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 copy-book. 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 any thing,” 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 any thing 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 every one 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 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 the 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 skilful 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
Daisy was dressmaker to the dilapidated dolls. As fast as the toys
were mended, they were put carefully away in a certain drawer which
was to furnish forth a Christmas-tree for all the poor children of the
neighborhood, that being the way the Plumfield boys celebrated the
birthday of Him who loved the poor and blessed the little ones.
Demi was never tired of reading and explaining his favorite books, and
many a pleasant hour did they spend in the old willow, revelling over
“Robinson Crusoe,” “Arabian Nights,” “Edgeworth’s Tales,” and the other
dear immortal stories that will delight children for centuries to come.
This opened a new world to Nat, and his eagerness to see what came
next in the story helped him on till he could read as well as anybody,
and felt so rich and proud with his new accomplishment, that there was
danger of his being as much of a bookworm as Demi.
Another helpful thing happened in a most unexpected and agreeable
manner. Several of the boys were “in business,” as they called it, for
most of them were poor, and knowing that they would have their own way
to make by and by, the Bhaers encouraged any efforts at independence.
Tommy sold his eggs; Jack speculated in live stock; Franz helped in the
teaching, and was paid for it; Ned had a taste for carpentry, and a
turning-lathe was set up for him in which he turned all sorts of useful
or pretty things, and sold them; while Demi constructed water-mills,
whirligigs, and unknown machines of an intricate and useless nature,
and disposed of them to the boys.
“Let him be a mechanic if he likes,” said Mr. Bhaer. “Give a boy a
trade, and he is independent. Work is wholesome, and whatever talent
these lads possess, be it for poetry or ploughing, it shall be
cultivated and made useful to them if possible.”
So when Nat came running to him one day to ask with an excited face,--
“Can I go and fiddle for some people who are to have a picnic in our
woods? They will pay me, and I’d like to earn some money as the other
boys do, and fiddling is the only way I know how to do it,”--
Mr. Bhaer answered readily,--
“Go, and welcome. It is an easy and a pleasant way to work, and I am
glad it is offered you.”
Nat went, and did so well, that when he came home he had two dollars in
his pocket, which he displayed with intense satisfaction, as he told
how much he had enjoyed the afternoon, how kind the young people were,
and how they had praised his dance-music, and promised to have him
again.
“It is so much nicer than fiddling in the street, for then I got none
of the money, and now I have it all, and a good time besides. I’m in
business now as well as Tommy and Jack, and I like it ever so much,”
said Nat, proudly patting the old pocket-book, and feeling like a
millionaire already.
He _was_ in business truly, for picnics were plenty as summer opened,
and Nat’s skill was in great demand. He was always at liberty to go if
lessons were not neglected, and if the picnics were respectable young
people. For Mr. Bhaer explained to him that a good plain education is
necessary for every one, and that no amount of money should hire him
to go where he might be tempted to do wrong. Nat quite agreed to this,
and it was a pleasant sight to see the innocent-hearted lad go driving
away in the gay wagons that stopped at the gate for him, or to hear him
come fiddling home tired but happy, with his well-earned money in one
pocket, and some “goodies” from the feast for Daisy or little Ted, whom
he never forgot.
“I’m going to save up till I get enough to buy a violin for myself, and
then I can earn my own living, can’t I?” he used to say, as he brought
his dollars to Mr. Bhaer to keep.
“I hope so, Nat; but we must get you strong and hearty first, and put a
little more knowledge into this musical head of yours. Then Mr. Laurie
will find you a place somewhere, and in a few years we will all come to
hear you play in public.”
With much congenial work, encouragement, and hope, Nat found life
getting easier and happier every day, and made such progress in his
music lessons, that his teacher forgave his slowness in some other
things, knowing very well that where the heart is the mind works best.
The only punishment the boy ever needed for neglect of more important
lessons was to hang up the fiddle and the bow for a day. The fear of
losing his bosom friend entirely made him go at his books with a will;
and having proved that _he could_ master the lessons, what was the use
of saying “I can’t”?
Daisy had a great love of music, and a great reverence for any one who
could make it, and she was often found sitting on the stairs outside
Nat’s door while he was practising. This pleased him very much, and he
played his best for that one quiet little listener; for she never would
come in, but preferred to sit sewing her gay patchwork, or tending one
of her many dolls, with an expression of dreamy pleasure on her face
that made Aunt Jo say, with tears in her eyes,--
“So like my Beth,” and go softly by, lest even her familiar presence
mar the child’s sweet satisfaction.
