Little Men: Life at Plumfield With Jo's Boys
Mr. Bhaer did not like his way of illustrating that Yankee word, and
thought his unboyish keenness and money-loving as much of an affliction
as Dolly's stutter, or Dick's hump.
Ned Barker was like a thousand other boys of fourteen, all legs,
blunder, and bluster. Indeed the family called him the “Blunderbuss,”
and always expected to see him tumble over the chairs, bump against the
tables, and knock down any small articles near him. He bragged a good
deal about what he could do, but seldom did any thing to prove it, was
not brave, and a little given to tale-telling. He was apt to bully the
small boys, and flatter the big ones, and without being at all bad, was
just the sort of fellow who could very easily be led astray.
George Cole had been spoilt by an over-indulgent mother, who stuffed him
with sweetmeats till he was sick, and then thought him too delicate
to study, so that at twelve years old, he was a pale, puffy boy, dull,
fretful, and lazy. A friend persuaded her to send him to Plumfield, and
there he soon got waked up, for sweet things were seldom allowed, much
exercise required, and study made so pleasant, that Stuffy was gently
lured along, till he quite amazed his anxious mamma by his improvement,
and convinced her that there was really something remarkable in
Plumfield air.
Billy Ward was what the Scotch tenderly call an “innocent,” for though
thirteen years old, he was like a child of six. He had been an unusually
intelligent boy, and his father had hurried him on too fast, giving him
all sorts of hard lessons, keeping at his books six hours a day, and
expecting him to absorb knowledge as a Strasburg goose does the food
crammed down its throat. He thought he was doing his duty, but he nearly
killed the boy, for a fever gave the poor child a sad holiday, and when
he recovered, the overtasked brain gave out, and Billy's mind was like a
slate over which a sponge has passed, leaving it blank.
It was a terrible lesson to his ambitious father; he could not bear the
sight of his promising child, changed to a feeble idiot, and he sent
him away to Plumfield, scarcely hoping that he could be helped, but sure
that he would be kindly treated. Quite docile and harmless was Billy,
and it was pitiful to see how hard he tried to learn, as if groping
dimly after the lost knowledge which had cost him so much.
Day after day, he pored over the alphabet, proudly said A and B, and
thought that he knew them, but on the morrow they were gone, and all
the work was to be done over again. Mr. Bhaer had infinite patience with
him, and kept on in spite of the apparent hopelessness of the task, not
caring for book lessons, but trying gently to clear away the mists from
the darkened mind, and give it back intelligence enough to make the boy
less a burden and an affliction.
Mrs. Bhaer strengthened his health by every aid she could invent, and
the boys all pitied and were kind to him. He did not like their active
plays, but would sit for hours watching the doves, would dig holes for
Teddy till even that ardent grubber was satisfied, or follow Silas, the
man, from place to place seeing him work, for honest Si was very good to
him, and though he forgot his letters Billy remembered friendly faces.
Tommy Bangs was the scapegrace of the school, and the most trying
scapegrace that ever lived. As full of mischief as a monkey, yet
so good-hearted that one could not help forgiving his tricks; so
scatter-brained that words went by him like the wind, yet so penitent
for every misdeed, that it was impossible to keep sober when he
vowed tremendous vows of reformation, or proposed all sorts of queer
punishments to be inflicted upon himself. Mr. and Mrs. Bhaer lived in
a state of preparation for any mishap, from the breaking of Tommy's own
neck, to the blowing up of the entire family with gunpowder; and Nursey
had a particular drawer in which she kept bandages, plasters, and salves
for his especial use, for Tommy was always being brought in half dead;
but nothing ever killed him, and he arose from every downfall with
redoubled vigor.
The first day he came, he chopped the top off one finger in the
hay-cutter, and during the week, fell from the shed roof, was chased by
an angry hen who tried to pick his out because he examined her chickens,
got run away with, and had his ears boxed violent by Asia, who caught
him luxuriously skimming a pan of cream with half a stolen pie.
Undaunted, however, by any failures or rebuffs, this indomitable youth
went on amusing himself with all sorts of tricks till no one felt safe.
If he did not know his lessons, he always had some droll excuse to
offer, and as he was usually clever at his books, and as bright as a
button in composing answers when he did not know them, he go on pretty
well at school. But out of school, Ye gods and little fishes! how Tommy
did carouse!
He wound fat Asia up in her own clothes line against the post, and left
here there to fume and scold for half an hour one busy Monday morning.
He dropped a hot cent down Mary Ann's back as that pretty maid was
waiting at table one day when there were gentlemen to dinner, whereat
the poor girl upset the soup and rushed out of the room in dismay,
leaving the family to think that she had gone mad. He fixed a pail of
water up in a tree, with a bit of ribbon fastened to the handle, and
when Daisy, attracted by the gay streamer, tried to pull it down, she
got a douche bath that spoiled her clean frock and hurt her little
feelings very much. He put rough white pebbles in the sugar-bowl when
his grandmother came to tea, and the poor old lady wondered why they
didn't melt in her cup, but was too polite to say anything. He passed
around snuff in church so that five of the boys sneezed with such
violence they had to go out. He dug paths in winter time, and then
privately watered them so that people should tumble down. He drove poor
Silas nearly wild by hanging his big boots in conspicuous places,
for his feet were enormous, and he was very much ashamed of them. He
persuaded confiding little Dolly to tie a thread to one of his loose
teeth, and leave the string hanging from his mouth when he went to
sleep, so that Tommy could pull it out without his feeling the dreaded
operation. But the tooth wouldn't come at the first tweak, and poor
Dolly woke up in great anguish of spirit, and lost all faith in Tommy
from that day forth.
