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