Nat was very fond of Mrs. Bhaer, but found something even more
attractive in the good professor, who took fatherly care of the shy
feeble boy, who had barely escaped with his life from the rough sea on
which his little boat had been tossing rudderless for twelve years.
Some good angel must have watched over him, for, though his body had
suffered, his soul seemed to have taken little harm, and came ashore
as innocent as a shipwrecked baby. Perhaps his love of music kept it
sweet in spite of the discord all about him; Mr. Laurie said so, and he
ought to know. However that might be, Father Bhaer took real pleasure
in fostering poor Nat’s virtues, and in curing his faults, finding his
new pupil as docile and affectionate as a girl. He often called Nat
his “daughter” when speaking of him to Mrs. Jo, and she used to laugh
at his fancy, for Madame liked manly boys, and thought Nat amiable but
weak, though you never would have guessed it, for she petted him as she
did Daisy, and he thought her a very delightful woman.
One fault of Nat’s gave the Bhaers much anxiety, although they saw how
it had been strengthened by fear and ignorance. I regret to say that
Nat sometimes told lies. Not very black ones, seldom getting deeper
than gray, and often the mildest of white fibs; but that did not
matter, a lie is a lie, and though we all tell many polite untruths in
this queer world of ours, it is not right, and everybody knows it.
“You cannot be too careful; watch your tongue, and eyes, and hands, for
it is easy to tell, and look, and act untruth,” said Mr. Bhaer, in one
of the talks he had with Nat about his chief temptation.
“I know it, and I don’t mean to, but it’s so much easier to get along
if you ain’t very fussy about being exactly true. I used to tell ’em
because I was afraid of father and Nicolo, and now I do sometimes
because the boys laugh at me. I know it’s bad, but I forget,” and Nat
looked much depressed by his sins.
“When I was a little lad I used to tell lies! Ach! what fibs they were,
and my old grandmother cured me of it--how, do you think? My parents
had talked, and cried, and punished, but still did I forget as you.
Then said the dear old grandmother, ‘I shall help you to remember, and
put a check on this unruly part,’ with that she drew out my tongue
and snipped the end with her scissors till the blood ran. That was
terrible, you may believe, but it did me much good, because it was
sore for days, and every word I said came so slowly that I had time to
think. After that I was more careful, and got on better, for I feared
the big scissors. Yet the dear grandmother was most kind to me in all
things, and when she lay dying far away in Nuremberg, she prayed that
little Fritz might love God and tell the truth.”
“I never had any grandmothers, but if you think it will cure me, I’ll
let you snip my tongue,” said Nat, heroically, for he dreaded pain, yet
did wish to stop fibbing.
Mr. Bhaer smiled, but shook his head.
“I have a better way than that, I tried it once before and it worked
well. See now, when you tell a lie I will not punish you, but you shall
punish me.”
“How?” asked Nat, startled at the idea.
“You shall ferule me in the good old-fashioned way, I seldom do it
myself, but it may make you remember better to give me pain than to
feel it yourself.”
“Strike you? Oh, I couldn’t!” cried Nat.
“Then mind that tripping tongue of thine. I have no wish to be hurt,
but I would gladly bear much pain to cure this fault.”
This suggestion made such an impression on Nat, that for a long time
he set a watch upon his lips, and was desperately accurate, for Mr.
Bhaer judged rightly, that love of him would be more powerful with Nat
than fear for himself. But alas! one sad day Nat was off his guard, and
when peppery Emil threatened to thrash him, if it was he who had run
over his garden and broken down his best hills of corn, Nat declared he
didn’t, and then was ashamed to own up that he did do it, when Jack was
chasing him the night before.
He thought no one would find it out, but Tommy happened to see him, and
when Emil spoke of it a day or two later, Tommy gave his evidence, and
Mr. Bhaer heard it. School was over, and they were all standing about
in the hall, and Mr. Bhaer had just sat down on the straw settee, to
enjoy his frolic with Teddy; but when he heard Tommy, and saw Nat turn
scarlet, and look at him with a frightened face, he put the little boy
down, saying, “Go to thy mother, bübchen, I will come soon,” and taking
Nat by the hand led him into the school, and shut the door.
The boys looked at one another in silence for a minute, then Tommy
slipped out and peeping in at the half-closed blinds, beheld a sight
that quite bewildered him. Mr. Bhaer had just taken down that long rule
that hung over his desk, so seldom used that it was covered with dust.
“My eye! he’s going to come down heavy on Nat this time. Wish I hadn’t
told,” thought good-natured Tommy, for to be feruled was the deepest
disgrace at this school.
