Little Men: Life at Plumfield With Jo's Boys
“That was a curious way to treat him; I'd have knocked him down,” said
Dan.
“Kindness is always better than force. Try it and see,” answered Mr.
Bhaer, rising.
“Tell another, please,” cried Daisy.
“You must, Aunt Jo did,” added Demi.
“Then I certainly won't, but keep my others for next time. Too many
tales are as bad as too many bonbons. I have paid my forfeit and I go,”
and Mr. Bhaer ran for his life, with the whole flock in full pursuit. He
had the start, however, and escaped safely into his study, leaving the
boys to go rioting back again.
They were so stirred up by the race that they could not settle to their
former quiet, and a lively game of Blindman's Buff followed, in which
Tommy showed that he had taken the moral of the last story to heart,
for, when he caught Nan, he whispered in her ear, “I'm sorry I called
you a cross-patch.”
Nan was not to be outdone in kindness, so, when they played “Button,
button, who's got the button?” and it was her turn to go round, she
said, “Hold fast all I give you,” with such a friendly smile at Tommy,
that he was not surprised to find the horse-hair ring in his hand
instead of the button. He only smiled back at her then, but when they
were going to bed, he offered Nan the best bite of his last apple; she
saw the ring on his stumpy little finger, accepted the bite, and peace
was declared. Both were ashamed of the temporary coldness, neither was
ashamed to say, “I was wrong, forgive me,” so the childish friendship
remained unbroken, and the home in the willow lasted long, a pleasant
little castle in the air.
CHAPTER XXI. THANKSGIVING
This yearly festival was always kept at Plumfield in the good
old-fashioned way, and nothing was allowed to interfere with it. For
days beforehand, the little girls helped Asia and Mrs. Jo in store-room
and kitchen, making pies and puddings, sorting fruit, dusting dishes,
and being very busy and immensely important. The boys hovered on the
outskirts of the forbidden ground, sniffing the savory odors, peeping
in at the mysterious performances, and occasionally being permitted to
taste some delicacy in the process of preparation.
Something more than usual seemed to be on foot this year, for the girls
were as busy up-stairs as down, so were the boys in school-room and
barn, and a general air of bustle pervaded the house. There was a great
hunting up of old ribbons and finery, much cutting and pasting of gold
paper, and the most remarkable quantity of straw, gray cotton, flannel,
and big black beads, used by Franz and Mrs. Jo. Ned hammered at strange
machines in the workshop, Demi and Tommy went about murmuring to
themselves as if learning something. A fearful racket was heard in
Emil's room at intervals, and peals of laughter from the nursery when
Rob and Teddy were sent for and hidden from sight whole hours at a time.
But the thing that puzzled Mr. Bhaer the most was what became of Rob's
big pumpkin. It had been borne in triumph to the kitchen, where a dozen
golden-tinted pies soon after appeared. It would not have taken more
than a quarter of the mammoth vegetable to make them, yet where was the
rest? It disappeared, and Rob never seemed to care, only chuckled when
it was mentioned, and told his father, “To wait and see,” for the fun of
the whole thing was to surprise Father Bhaer at the end, and not let him
know a bit about what was to happen.
He obediently shut eyes, ears, and mouth, and went about trying not
to see what was in plain sight, not to hear the tell-tale sounds that
filled the air, not to understand any of the perfectly transparent
mysteries going on all about him. Being a German, he loved these simple
domestic festivals, and encouraged them with all his heart, for they
made home so pleasant that the boys did not care to go elsewhere for
fun.
When at last the day came, the boys went off for a long walk, that they
might have good appetites for dinner; as if they ever needed them! The
girls remained at home to help set the table, and give last touches to
various affairs which filled their busy little souls with anxiety. The
school-room had been shut up since the night before, and Mr. Bhaer was
forbidden to enter it on pain of a beating from Teddy, who guarded the
door like a small dragon, though he was dying to tell about it, and
nothing but his father's heroic self-denial in not listening, kept him
from betraying a grand secret.
“It's all done, and it's perfectly splendid,” cried Nan, coming out at
last with an air of triumph.
“The—you know—goes beautifully, and Silas knows just what to do now,”
added Daisy, skipping with delight at some unspeakable success.
“I'm blest if it ain't the 'cutest thing I ever see, them critters in
particular,” said Silas, who had been let into the secret, went off
laughing like a great boy.
“They are coming; I hear Emil roaring 'Land lubbers lying down below,'
so we must run and dress,” cried Nan, and up-stairs they scampered in a
great hurry.
The boys came trooping home with appetites that would have made the big
turkey tremble, if it had not been past all fear. They also retired to
dress; and for half-an-hour there was a washing, brushing, and prinking
that would have done any tidy woman's heart good to see. When the bell
rang, a troop of fresh-faced lads with shiny hair, clean collars, and
Sunday jackets on, filed into the dining-room, where Mrs. Jo, in her
one black silk, with a knot of her favorite white chrysanthemums in her
bosom, sat at the head of the table, “looking splendid,” as the boys
said, whenever she got herself up. Daisy and Nan were as gay as a posy
bed in their new winter dresses, with bright sashes and hair ribbons.
Teddy was gorgeous to behold in a crimson merino blouse, and his best
button boots, which absorbed and distracted him as much as Mr. Toot's
wristbands did on one occasion.
