Little Men: Life at Plumfield With Jo's Boys
turned a leaf,
“No, I don't show my records to any but the one to whom each belongs. I
call this my conscience book; and only you and I will ever know what is
to be written on the page below your name. Whether you will be pleased
or ashamed to read it next Sunday depends on yourself. I think it will
be a good report; at any rate, I shall try to make things easy for you
in this new place, and shall be quite contented if you keep our few
rules, live happily with the boys, and learn something.”
“I'll try ma'am;” and Nat's thin face flushed up with the earnestness
of his desire to make Mrs. Bhaer “glad and proud,” not “sorry and
disappointed.” “It must be a great deal of trouble to write about so
many,” he added, as she shut her book with an encouraging pat on the
shoulder.
“Not to me, for I really don't know which I like best, writing or boys,”
she said, laughing to see Nat stare with astonishment at the last item.
“Yes, I know many people think boys are a nuisance, but that is because
they don't understand them. I do; and I never saw the boy yet whom I
could not get on capitally with after I had once found the soft spot in
his heart. Bless me, I couldn't get on at all without my flock of dear,
noisy, naughty, harum-scarum little lads, could I, my Teddy?” and Mrs.
Bhaer hugged the young rogue, just in time to save the big inkstand from
going into his pocket.
Nat, who had never heard anything like this before, really did not know
whether Mother Bhaer was a trifle crazy, or the most delightful woman he
had ever met. He rather inclined to the latter opinion, in spite of her
peculiar tastes, for she had a way of filling up a fellow's plate before
he asked, of laughing at his jokes, gently tweaking him by the ear, or
clapping him on the shoulder, that Nat found very engaging.
“Now, I think you would like to go into the school-room and practise
some of the hymns we are to sing to-night,” she said, rightly guessing
the thing of all others that he wanted to do.
Alone with the beloved violin and the music-book propped up before him
in the sunny window, while Spring beauty filled the world outside, and
Sabbath silence reigned within, Nat enjoyed an hour or two of genuine
happiness, learning the sweet old tunes, and forgetting the hard past in
the cheerful present.
When the church-goers came back and dinner was over, every one read,
wrote letters home, said their Sunday lessons, or talked quietly to one
another, sitting here and there about the house. At three o'clock the
entire family turned out to walk, for all the active young bodies must
have exercise; and in these walks the active young minds were taught
to see and love the providence of God in the beautiful miracles which
Nature was working before their eyes. Mr. Bhaer always went with them,
and in his simple, fatherly way, found for his flock, “Sermons in
stones, books in the running brooks, and good in everything.”
Mrs. Bhaer with Daisy and her own two boys drove into town, to pay the
weekly visit to Grandma, which was busy Mother Bhaer's one holiday and
greatest pleasure. Nat was not strong enough for the long walk, and
asked to stay at home with Tommy, who kindly offered to do the honors
of Plumfield. “You've seen the house, so come out and have a look at
the garden, and the barn, and the menagerie,” said Tommy, when they were
left alone with Asia, to see that they didn't get into mischief;
for, though Tommy was one of the best-meaning boys who ever adorned
knickerbockers, accidents of the most direful nature were always
happening to him, no one could exactly tell how.
“What is your menagerie?” asked Nat, as they trotted along the drive
that encircled the house.
“We all have pets, you see, and we keep 'em in the corn-barn, and call
it the menagerie. Here you are. Isn't my guinea-pig a beauty?” and Tommy
proudly presented one of the ugliest specimens of that pleasing animal
that Nat ever saw.
“I know a boy with a dozen of 'em, and he said he'd give me one, only I
hadn't any place to keep it, so I couldn't have it. It was white, with
black spots, a regular rouser, and maybe I could get it for you if you'd
like it,” said Nat, feeling it would be a delicate return for Tommy's
attentions.
“I'd like it ever so much, and I'll give you this one, and they can live
together if they don't fight. Those white mice are Rob's, Franz gave
'em to him. The rabbits are Ned's, and the bantams outside are Stuffy's.
That box thing is Demi's turtle-tank, only he hasn't begun to get 'em
yet. Last year he had sixty-two, whackers some of 'em. He stamped one of
'em with his name and the year, and let it go; and he says maybe he will
find it ever so long after and know it. He read about a turtle being
found that had a mark on it that showed it must be hundreds of years
old. Demi's such a funny chap.”
“What is in this box?” asked Nat, stopping before a large deep one,
half-full of earth.
“Oh, that's Jack Ford's worm-shop. He digs heaps of 'em and keeps 'em
here, and when we want any to go afishing with, we buy some of him. It
saves lots of trouble, only he charged too much for 'em. Why, last time
we traded I had to pay two cents a dozen, and then got little ones.
Jack's mean sometimes, and I told him I'd dig for myself if he didn't
lower his prices. Now, I own two hens, those gray ones with top knots,
first-rate ones they are too, and I sell Mrs. Bhaer the eggs, but I
never ask her more than twenty-five cents a dozen, never! I'd be ashamed
to do it,” cried Tommy, with a glance of scorn at the worm-shop.
“Who owns the dogs?” asked Nat, much interested in these commercial
transactions, and feeling that T. Bangs was a man whom it would be a
privilege and a pleasure to patronize.
