Little Men: Life at Plumfield With Jo's Boys
“No; he isn't a bit cross; he sort of explains and gives you a boost
over the hard places. Some folks don't; my other master didn't. If we
missed a word, didn't we get raps on the head!” and Tommy rubbed his own
pate as if it tingled yet with the liberal supply of raps, the memory
of which was the only thing he brought away after a year with his “other
master.”
“I think I could read this,” said Nat, who had been examining the books.
“Read a bit, then; I'll help you,” resumed Tommy, with a patronizing
air.
So Nat did his best, and floundered through a page with may friendly
“boosts” from Tommy, who told him he would soon “go it” as well as
anybody. Then they sat and talked boy-fashion about all sorts of things,
among others, gardening; for Nat, looking down from his perch, asked
what was planted in the many little patches lying below them on the
other side of the brook.
“These are our farms,” said Tommy. “We each have our own patch, and
raise what we like in it, only have to choose different things, and
can't change till the crop is in, and we must keep it in order all
summer.”
“What are you going to raise this year?”
“Wal, I cattleated to hev beans, as they are about the easiest crop
a-goin'.”
Nat could not help laughing, for Tommy had pushed back his hat, put his
hands in his pockets, and drawled out his words in unconscious imitation
of Silas, the man who managed the place for Mr. Bhaer.
“Come, you needn't laugh; beans are ever so much easier than corn or
potatoes. I tried melons last year, but the bugs were a bother, and the
old things wouldn't get ripe before the frost, so I didn't have but one
good water and two little 'mush mellions,'” said Tommy, relapsing into a
“Silasism” with the last word.
“Corn looks pretty growing,” said Nat, politely, to atone for his laugh.
“Yes, but you have to hoe it over and over again. Now, six weeks' beans
only have to be done once or so, and they get ripe soon. I'm going to
try 'em, for I spoke first. Stuffy wanted 'em, but he's got to take
peas; they only have to be picked, and he ought to do it, he eats such a
lot.”
“I wonder if I shall have a garden?” said Nat, thinking that even
corn-hoeing must be pleasant work.
“Of course you will,” said a voice from below, and there was Mr. Bhaer
returned from his walk, and come to find them, for he managed to have
a little talk with every one of the lads some time during the day, and
found that these chats gave them a good start for the coming week.
Sympathy is a sweet thing, and it worked wonders here, for each boy knew
that Father Bhaer was interested in him, and some were readier to open
their hearts to him than to a woman, especially the older ones, who
liked to talk over their hopes and plans, man to man. When sick or in
trouble they instinctively turned to Mrs. Jo, while the little ones made
her their mother-confessor on all occasions.
In descending from their nest, Tommy fell into the brook; being used to
it, he calmly picked himself out and retired to the house to be dried.
This left Nat to Mr. Bhaer, which was just what he wished, and, during
the stroll they took among the garden plots, he won the lad's heart by
giving him a little “farm,” and discussing crops with him as gravely as
if the food for the family depended on the harvest. From this pleasant
topic they went to others, and Nat had many new and helpful thoughts put
into a mind that received them as gratefully as the thirsty earth had
received the warm spring rain. All supper time he brooded over them,
often fixing his eyes on Mr. Bhaer with an inquiring look, that seemed
to say, “I like that, do it again, sir.” I don't know whether the man
understood the child's mute language or not, but when the boys were all
gathered together in Mrs. Bhaer's parlor for the Sunday evening talk,
he chose a subject which might have been suggested by the walk in the
garden.
As he looked about him Nat thought it seemed more like a great family
than a school, for the lads were sitting in a wide half-circle round the
fire, some on chairs, some on the rug, Daisy and Demi on the knees of
Uncle Fritz, and Rob snugly stowed away in the back of his mother's
easy-chair, where he could nod unseen if the talk got beyond his depth.
Every one looked quite comfortable, and listened attentively, for the
long walk made rest agreeable, and as every boy there knew that he would
be called upon for his views, he kept his wits awake to be ready with an
answer.
“Once upon a time,” began Mr. Bhaer, in the dear old-fashioned way,
“there was a great and wise gardener who had the largest garden ever
seen. A wonderful and lovely place it was, and he watched over it with
the greatest skill and care, and raised all manner of excellent and
useful things. But weeds would grow even in this fine garden; often the
ground was bad and the good seeds sown in it would not spring up. He
had many under gardeners to help him. Some did their duty and earned the
rich wages he gave them; but others neglected their parts and let them
run to waste, which displeased him very much. But he was very patient,
and for thousands and thousands of years he worked and waited for his
great harvest.”
“He must have been pretty old,” said Demi, who was looking straight into
Uncle Fritz's face, as if to catch every word.
“Hush, Demi, it's a fairy story,” whispered Daisy.
“No, I think it's an arrygory,” said Demi.
“What is a arrygory?” called out Tommy, who was of an inquiring turn.
“Tell him, Demi, if you can, and don't use words unless you are quite
sure you know what they mean,” said Mr. Bhaer.
“I do know, Grandpa told me! A fable is a arrygory; it's a story that
means something. My 'Story without an end' is one, because the child in
it means a soul; don't it, Aunty?” cried Demi, eager to prove himself
right.