As Mr. and Mrs. Bhaer glanced at each other down the long table, with
those rows of happy faces on either side, they had a little thanksgiving
all to themselves, and without a word, for one heart said to the other,
“Our work has prospered, let us be grateful and go on.”
The clatter of knives and forks prevented much conversation for a few
minutes, and Mary Ann with an amazing pink bow in her hair “flew round”
briskly, handing plates and ladling out gravy. Nearly every one had
contributed to the feast, so the dinner was a peculiarly interesting
ones to the eaters of it, who beguiled the pauses by remarks on their
own productions.
“If these are not good potatoes I never saw any,” observed Jack, as he
received his fourth big mealy one.
“Some of my herbs are in the stuffing of the turkey, that's why it's so
nice,” said Nan, taking a mouthful with intense satisfaction.
“My ducks are prime any way; Asia said she never cooked such fat ones,”
added Tommy.
“Well, our carrots are beautiful, ain't they, and our parsnips will
be ever so good when we dig them,” put in Dick, and Dolly murmured his
assent from behind the bone he was picking.
“I helped make the pies with my pumpkin,” called out Robby, with a laugh
which he stopped by retiring into his mug.
“I picked some of the apples that the cider is made of,” said Demi.
“I raked the cranberries for the sauce,” cried Nat.
“I got the nuts,” added Dan, and so it went on all round the table.
“Who made up Thanksgiving?” asked Rob, for being lately promoted to
jacket and trousers he felt a new and manly interest in the institutions
of his country.
“See who can answer that question,” and Mr. Bhaer nodded to one or two
of his best history boys.
“I know,” said Demi, “the Pilgrims made it.”
“What for?” asked Rob, without waiting to learn who the Pilgrims were.
“I forget,” and Demi subsided.
“I believe it was because they were starved once, and so when they had a
good harvest, they said, 'We will thank God for it,' and they had a day
and called it Thanksgiving,” said Dan, who liked the story of the brave
men who suffered so nobly for their faith.
“Good! I didn't think you would remember any thing but natural history,”
and Mr. Bhaer tapped gently on the table as applause for his pupil.
Dan looked pleased; and Mrs. Jo said to her son, “Now do you understand
about it, Robby?”
“No, I don't. I thought pil-grins were a sort of big bird that lived on
rocks, and I saw pictures of them in Demi's book.”
“He means penguins. Oh, isn't he a little goosey!” and Demi laid back in
his chair and laughed aloud.
“Don't laugh at him, but tell him all about it if you can,” said Mrs.
Bhaer, consoling Rob with more cranberry sauce for the general smile
that went round the table at his mistake.
“Well, I will;” and, after a pause to collect his ideas, Demi delivered
the following sketch of the Pilgrim Fathers, which would have made even
those grave gentlemen smile if they could have heard it.
“You see, Rob, some of the people in England didn't like the king, or
something, so they got into ships and sailed away to this country. It
was all full of Indians, and bears, and wild creatures, and they lived
in forts, and had a dreadful time.”
“The bears?” asked Robby, with interest.
“No; the Pilgrims, because the Indians troubled them. They hadn't enough
to eat, and they went to church with guns, and ever so many died, and
they got out of the ships on a rock, and it's called Plymouth Rock, and
Aunt Jo saw it and touched it. The Pilgrims killed all the Indians,
and got rich; and hung the witches, and were very good; and some of the
greatest great-grandpas came in the ships. One was the Mayflower; and
they made Thanksgiving, and we have it always, and I like it. Some more
turkey, please.”
“I think Demi will be an historian, there is such order and clearness in
his account of events;” and Uncle Fritz's eyes laughed at Aunt Jo, as he
helped the descendant of the Pilgrims to his third bit of turkey.
“I thought you must eat as much as ever you could on Thanksgiving.
But Franz says you mustn't even then;” and Stuffy looked as if he had
received bad news.
“Franz is right, so mind your knife and fork, and be moderate, or else
you won't be able to help in the surprise by and by,” said Mrs. Jo.
“I'll be careful; but everybody does eat lots, and I like it better
than being moderate,” said Stuffy, who leaned to the popular belief that
Thanksgiving must be kept by coming as near apoplexy as possible, and
escaping with merely a fit of indigestion or a headache.
“Now, my 'pilgrims' amuse yourselves quietly till tea-time, for you will
have enough excitement this evening,” said Mrs. Jo, as they rose from
the table after a protracted sitting, finished by drinking every one's
health in cider.
“I think I will take the whole flock for a drive, it is so pleasant;
then you can rest, my dear, or you will be worn out this evening,” added
Mr. Bhaer; and as soon as coats and hats could be put on, the great
omnibus was packed full, and away they went for a long gay drive,
leaving Mrs. Jo to rest and finish sundry small affairs in peace.
An early and light tea was followed by more brushing of hair and washing
of hands; then the flock waited impatiently for the company to come.
Only the family was expected; for these small revels were strictly
domestic, and such being the case, sorrow was not allowed to sadden the
present festival. All came; Mr. and Mrs. March, with Aunt Meg, so sweet
and lovely, in spite of her black dress and the little widow's cap that
encircled her tranquil face. Uncle Teddy and Aunt Amy, with the Princess
looking more fairy-like than ever, in a sky-blue gown, and a great
bouquet of hot-house flowers, which she divided among the boys, sticking
one in each button-hole, making them feel peculiarly elegant and
festive. One strange face appeared, and Uncle Teddy led the unknown