“You remember what I told you last time?” said Mr. Bhaer, sorrowfully,
not angrily.
“Yes; but please don’t make me, I can’t bear it,” cried Nat, backing
up against the door with both hands behind him, and a face full of
distress.
“Why don’t he up and take it like a man? I would,” thought Tommy,
though his heart beat fast at the sight.
“I shall keep my word, and you must remember to tell the truth. Obey
me, Nat, take this and give me six good strokes.”
Tommy was so staggered by this last speech that he nearly tumbled down
the bank, but saved himself, and hung on to the window ledge, staring
in with eyes as round as the stuffed owl’s on the chimney-piece.
Nat took the rule, for when Mr. Bhaer spoke in that tone every one
obeyed him, and, looking as scared and guilty as if about to stab his
master, he gave two feeble blows on the broad hand held out to him.
Then he stopped and looked up half-blind with tears, but Mr. Bhaer said
steadily,--
“Go on, and strike harder.”
As if seeing that it must be done, and eager to have the hard task soon
over, Nat drew his sleeve across his eyes and gave two more quick hard
strokes that reddened the hand, yet hurt the giver more.
“Isn’t that enough?” he asked in a breathless sort of tone.
“Two more,” was all the answer, and he gave them, hardly seeing where
they fell, then threw the rule all across the room, and hugging the
kind hand in both his own, laid his face down on it sobbing out in a
passion of love, and shame, and penitence,--
“I will remember! Oh! I will!”
Then Mr. Bhaer put an arm about him, and said in a tone as
compassionate as it had just now been firm,--
“I think you will. Ask the dear God to help you, and try to spare us
both another scene like this.”
Tommy saw no more, for he crept back to the hall, looking so excited
and sober that the boys crowded round him to ask what was being done to
Nat.
In a most impressive whisper Tommy told them, and they looked as if the
sky was about to fall, for this reversing the order of things almost
took their breath away.
“He made me do the same thing once,” said Emil, as if confessing a
crime of the deepest dye.
“And you hit him? dear old Father Bhaer? By thunder, I’d just like to
see you do it now!” said Ned, collaring Emil in a fit of righteous
wrath.
“It was ever so long ago. I’d rather have my head cut off than do it
now,” and Emil mildly laid Ned on his back instead of cuffing him, as
he would have felt it his duty to do on any less solemn occasion.
“How could you?” said Demi, appalled at the idea.
“I was hopping mad at the time, and thought I shouldn’t mind a bit,
rather like it perhaps. But when I’d hit Uncle one good crack, every
thing he had ever done for me came into my head all at once somehow,
and I couldn’t go on. No, sir! if he’d laid me down and walked on me,
I wouldn’t have minded, I felt so mean;” and Emil gave himself a good
thump in the chest to express his sense of remorse for the past.
“Nat’s crying like any thing, and feels no end sorry, so don’t let’s
say a word about it; will we?” said tender-hearted Tommy.
“Of course we won’t, but it’s awful to tell lies,” and Demi looked as
if he found the awfulness much increased when the punishment fell not
upon the sinner, but his best Uncle Fritz.
“Suppose we all clear out, so Nat can cut up-stairs if he wants to,”
proposed Franz, and led the way to the barn, their refuge in troublous
times.
Nat did not come to dinner, but Mrs. Jo took some up to him, and said
a tender word, which did him good, though he could not look at her.
By and by the lads playing outside heard the violin, and said among
themselves: “He’s all right now.” He was all right, but felt shy about
going down, till, opening his door to slip away into the woods, he
found Daisy sitting on the stairs with neither work nor doll, only her
little handkerchief in her hand, as if she had been mourning for her
captive friend.
“I’m going to walk; want to come?” asked Nat, trying to look as if
nothing was the matter, yet feeling very grateful for her silent
sympathy, because he fancied every one must look upon him as a wretch.
“Oh, yes!” and Daisy ran for her hat, proud to be chosen as a companion
by one of the big boys.
The others saw them go, but no one followed, for boys have a great deal
more delicacy than they get credit for, and the lads instinctively felt
that, when in disgrace, gentle little Daisy was their most congenial
friend.
The walk did Nat good, and he came home quieter than usual, but looking
cheerful again, and hung all over with daisy-chains, made by his little
playmate while he lay on the grass and told her stories.
No one said a word about the scene of the morning, but its effect was
all the more lasting for that reason, perhaps. Nat tried his very best,
and found much help, not only from the earnest little prayers he prayed
to his Friend in heaven, but also in the patient care of the earthly
friend, whose kind hand he never touched without remembering that it
had willingly borne pain for his sake.