gentle Franz, putting his arm round her as she paused at the stair-foot,
looking quite exhausted by her fright and long walk.
“Let's make an arm-chair,” proposed Tommy.
“No, thank you, my lads; but somebody may lend me a shoulder to lean
on,” answered Mrs. Jo.
“Me! me!” and half-a-dozen jostled one another, all eager to be chosen,
for there was something in the pale motherly face that touched the warm
hearts under the round jackets.
Seeing that they considered it an honor, Mrs. Jo gave it to the one who
had earned it, and nobody grumbled when she put her arm on Dan's broad
shoulder, saying, with a look that made him color up with pride and
pleasure,
“He found the children; so I think he must help me up.”
Dan felt richly rewarded for his evening's work, not only that he was
chosen from all the rest to go proudly up bearing the lamp, but because
Mrs. Jo said heartily, “Good-night, my boy! God bless you!” as he left
her at her door.
“I wish I was your boy,” said Dan, who felt as if danger and trouble had
somehow brought him nearer than ever to her.
“You shall be my oldest son,” and she sealed her promise with a kiss
that made Dan hers entirely.
Little Rob was all right next day, but Nan had a headache, and lay on
Mother Bhaer's sofa with cold-cream upon her scratched face. Her remorse
was quite gone, and she evidently thought being lost rather a fine
amusement. Mrs. Jo was not pleased with this state of things, and had no
desire to have her children led from the paths of virtue, or her pupils
lying round loose in huckleberry fields. So she talked soberly to Nan,
and tried to impress upon her mind the difference between liberty and
license, telling several tales to enforce her lecture. She had not
decided how to punish Nan, but one of these stories suggested a way, and
as Mrs. Jo liked odd penalties, she tried it.
“All children run away,” pleaded Nan, as if it was as natural and
necessary a thing as measles or hooping cough.
“Not all, and some who do run away don't get found again,” answered Mrs.
Jo.
“Didn't you do it yourself?” asked Nan, whose keen little eyes saw some
traces of a kindred spirit in the serious lady who was sewing so morally
before her.
Mrs. Jo laughed, and owned that she did.
“Tell about it,” demanded Nan, feeling that she was getting the upper
hand in the discussion.
Mrs. Jo saw that, and sobered down at once, saying, with a remorseful
shake of the head,
“I did it a good many times, and led my poor mother rather a hard life
with my pranks, till she cured me.”
“How?” and Nan sat up with a face full of interest.
“I had a new pair of shoes once, and wanted to show them; so, though I
was told not to leave the garden, I ran away and was wandering about all
day. It was in the city, and why I wasn't killed I don't know. Such a
time as I had. I frolicked in the park with dogs, sailed boats in the
Back Bay with strange boys, dined with a little Irish beggar-girl on
salt fish and potatoes, and was found at last fast asleep on a door-step
with my arms round a great dog. It was late in the evening, and I was a
dirty as a little pig, and the new shoes were worn out I had travelled
so far.”
“How nice!” cried Nan, looking all ready to go and do it herself.
“It was not nice next day;” and Mrs. Jo tried to keep her eyes from
betraying how much she enjoyed the memory of her early capers.
“Did your mother whip you?” asked Nan, curiously.
“She never whipped me but once, and then she begged my pardon, or I
don't think I ever should have forgiven her, it hurt my feelings so
much.”
“Why did she beg your pardon? my father don't.”
“Because, when she had done it, I turned round and said, 'Well, you are
mad yourself, and ought to be whipped as much as me.' She looked at me
a minute, then her anger all died out, and she said, as if ashamed, 'You
are right, Jo, I am angry; and why should I punish you for being in a