Little Men: Life at Plumfield With Jo's Boys
Quite a thrill went through the listeners as Silas said that, for
Major seemed a hero in their eyes, and his tragic end roused all their
sympathy.
“Yes, I shot him, and put him out of his misery. I patted him fust, and
said, 'Good-by;' then I laid his head easy on the grass, give a last
look into his lovin' eyes, and sent a bullet through his head. He hardly
stirred, I aimed so true, and when I seen him quite still, with no more
moanin' and pain, I was glad, and yet—wal, I don't know as I need by
ashamed on't—I jest put my arms raound his neck and boo-hooed like a
great baby. Sho! I didn't know I was sech a fool;” and Silas drew his
sleeve across his eyes, as much touched by Daisy's sob, as by the memory
of faithful Major.
No one spoke for a minute, because the boys were as quick to feel the
pathos of the little story as tender-hearted Daisy, though they did not
show it by crying.
“I'd like a horse like that,” said Dan, half-aloud.
“Did the rebel man die, too?” asked Nan, anxiously.
“Not then. We laid there all day, and at night some of our fellers came
to look after the missing ones. They nat'rally wanted to take me fust,
but I knew I could wait, and the rebel had but one chance, maybe, so I
made them carry him off right away. He had jest strength enough to hold
out his hand to me and say, 'Thanky, comrade!' and them was the last
words he spoke, for he died an hour after he got to the hospital-tent.”
“How glad you must have been that you were kind to him!” said Demi, who
was deeply impressed by this story.
“Wal, I did take comfort thinkin' of it, as I laid there alone for a
number of hours with my head on Major's neck, and see the moon come up.
I'd like to have buried the poor beast decent, but it warn't possible;
so I cut off a bit of his mane, and I've kep it ever sence. Want to see
it, sissy?”
“Oh, yes, please,” answered Daisy, wiping away her tears to look.
Silas took out an old “wallet” as he called his pocket-book, and
produced from an inner fold a bit of brown paper, in which was a rough
lock of white horse-hair. The children looked at it silently, as it lay
in the broad palm, and no one found any thing to ridicule in the love
Silas bore his good horse Major.
“That is a sweet story, and I like it, though it did make me cry. Thank
you very much, Si,” and Daisy helped him fold and put away his little
relic; while Nan stuffed a handful of pop-corn into his pocket, and the
boys loudly expressed their flattering opinions of his story, feeling
that there had been two heroes in it.
He departed, quite overcome by his honors, and the little conspirators
talked the tale over, while they waited for their next victim. It was
Mrs. Jo, who came in to measure Nan for some new pinafores she was
making for her. They let her get well in, and then pounced upon her,
telling her the law, and demanding the story. Mrs. Jo was very much
amused at the new trap, and consented at once, for the sound of happy
voices had been coming across the hall so pleasantly that she quite
longed to join them, and forget her own anxious thoughts of Sister Meg.
“Am I the first mouse you have caught, you sly pussies-in-boots?”
she asked, as she was conducted to the big chair, supplied with
refreshments, and surrounded by a flock of merry-faced listeners.
They told her about Silas and his contribution, and she slapped her
forehead in despair, for she was quite at her wits' end, being called
upon so unexpectedly for a bran new tale.
“What shall I tell about?” she said.
“Boys,” was the general answer.
“Have a party in it,” said Daisy.
“And something good to eat,” added Stuffy.
“That reminds me of a story, written years ago, by a dear old lady. I
used to be very fond of it, and I fancy you will like it, for it has
both boys, and 'something good to eat' in it.”
“What is it called?” asked Demi.
“'The Suspected Boy.'”
Nat looked up from the nuts he was picking, and Mrs. Jo smiled at him,
guessing what was in his mind.
“Miss Crane kept a school for boys in a quiet little town, and a very
good school it was, of the old-fashioned sort. Six boys lived in her
house, and four or five more came in from the town. Among those who
lived with her was one named Lewis White. Lewis was not a bad boy, but
rather timid, and now and then he told a lie. One day a neighbor sent
Miss Crane a basket of gooseberries. There were not enough to go round,
so kind Miss Crane, who liked to please her boys, went to work and made
a dozen nice little gooseberry tarts.”
“I'd like to try gooseberry tarts. I wonder if she made them as I do
my raspberry ones,” said Daisy, whose interest in cooking had lately
revived.
“Hush,” said Nat, tucking a plump pop-corn into her mouth to silence
her, for he felt a particular interest in this tale, and thought it
opened well.
“When the tarts were done, Miss Crane put them away in the best parlor
closet, and said not a word about them, for she wanted to surprise the
boys at tea-time. When the minute came and all were seated at table, she
went to get her tarts, but came back looking much troubled, for what do
you think had happened?”
“Somebody had hooked them!” cried Ned.
“No, there they were, but some one had stolen all the fruit out of
them by lifting up the upper crust and then putting it down after the
gooseberry had been scraped out.”
“What a mean trick!” and Nan looked at Tommy, as if to imply that he
would do the same.
“When she told the boys her plan and showed them the poor little
patties all robbed of their sweetness, the boys were much grieved and
disappointed, and all declared that they knew nothing about the matter.