“That's it, dear; and Uncle's story is an allegory, I am quite sure; so
listen and see what it means,” returned Mrs. Jo, who always took part in
whatever was going on, and enjoyed it as much as any boy among them.
Demi composed himself, and Mr. Bhaer went on in his best English, for he
had improved much in the last five years, and said the boys did it.
“This great gardener gave a dozen or so of little plots to one of his
servants, and told him to do his best and see what he could raise. Now
this servant was not rich, nor wise, nor very good, but he wanted to
help because the gardener had been very kind to him in many ways. So he
gladly took the little plots and fell to work. They were all sorts of
shapes and sizes, and some were very good soil, some rather stony, and
all of them needed much care, for in the rich soil the weeds grew fast,
and in the poor soil there were many stones.”
“What was growing in them besides the weeds, and stones?” asked Nat; so
interested, he forgot his shyness and spoke before them all.
“Flowers,” said Mr. Bhaer, with a kind look. “Even the roughest, most
neglected little bed had a bit of heart's-ease or a sprig of mignonette
in it. One had roses, sweet peas, and daisies in it,” here he pinched
the plump cheek of the little girl leaning on his arm. “Another had all
sorts of curious plants in it, bright pebbles, a vine that went climbing
up like Jack's beanstalk, and many good seeds just beginning to sprout;
for, you see, this bed had been taken fine care of by a wise old man,
who had worked in gardens of this sort all his life.”
At this part of the “arrygory,” Demi put his head on one side like an
inquisitive bird, and fixed his bright eye on his uncle's face, as if he
suspected something and was on the watch. But Mr. Bhaer looked perfectly
innocent, and went on glancing from one young face to another, with a
grave, wistful look, that said much to his wife, who knew how earnestly
he desired to do his duty in these little garden plots.
“As I tell you, some of these beds were easy to cultivate, that means
to take care of Daisy, and others were very hard. There was one
particularly sunshiny little bed that might have been full of fruits and
vegetables as well as flowers, only it wouldn't take any pains, and when
the man sowed, well, we'll say melons in this bed, they came to nothing,
because the little bed neglected them. The man was sorry, and kept on
trying, though every time the crop failed, all the bed said, was, 'I
forgot.'”
Here a general laugh broke out, and every one looked at Tommy, who had
pricked up his ears at the word “melons,” and hung down his head at the
sound of his favorite excuse.
“I knew he meant us!” cried Demi, clapping his hands. “You are the man,
and we are the little gardens; aren't we, Uncle Fritz?”
“You have guessed it. Now each of you tell me what crop I shall try to
sow in you this spring, so that next autumn I may get a good harvest out
of my twelve, no, thirteen, plots,” said Mr. Bhaer, nodding at Nat as he
corrected himself.
“You can't sow corn and beans and peas in us. Unless you mean we are to
eat a great many and get fat,” said Stuffy, with a sudden brightening of
his round, dull face as the pleasing idea occurred to him.
“He don't mean that kind of seeds. He means things to make us good; and
the weeds are faults,” cried Demi, who usually took the lead in these
talks, because he was used to this sort of thing, and liked it very
much.
“Yes, each of you think what you need most, and tell me, and I will help
you to grow it; only you must do your best, or you will turn out like
Tommy's melons, all leaves and no fruit. I will begin with the oldest,
and ask the mother what she will have in her plot, for we are all parts
of the beautiful garden, and may have rich harvests for our Master if we
love Him enough,” said Father Bhaer.
“I shall devote the whole of my plot to the largest crop of patience I
can get, for that is what I need most,” said Mrs. Jo, so soberly that
the lads fell to thinking in good earnest what they should say when
their turns came, and some among them felt a twinge of remorse, that
they had helped to use up Mother Bhaer's stock of patience so fast.
Franz wanted perseverance, Tommy steadiness, Ned went in for good
temper, Daisy for industry, Demi for “as much wiseness as Grandpa,” and
Nat timidly said he wanted so many things he would let Mr. Bhaer choose
for him. The others chose much the same things, and patience, good
temper, and generosity seemed the favorite crops. One boy wished to like
to get up early, but did not know what name to give that sort of seed;
and poor Stuffy sighed out,
“I wish I loved my lessons as much as I do my dinner, but I can't.”
“We will plant self-denial, and hoe it and water it, and make it grow so
well that next Christmas no one will get ill by eating too much dinner.
If you exercise your mind, George, it will get hungry just as your body
does, and you will love books almost as much as my philosopher here,”
said Mr. Bhaer; adding, as he stroked the hair off Demi's fine forehead,
“You are greedy also, my son, and you like to stuff your little mind
full of fairy tales and fancies, as well as George likes to fill his
little stomach with cake and candy. Both are bad, and I want you to
try something better. Arithmetic is not half so pleasant as 'Arabian
Nights,' I know, but it is a very useful thing, and now is the time to
learn it, else you will be ashamed and sorry by and by.”
“But, 'Harry and Lucy,' and 'Frank,' are not fairy books, and they
are all full of barometers, and bricks, and shoeing horses, and useful
things, and I'm fond of them; ain't I, Daisy?” said Demi, anxious to
defend himself.
“So they are; but I find you reading 'Roland and Maybird,' a great deal
oftener than 'Harry and Lucy,' and I think you are not half so fond of
'Frank' as you are of 'Sinbad.' Come, I shall make a little bargain with