Little Men: Life at Plumfield With Jo's Boys
you both, George shall eat but three times a day, and you shall read but
one story-book a week, and I will give you the new cricket-ground; only,
you must promise to play in it,” said Uncle Fritz, in his persuasive
way, for Stuffy hated to run about, and Demi was always reading in play
hours.
“But we don't like cricket,” said Demi.
“Perhaps not now, but you will when you know it. Besides, you do like to
be generous, and the other boys want to play, and you can give them the
new ground if you choose.”
This was taken them both on the right side, and they agreed to the
bargain, to the great satisfaction of the rest.
There was a little more talk about the gardens, and then they all sang
together. The band delighted Nat, for Mrs. Bhaer played the piano, Franz
the flute, Mr. Bhaer a bass viol, and he himself the violin. A very
simple little concert, but all seemed to enjoy it, and old Asia, sitting
in the corner, joined at times with the sweetest voice of any, for in
this family, master and servant, old and young, black and white, shared
in the Sunday song, which went up to the Father of them all. After this
they each shook hands with Father Bhaer; Mother Bhaer kissed them every
one from sixteen-year-old Franz to little Rob, how kept the tip of her
nose for his own particular kisses, and then they trooped up to bed.
The light of the shaded lamp that burned in the nursery shone softly on
a picture hanging at the foot of Nat's bed. There were several others
on the walls, but the boy thought there must be something peculiar about
this one, for it had a graceful frame of moss and cones about it, and
on a little bracket underneath stood a vase of wild flowers freshly
gathered from the spring woods. It was the most beautiful picture of
them all, and Nat lay looking at it, dimly feeling what it meant, and
wishing he knew all about it.
“That's my picture,” said a little voice in the room. Nat popped up his
head, and there was Demi in his night-gown pausing on his way back from
Aunt Jo's chamber, whither he had gone to get a cot for a cut finger.
“What is he doing to the children?” asked Nat.
“That is Christ, the Good Man, and He is blessing the children. Don't
you know about Him?” said Demi, wondering.
“Not much, but I'd like to, He looks so kind,” answered Nat, whose chief
knowledge of the Good Man consisted in hearing His name taken in vain.
“I know all about it, and I like it very much, because it is true,” said
Demi.
“Who told you?”
“My Grandpa, he knows every thing, and tells the best stories in
the world. I used to play with his big books, and make bridges, and
railroads, and houses, when I was a little boy,” began Demi.
“How old are you now?” asked Nat, respectfully.
“'Most ten.”
“You know a lot of things, don't you?”
“Yes; you see my head is pretty big, and Grandpa says it will take a
good deal to fill it, so I keep putting pieces of wisdom into it as fast
as I can,” returned Demi, in his quaint way.
Nat laughed, and then said soberly,
“Tell on, please.”
And Demi gladly told on without pause or punctuation. “I found a very
pretty book one day and wanted to play with it, but Grandpa said I
mustn't, and showed me the pictures, and told me about them, and I liked
the stories very much, all about Joseph and his bad brothers, and the
frogs that came up out of the sea, and dear little Moses in the water,
and ever so many more lovely ones, but I liked about the Good Man best
of all, and Grandpa told it to me so many times that I learned it by
heart, and he gave me this picture so I shouldn't forget, and it was
put up here once when I was sick, and I left it for other sick boys to
see.”'
“What makes Him bless the children?” asked Nat, who found something very
attractive in the chief figure of the group.
“Because He loved them.”
“Were they poor children?” asked Nat, wistfully.
“Yes, I think so; you see some haven't got hardly any clothes on, and
the mothers don't look like rich ladies. He liked poor people, and was
very good to them. He made them well, and helped them, and told rich
people they must not be cross to them, and they loved Him dearly,
dearly,” cried Demi, with enthusiasm.
“Was He rich?”
“Oh no! He was born in a barn, and was so poor He hadn't any house to
live in when He grew up, and nothing to eat sometimes, but what people
gave Him, and He went round preaching to everybody, and trying to make
them good, till the bad men killed Him.”
“What for?” and Nat sat up in his bed to look and listen, so interested
was he in this man who cared for the poor so much.
“I'll tell you all about it; Aunt Jo won't mind;” and Demi settled
himself on the opposite bed, glad to tell his favorite story to so good
a listener.
Nursey peeped in to see if Nat was asleep, but when she saw what was
going on, she slipped away again, and went to Mrs. Bhaer, saying with
her kind face full of motherly emotion,
“Will the dear lady come and see a pretty sight? It's Nat listening
with all his heart to Demi telling the story of the Christ-child, like a
little white angel as he is.”
Mrs. Bhaer had meant to go and talk with Nat a moment before he slept,
for she had found that a serious word spoken at this time often did
much good. But when she stole to the nursery door, and saw Nat eagerly
drinking in the words of his little friends, while Demi told the sweet
and solemn story as it had been taught him, speaking softly as he sat
with his beautiful eyes fixed on the tender face above them, her own
filled with tears, and she went silently away, thinking to herself,
“Demi is unconsciously helping the poor boy better than I can; I will
not spoil it by a single word.”