'Perhaps the rats did it,' said Lewis, who was among the loudest to deny
any knowledge of the tarts. 'No, rats would have nibbled crust and all,
and never lifted it up and scooped out the fruit. Hands did that,' said
Miss Crane, who was more troubled about the lie that some one must have
told than about her lost patties. Well, they had supper and went to bed,
but in the night Miss Crane heard some one groaning, and going to
see who it was she found Lewis in great pain. He had evidently eaten
something that disagreed with him, and was so sick that Miss Crane was
alarmed, and was going to send for the doctor, when Lewis moaned out,
'It's the gooseberries; I ate them, and I must tell before I die,' for
the thought of a doctor frightened him. 'If that is all, I'll give you
an emetic and you will soon get over it,' said Miss Crane. So Lewis had
a good dose, and by morning was quite comfortable. 'Oh, don't tell the
boys; they will laugh at me so,' begged the invalid. Kind Miss Crane
promised not to, but Sally, the girl, told the story, and poor Lewis had
no peace for a long time. His mates called him Old Gooseberry, and were
never tired of asking him the price of tarts.”
“Served him right,” said Emil.
“Badness always gets found out,” added Demi, morally.
“No, it don't,” muttered Jack, who was tending the apples with great
devotion, so that he might keep his back to the rest and account for his
red face.
“Is that all?” asked Dan.
“No, that is only the first part; the second part is more interesting.
Some time after this a peddler came by one day and stopped to show his
things to the boys, several of whom bought pocket-combs, jew's-harps,
and various trifles of that sort. Among the knives was a little
white-handled penknife that Lewis wanted very much, but he had spent all
his pocket-money, and no one had any to lend him. He held the knife in
his hand, admiring and longing for it, till the man packed up his goods
to go, then he reluctantly laid it down, and the man went on his way.
The next day, however, the peddler returned to say that he could not
find that very knife, and thought he must have left it at Miss Crane's.
It was a very nice one with a pearl handle, and he could not afford
to lose it. Every one looked, and every one declared they knew nothing
about it. 'This young gentleman had it last, and seemed to want it very
much. Are you quite sure you put it back?' said the man to Lewis, who
was much troubled at the loss, and vowed over and over again that he did
return it. His denials seemed to do no good, however, for every one was
sure he had taken it, and after a stormy scene Miss Crane paid for it,
and the man went grumbling away.”
“Did Lewis have it?” cried Nat, much excited.
“You will see. Now poor Lewis had another trial to bear, for the boys
were constantly saying, 'Lend me your pearl-handled knife, Gooseberry,'
and things of that sort, till Lewis was so unhappy he begged to be sent
home. Miss Crane did her best to keep the boys quiet, but it was hard
work, for they would tease, and she could not be with them all the
time. That is one of the hardest things to teach boys; they won't 'hit
a fellow when he is down,' as they say, but they will torment him in
little ways till he would thank them to fight it out all round.”
“I know that,” said Dan.
“So do I,” added Nat, softly.
Jack said nothing, but he quite agreed; for he knew that the elder boys
despised him, and let him alone for that very reason.
“Do go on about poor Lewis, Aunt Jo. I don't believe he took the knife,
but I want to be sure,” said Daisy, in great anxiety.
“Well, week after week went on and the matter was not cleared up.
The boys avoided Lewis, and he, poor fellow, was almost sick with the
trouble he had brought upon himself. He resolved never to tell another
lie, and tried so hard that Miss Crane pitied and helped him, and really
came at last to believe that he did not take the knife. Two months after
the peddler's first visit, he came again, and the first thing he said
was,
“'Well, ma'am, I found that knife after all. It had slipped behind the
lining of my valise, and fell out the other day when I was putting in a
new stock of goods. I thought I'd call and let you know, as you paid for
it, and maybe would like it, so here it is.'”
“The boys had all gathered round, and at these words they felt much
ashamed, and begged Lewis' pardon so heartily that he could not refuse
to give it. Miss Crane presented the knife to him, and he kept it many
years to remind him of the fault that had brought him so much trouble.”
“I wonder why it is that things you eat on the sly hurt you, and don't
when you eat them at table,” observed Stuffy, thoughtfully.
“Perhaps your conscience affects your stomach,” said Mrs. Jo, smiling at
his speech.
“He is thinking of the cucumbers,” said Ned, and a gale of merriment
followed the words, for Stuffy's last mishap had been a funny one.
He ate two large cucumbers in private, felt very ill, and confided
his anguish to Ned, imploring him to do something. Ned good-naturedly
recommended a mustard plaster and a hot flat iron to the feet; only in
applying these remedies he reversed the order of things, and put the
plaster on the feet, the flat iron on the stomach, and poor Stuffy was
found in the barn with blistered soles and a scorched jacket.
“Suppose you tell another story, that was such an interesting one,” said
Nat, as the laughter subsided.
Before Mrs. Jo could refuse these insatiable Oliver Twists, Rob walked
into the room trailing his little bed-cover after him, and wearing
an expression of great sweetness as he said, steering straight to his
mother as a sure haven of refuge,
“I heard a great noise, and I thought sumfin dreffle might have
happened, so I came to see.”
“Did you think I would forget you, naughty boy?” asked his mother,
trying to look stern.
“No; but I thought you'd feel better to see me right here,” responded
the insinuating little party.
“I had much rather see you in bed, so march straight up again, Robin.”
“Everybody that comes in here has to tell a story, and you can't so