Little Men: Life at Plumfield With Jo's Boys
the discomfiture of his rider. Presently it seemed to occur to him that
something was wrong with Dan, and, being of a magnanimous nature, he
went to see what the matter was. Dan let him sniff about and perplex
himself for a few minutes; then he looked up at him, saying, as
decidedly as if the horse could understand,
“You think you have beaten, but you are mistaken, old boy; and I'll ride
you yet see if I don't.”
He tried no more that day, but soon after attempted a new method of
introducing Charlie to a burden. He strapped a folded blanket on his
back, and then let him race, and rear, and roll, and fume as much as
he liked. After a few fits of rebellion Charlie submitted, and in a few
days permitted Dan to mount him, often stopped short to look round, as
if he said, half patiently, half reproachfully, “I don't understand it,
but I suppose you mean no harm, so I permit the liberty.”
Dan patted and praised him, and took a short turn every day, getting
frequent falls, but persisting in spite of them, and longing to try a
saddle and bridle, but not daring to confess what he had done. He had
his wish, however, for there had been a witness of his pranks who said a
good word for him.
“Do you know what that chap has ben doin' lately?” asked Silas of his
master, one evening, as he received his orders for the next day.
“Which boy?” said Mr. Bhaer, with an air of resignation, expecting some
sad revelation.
“Dan, he's ben a breaking the colt, sir, and I wish I may die if he
ain't done it,” answered Silas, chuckling.
“How do you know?”
“Wal, I kinder keep an eye on the little fellers, and most gen'lly know
what they're up to; so when Dan kep going off to the paster, and coming
home black and blue, I mistrusted that suthing was goin' on. I didn't
say nothin', but I crep up into the barn chamber, and from there I see
him goin' through all manner of games with Charlie. Blest if he warn't
throwed time and agin, and knocked round like a bag o' meal. But the
pluck of that boy did beat all, and he 'peared to like it, and kep on as
ef bound to beat.”
“But, Silas, you should have stopped it the boy might have been killed,”
said Mr. Bhaer, wondering what freak his irrepressibles would take into
their heads next.
“S'pose I oughter; but there warn't no real danger, for Charlie ain't
no tricks, and is as pretty a tempered horse as ever I see. Fact was, I
couldn't bear to spile sport, for ef there's any thing I do admire it's
grit, and Dan is chock full on 't. But now I know he's hankerin' after
a saddle, and yet won't take even the old one on the sly; so I just
thought I'd up and tell, and may be you'd let him try what he can do.
Mr. Laurie won't mind, and Charlie's all the better for 't.”
“We shall see;” and off went Mr. Bhaer to inquire into the matter.
Dan owned up at once, and proudly proved that Silas was right by showing
off his power over Charlie; for by dint of much coaxing, many carrots,
and infinite perseverance, he really had succeeded in riding the colt
with a halter and blanket. Mr. Laurie was much amused, and well pleased
with Dan's courage and skill, and let him have a hand in all future
performances; for he set about Charlie's education at once, saying
that he was not going to be outdone by a slip of a boy. Thanks to Dan,
Charlie took kindly to the saddle and bridle when he had once reconciled
himself to the indignity of the bit; and after Mr. Laurie had trained
him a little, Dan was permitted to ride him, to the great envy and
admiration of the other boys.
“Isn't he handsome? and don't he mind me like a lamb?” said Dan one day
as he dismounted and stood with his arm round Charlie's neck.
“Yes, and isn't he a much more useful and agreeable animal than the
wild colt who spent his days racing about the field, jumping fences, and
running away now and then?” asked Mrs. Bhaer from the steps where she
always appeared when Dan performed with Charlie.
“Of course he is. See he won't run away now, even if I don't hold him,
and he comes to me the minute I whistle; I have tamed him well, haven't
I?” and Dan looked both proud and pleased, as well he might, for, in
spite of their struggles together, Charlie loved him better than his
master.
“I am taming a colt too, and I think I shall succeed as well as you if
I am as patient and persevering,” said Mrs. Jo, smiling so significantly
at him, that Dan understood and answered, laughing, yet in earnest,
“We won't jump over the fence and run away, but stay and let them make a
handsome, useful span of us, hey, Charlie?”
CHAPTER XVII. COMPOSITION DAY
“Hurry up, boys, it's three o'clock, and Uncle Fritz likes us to be
punctual, you know,” said Franz one Wednesday afternoon as a bell rang,
and a stream of literary-looking young gentlemen with books and paper in
their hands were seen going toward the museum.
Tommy was in the school-room, bending over his desk, much bedaubed with
ink, flushed with the ardor of inspiration, and in a great hurry as
usual, for easy-going Bangs never was ready till the very last minute.
As Franz passed the door looking up laggards, Tommy gave one last blot
and flourish, and departed out the window, waving his paper to dry as
he went. Nan followed, looking very important, with a large roll in her
hand, and Demi escorted Daisy, both evidently brimful of some delightful
secret.
The museum was all in order, and the sunshine among the hop-vines made
pretty shadows on the floor as it peeped through the great window. On
one side sat Mr. and Mrs. Bhaer, on the other was a little table
on which the compositions were laid as soon as read, and in a large
semicircle sat the children on camp-stools which occasionally shut up
and let the sitter down, thus preventing any stiffness in the assembly.