The murmur of the childish voice went on for a long time, as one
innocent heart preached that great sermon to another, and no one hushed
it. When it ceased at last, and Mrs. Bhaer went to take away the lamp,
Demi was gone and Nat fast asleep, lying with his face toward the
picture, as if he had already learned to love the Good Man who loved
little children, and was a faithful friend to the poor. The boy's face
was very placid, and as she looked at it she felt that if a single day
of care and kindness had done so much, a year of patient cultivation
would surely bring a grateful harvest from this neglected garden, which
was already sown with the best of all seed by the little missionary in
the night-gown.
CHAPTER IV. STEPPING-STONES
When Nat went into school on Monday morning, he quaked inwardly, for now
he thought he should have to display his ignorance before them all. But
Mr. Bhaer gave him a seat in the deep window, where he could turn his
back on the others, and Franz heard him say his lessons there, so no one
could hear his blunders or see how he blotted his copybook. He was truly
grateful for this, and toiled away so diligently that Mr. Bhaer said,
smiling, when he saw his hot face and inky fingers:
“Don't work so hard, my boy; you will tire yourself out, and there is
time enough.”
“But I must work hard, or I can't catch up with the others. They know
heaps, and I don't know anything,” said Nat, who had been reduced to a
state of despair by hearing the boys recite their grammar, history, and
geography with what he thought amazing ease and accuracy.
“You know a good many things which they don't,” said Mr. Bhaer, sitting
down beside him, while Franz led a class of small students through the
intricacies of the multiplication table.
“Do I?” and Nat looked utterly incredulous.
“Yes; for one thing, you can keep your temper, and Jack, who is quick
at numbers, cannot; that is an excellent lesson, and I think you have
learned it well. Then, you can play the violin, and not one of the lads
can, though they want to do it very much. But, best of all, Nat, you
really care to learn something, and that is half the battle. It seems
hard at first, and you will feel discouraged, but plod away, and things
will get easier and easier as you go on.”
Nat's face had brightened more and more as he listened, for, small as
the list of his learning was, it cheered him immensely to feel that
he had anything to fall back upon. “Yes, I can keep my temper father's
beating taught me that; and I can fiddle, though I don't know where the
Bay of Biscay is,” he thought, with a sense of comfort impossible to
express. Then he said aloud, and so earnestly that Demi heard him:
“I do want to learn, and I will try. I never went to school, but I
couldn't help it; and if the fellows don't laugh at me, I guess I'll get
on first rate you and the lady are so good to me.”
“They shan't laugh at you; if they do, I'll I'll tell them not to,”
cried Demi, quite forgetting where he was.
The class stopped in the middle of 7 times 9, and everyone looked up to
see what was going on.
Thinking that a lesson in learning to help one another was better than
arithmetic just then, Mr. Bhaer told them about Nat, making such an
interesting and touching little story out of it that the good-hearted
lads all promised to lend him a hand, and felt quite honored to be
called upon to impart their stores of wisdom to the chap who fiddled so
capitally. This appeal established the right feeling among them, and Nat
had few hindrances to struggle against, for every one was glad to give
him a “boost” up the ladder of learning.
Till he was stronger, much study was not good for him, however, and Mrs.
Jo found various amusements in the house for him while others were at
their books. But his garden was his best medicine, and he worked away
like a beaver, preparing his little farm, sowing his beans, watching
eagerly to see them grow, and rejoicing over each green leaf and slender
stock that shot up and flourished in the warm spring weather. Never
was a garden more faithfully hoed; Mr. Bhaer really feared that nothing
would find time to grow, Nat kept up such a stirring of the soil; so he
gave him easy jobs in the flower garden or among the strawberries, where
he worked and hummed as busily as the bees booming all about him.
“This is the crop I like best,” Mrs. Bhaer used to say, as she pinched
the once thin cheeks, now getting plump and ruddy, or stroked the bent
shoulders that were slowly straightening up with healthful work, good
food, and the absence of that heavy burden, poverty.
Demi was his little friend, Tommy his patron, and Daisy the comforter of
all his woes; for, though the children were younger than he, his timid
spirit found a pleasure in their innocent society, and rather shrunk
from the rough sports of the elder lads. Mr. Laurence did not forget
him, but sent clothes and books, music and kind messages, and now and
then came out to see how his boy was getting on, or took him into town
to a concert; on which occasions Nat felt himself translated into the
seventh heaven of bliss, for he went to Mr. Laurence's great house, saw
his pretty wife and little fairy of a daughter, had a good dinner, and
was made so comfortable, that he talked and dreamed of it for days and
nights afterward.
It takes so little to make a child happy that it is a pity, in a world
so full of sunshine and pleasant things, that there should be any
wistful faces, empty hands, or lonely little hearts. Feeling this, the
Bhaers gathered up all the crumbs they could find to feed their flock of
hungry sparrows, for they were not rich, except in charity. Many of
Mrs. Jo's friends who had nurseries sent her they toys of which their
children so soon tired, and in mending these Nat found an employment
that just suited him. He was very neat and skillful with those slender
fingers of his, and passed many a rainy afternoon with his gum-bottle,
paint-box, and knife, repairing furniture, animals, and games, while