“The big dog is Emil's. His name is Christopher Columbus. Mrs. Bhaer
named him because she likes to say Christopher Columbus, and no one
minds it if she means the dog,” answered Tommy, in the tone of a
show-man displaying his menagerie. “The white pup is Rob's, and the
yellow one is Teddy's. A man was going to drown them in our pond, and
Pa Bhaer wouldn't let him. They do well enough for the little chaps, I
don't think much of 'em myself. Their names are Castor and Pollux.”
“I'd like Toby the donkey best, if I could have anything, it's so nice
to ride, and he's so little and good,” said Nat, remembering the weary
tramps he had taken on his own tired feet.
“Mr. Laurie sent him out to Mrs. Bhaer, so she shouldn't carry Teddy
on her back when we go to walk. We're all fond of Toby, and he's a
first-rate donkey, sir. Those pigeons belong to the whole lot of us, we
each have our pet one, and go shares in all the little ones as they come
along. Squabs are great fun; there ain't any now, but you can go up and
take a look at the old fellows, while I see if Cockletop and Granny have
laid any eggs.”
Nat climbed up a ladder, put his head through a trap door and took a
long look at the pretty doves billing and cooing in their spacious loft.
Some on their nests, some bustling in and out, and some sitting at
their doors, while many went flying from the sunny housetop to the
straw-strewn farmyard, where six sleek cows were placidly ruminating.
“Everybody has got something but me. I wish I had a dove, or a hen, or
even a turtle, all my own,” thought Nat, feeling very poor as he saw the
interesting treasures of the other boys. “How do you get these things?”
he asked, when he joined Tommy in the barn.
“We find 'em or buy 'em, or folks give 'em to us. My father sends me
mine; but as soon as I get egg money enough, I'm going to buy a pair of
ducks. There's a nice little pond for 'em behind the barn, and people
pay well for duck-eggs, and the little duckies are pretty, and it's fun
to see 'em swim,” said Tommy, with the air of a millionaire.
Nat sighed, for he had neither father nor money, nothing in the wide
world but an old empty pocketbook, and the skill that lay in his ten
finger tips. Tommy seemed to understand the question and the sigh which
followed his answer, for after a moment of deep thought, he suddenly
broke out,
“Look here, I'll tell you what I'll do. If you will hunt eggs for me, I
hate it, I'll give you one egg out of every dozen. You keep account, and
when you've had twelve, Mother Bhaer will give you twenty-five cents for
'em, and then you can buy what you like, don't you see?”
“I'll do it! What a kind feller you are, Tommy!” cried Nat, quite
dazzled by this brilliant offer.
“Pooh! that is not anything. You begin now and rummage the barn, and
I'll wait here for you. Granny is cackling, so you're sure to find one
somewhere,” and Tommy threw himself down on the hay with a luxurious
sense of having made a good bargain, and done a friendly thing.
Nat joyfully began his search, and went rustling from loft to loft till
he found two fine eggs, one hidden under a beam, and the other in an old
peck measure, which Mrs. Cockletop had appropriated.
“You may have one and I'll have the other, that will just make up my
last dozen, and to-morrow we'll start fresh. Here, you chalk your
accounts up near mine, and then we'll be all straight,” said Tommy,
showing a row of mysterious figures on the side of an old winnowing
machine.
With a delightful sense of importance, the proud possessor of one egg
opened his account with his friend, who laughingly wrote above the
figures these imposing words,
“T. Bangs & Co.”
Poor Nat found them so fascinating that he was with difficulty persuaded
to go and deposit his first piece of portable property in Asia's
store-room. Then they went on again, and having made the acquaintance
of the two horses, six cows, three pigs, and one Alderney “Bossy,”
as calves are called in New England, Tommy took Nat to a certain old
willow-tree that overhung a noisy little brook. From the fence it was
an easy scramble into a wide niche between the three big branches, which
had been cut off to send out from year to year a crowd of slender twigs,
till a green canopy rustled overhead. Here little seats had been fixed,
and a hollow place a closet made big enough to hold a book or two, a
dismantled boat, and several half-finished whistles.
“This is Demi's and my private place; we made it, and nobody can come up
unless we let 'em, except Daisy, we don't mind her,” said Tommy, as Nat
looked with delight from the babbling brown water below to the green
arch above, where bees were making a musical murmur as they feasted on
the long yellow blossoms that filled the air with sweetness.
“Oh, it's just beautiful!” cried Nat. “I do hope you'll let me up
sometimes. I never saw such a nice place in all my life. I'd like to be
a bird, and live here always.”
“It is pretty nice. You can come if Demi don't mind, and I guess he
won't, because he said last night that he liked you.”
“Did he?” and Nat smiled with pleasure, for Demi's regard seemed to be
valued by all the boys, partly because he was Father Bhaer's nephew, and
partly because he was such a sober, conscientious little fellow.
“Yes; Demi likes quiet chaps, and I guess he and you will get on if you
care about reading as he does.”
Poor Nat's flush of pleasure deepened to a painful scarlet at those last
words, and he stammered out,
“I can't read very well; I never had any time; I was always fiddling
round, you know.”
“I don't love it myself, but I can do it well enough when I want to,”
said Tommy, after a surprised look, which said as plainly as words, “A
boy twelve years old and can't read!”
“I can read music, anyway,” added Nat, rather ruffled at having to
confess his ignorance.
“I can't;” and Tommy spoke in a respectful tone, which emboldened Nat to
say firmly,
“I mean to study real hard and learn every thing I can, for I never had
a chance before. Does Mr. Bhaer give hard lessons?”