SUNDAY
The moment the bell rang next morning Nat flew out of bed, and dressed
himself with great satisfaction in the suit of clothes he found on
the chair. They were not new, being half-worn garments of one of the
well-to-do boys; but Mrs. Bhaer kept all such cast-off feathers for
the picked robins who strayed into her nest. They were hardly on when
Tommy appeared in a high state of clean collar, and escorted Nat down
to breakfast.
The sun was shining into the dining-room on the well-spread table, and
the flock of hungry, hearty lads who gathered round it. Nat observed
that they were much more orderly than they had been the night before,
and every one stood silently behind his chair while little Rob,
standing beside his father at the head of the table, folded his hands,
reverently bent his curly head, and softly repeated a short grace in
the devout German fashion, which Mr. Bhaer loved and taught his little
son to honor. Then they all sat down to enjoy the Sunday-morning
breakfast of coffee, steak, and baked potatoes, instead of the bread
and milk fare with which they usually satisfied their young appetites.
There was much pleasant talk while the knives and forks rattled
briskly, for certain Sunday lessons were to be learned, the Sunday walk
settled, and plans for the week discussed. As he listened, Nat thought
it seemed as if this day must be a very pleasant one, for he loved
quiet, and there was a cheerful sort of hush over every thing that
pleased him very much; because, in spite of his rough life, the boy
possessed the sensitive nerves which belong to a music-loving nature.
“Now, my lads, get your morning jobs done, and let me find you ready
for church when the ’bus comes round,” said Father Bhaer, and set the
example by going into the school-room to get books ready for the morrow.
Every one scattered to his or her task, for each had some little daily
duty, and was expected to perform it faithfully. Some brought wood and
water, brushed the steps, or ran errands for Mrs. Bhaer. Others fed the
pet animals, and did chores about the barn with Franz. Daisy washed
the cups, and Demi wiped them, for the twins liked to work together,
and Demi had been taught to make himself useful in the little house at
home. Even Baby Teddy had his small job to do, and trotted to and fro,
putting napkins away, and pushing chairs into their places. For half
an hour the lads buzzed about like a hive of bees, then the ’bus drove
round, Father Bhaer and Franz with the eight older boys piled in, and
away they went for a three mile drive to church in town.
Because of the troublesome cough Nat preferred to stay at home with
the four small boys, and spent a happy morning in Mrs. Bhaer’s room,
listening to the stories she read them, learning the hymn she taught
them, and then quietly employing himself pasting pictures into an old
ledger.
“This is my Sunday closet,” she said, showing him shelves filled with
picture-books, paint-boxes, architectural blocks, little diaries, and
materials for letter-writing. “I want my boys to love Sunday, to find
it a peaceful, pleasant day, when they can rest from common study and
play, yet enjoy quiet pleasures, and learn, in simple ways, lessons
more important than any taught in school. Do you understand me?” she
asked, watching Nat’s attentive face.
“You mean to be good?” he said, after hesitating a minute.
“Yes; to be good, and to love to be good. It is hard work sometimes, I
know very well; but we all help one another, and so we get on. This is
one of the ways in which I try to help my boys,” and she took down a
thick book, which seemed half-full of writing, and opened at a page on
which there was one word at the top.
“Why, that’s my name!” cried Nat, looking both surprised and interested.
“Yes; I have a page for each boy. I keep a little account of how he
gets on through the week, and Sunday night I show him the record. If it
is bad I am sorry and disappointed, if it is good I am glad and proud;
but, whichever it is, the boys know I want to help them, and they try
to do their best for love of me and Father Bhaer.”
“I should think they would,” said Nat, catching a glimpse of Tommy’s
name opposite his own, and wondering what was written under it.
Mrs. Bhaer saw his eye on the words, and shook her head, saying, as she
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 for 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 shoulders, 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 every thing.”
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 a fishing 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
showman 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 pocket-book, 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
account up near mine, and then we’ll be all straight,” said Tommy,
showing a row of mysterious figures on the smooth 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 in 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?”
“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 many 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 we 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 _cattle_ated 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 sometime 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 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 a 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 bean-stalk, 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
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 as
fond of ‘Frank’ as you are of ‘Sinbad.’ Come, I shall make a little
bargain with 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 taking 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, who 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 like 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 friend, 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.