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