The last prank had been to give the hens bread soaked in rum, which made
them tipsy and scandalized all the other fowls, for the respectable old
biddies went staggering about, pecking and clucking in the most maudlin
manner, while the family were convulsed with laughter at their antics,
till Daisy took pity on them and shut them up in the hen-house to sleep
off their intoxication.
These were the boys and they lived together as happy as twelve lads
could, studying and playing, working and squabbling, fighting faults and
cultivating virtues in the good old-fashioned way. Boys at other schools
probably learned more from books, but less of that better wisdom which
makes good men. Latin, Greek, and mathematics were all very well, but in
Professor Bhaer's opinion, self knowledge, self-help, and self-control
were more important, and he tried to teach them carefully. People shook
their heads sometimes at his ideas, even while they owned that the boys
improved wonderfully in manners and morals. But then, as Mrs. Jo said to
Nat, “it was an odd school.”
CHAPTER III. SUNDAY
The moment the bell rang next morning Nat flew out of bed, and dressed
himself with great satisfaction in the suit of clothes he found on
the chair. They were not new, being half-worn garments of one of the
well-to-do boys; but Mrs. Bhaer kept all such cast-off feathers for the
picked robins who strayed into her nest. They were hardly on when Tommy
appeared in a high state of clean collar, and escorted Nat down to
breakfast.
The sun was shining into the dining-room on the well-spread table, and
the flock of hungry, hearty lads who gathered round it. Nat observed
that they were much more orderly than they had been the night before,
and every one stood silently behind his chair while little Rob, standing
beside his father at the head of the table, folded his hands, reverently
bent his curly head, and softly repeated a short grace in the devout
German fashion, which Mr. Bhaer loved and taught his little son to
honor. Then they all sat down to enjoy the Sunday-morning breakfast of
coffee, steak, and baked potatoes, instead of the bread and milk fare
with which they usually satisfied their young appetites. There was much
pleasant talk while the knives and forks rattled briskly, for certain
Sunday lessons were to be learned, the Sunday walk settled, and plans
for the week discussed. As he listened, Nat thought it seemed as if this
day must be a very pleasant one, for he loved quiet, and there was
a cheerful sort of hush over every thing that pleased him very much;
because, in spite of his rough life, the boy possessed the sensitive
nerves which belong to a music-loving nature.
“Now, my lads, get your morning jobs done, and let me find you ready
for church when the 'bus comes round,” said Father Bhaer, and set the
example by going into the school-room to get books ready for the morrow.
Every one scattered to his or her task, for each had some little daily
duty, and was expected to perform it faithfully. Some brought wood and
water, brushed the steps, or ran errands for Mrs. Bhaer. Others fed the
pet animals, and did chores about the barn with Franz. Daisy washed the
cups, and Demi wiped them, for the twins liked to work together, and
Demi had been taught to make himself useful in the little house at home.
Even Baby Teddy had his small job to do, and trotted to and fro, putting
napkins away, and pushing chairs into their places. For half and hour
the lads buzzed about like a hive of bees, then the 'bus drove round,
Father Bhaer and Franz with the eight older boys piled in, and away they
went for a three-mile drive to church in town.
Because of the troublesome cough Nat prefered to stay at home with
the four small boys, and spent a happy morning in Mrs. Bhaer's room,
listening to the stories she read them, learning the hymns she taught
them, and then quietly employing himself pasting pictures into an old
ledger.
“This is my Sunday closet,” she said, showing him shelves filled with
picture-books, paint-boxes, architectural blocks, little diaries, and
materials for letter-writing. “I want my boys to love Sunday, to find it
a peaceful, pleasant day, when they can rest from common study and
play, yet enjoy quiet pleasures, and learn, in simple ways, lessons more
important than any taught in school. Do you understand me?” she asked,
watching Nat's attentive face.
“You mean to be good?” he said, after hesitating a minute.
“Yes; to be good, and to love to be good. It is hard work sometimes, I
know very well; but we all help one another, and so we get on. This is
one of the ways in which I try to help my boys,” and she took down a
thick book, which seemed half-full of writing, and opened at a page on
which there was one word at the top.
“Why, that's my name!” cried Nat, looking both surprised and interested.
“Yes; I have a page for each boy. I keep a little account of how he gets
on through the week, and Sunday night I show him the record. If it is
bad I am sorry and disappointed, if it is good I am glad and proud; but,
whichever it is, the boys know I want to help them, and they try to do
their best for love of me and Father Bhaer.”
“I should think they would,” said Nat, catching a glimpse of Tommy's
name opposite his own, and wondering what was written under it.
Mrs. Bhaer saw his eye on the words, and shook her head, saying, as she