As it took too much time to have all read, they took turns, and on this
Wednesday the younger pupils were the chief performers, while the elder
ones listened with condescension and criticised freely.
“Ladies first; so Nan may begin,” said Mr. Bhaer, when the settling of
stools and rustling of papers had subsided.
Nan took her place beside the little table, and, with a preliminary
giggle, read the following interesting essay on,
“THE SPONGE
“The sponge, my friends, is a most useful and interesting plant. It
grows on rocks under the water, and is a kind of sea-weed, I believe.
People go and pick it and dry it and wash it, because little fish and
insects live in the holes of the sponge; I found shells in my new one,
and sand. Some are very fine and soft; babies are washed with them. The
sponge has many uses. I will relate some of them, and I hope my friends
will remember what I say. One use is to wash the face; I don't like it
myself, but I do it because I wish to be clean. Some people don't, and
they are dirty.” Here the eye of the reader rested sternly upon Dick and
Dolly, who quailed under it, and instantly resolved to scrub themselves
virtuously on all occasions. “Another use is to wake people up; I allude
to boys par-tic-u-lar-ly.” Another pause after the long word to enjoy
the smothered laugh that went round the room. “Some boys do not get
up when called, and Mary Ann squeezes the water out of a wet sponge
on their faces, and it makes them so mad they wake up.” Here the laugh
broke out, and Emil said, as if he had been hit,
“Seems to me you are wandering from the subject.”
“No, I ain't; we are to write about vegetables or animals, and I'm doing
both: for boys are animals, aren't they?” cried Nan; and, undaunted by
the indignant “No!” shouted at her, she calmly proceeded,
“One more interesting thing is done with sponges, and this is when
doctors put ether on it, and hold it to people's noses when they have
teeth out. I shall do this when I am bigger, and give ether to the sick,
so they will go to sleep and not feel me cut off their legs and arms.”
“I know somebody who killed cats with it,” called out Demi, but was
promptly crushed by Dan, who upset his camp-stool and put a hat over his
face.
“I will not be interruckted,” said Nan, frowning upon the unseemly
scrimmagers. Order was instantly restored, and the young lady closed her
remarks as follows:
“My composition has three morals, my friends.” Somebody groaned, but no
notice was taken of the insult. “First, is keep your faces clean second,
get up early third, when the ether sponge is put over your nose, breathe
hard and don't kick, and your teeth will come out easy. I have no more
to say.” And Miss Nan sat down amid tumultuous applause.
“That is a very remarkable composition; its tone is high, and there is
a good deal of humor in it. Very well done, Nan. Now, Daisy,” and Mr.
Bhaer smiled at one young lady as he beckoned the other.
Daisy colored prettily as she took her place, and said, in her modest
little voice,
“I'm afraid you won't like mine; it isn't nice and funny like Nan's. But
I couldn't do any better.”
“We always like yours, Posy,” said Uncle Fritz, and a gentle murmur from
the boys seemed to confirm the remark. Thus encouraged, Daisy read her
little paper, which was listened to with respectful attention.
“THE CAT
“The cat is a sweet animal. I love them very much. They are clean and
pretty, and catch rats and mice, and let you pet them, and are fond
of you if you are kind. They are very wise, and can find their way
anywhere. Little cats are called kittens, and are dear things. I have
two, named Huz and Buz, and their mother is Topaz, because she has
yellow eyes. Uncle told me a pretty story about a man named Ma-ho-met.
He had a nice cat, and when she was asleep on his sleeve, and he wanted
to go away, he cut off the sleeve so as not to wake her up. I think he
was a kind man. Some cats catch fish.”
“So do I!” cried Teddy, jumping up eager to tell about his trout.
“Hush!” said his mother, setting him down again as quickly as possible,
for orderly Daisy hated to be “interruckted,” as Nan expressed it.
“I read about one who used to do it very slyly. I tried to make Topaz,
but she did not like the water, and scratched me. She does like tea, and
when I play in my kitchen she pats the teapot with her paw, till I give
her some. She is a fine cat, she eats apple-pudding and molasses. Most
cats do not.”
“That's a first-rater,” called out Nat, and Daisy retired, pleased with
the praise of her friend.
“Demi looks so impatient we must have him up at once or he won't hold
out,” said Uncle Fritz, and Demi skipped up with alacrity.
“Mine is a poem!” he announced in a tone of triumph, and read his first
effort in a loud and solemn voice:
“I write about the butterfly,
It is a pretty thing;
And flies about like the birds,
But it does not sing.
“First it is a little grub,
And then it is a nice yellow cocoon,
And then the butterfly
Eats its way out soon.
“They live on dew and honey,
They do not have any hive,
They do not sting like wasps, and bees, and hornets,
And to be as good as they are we should strive.
“I should like to be a beautiful butterfly,
All yellow, and blue, and green, and red;
But I should not like
To have Dan put camphor on my poor little head.”
This unusual burst of genius brought down the house, and Demi was
obliged to read it again, a somewhat difficult task, as there was no
punctuation whatever, and the little poet's breath gave out before he
got to the end of some of the long lines.
“He will be a Shakespeare yet,” said Aunt Jo, laughing as if she would
die, for this poetic gem reminded her of one of her own, written at the
age of ten, and beginning gloomily,
“I wish I had a quiet tomb,
Beside a little rill;
Where birds, and bees, and butterflies,
Would sing upon the hill.”