Books: Little Men: Life at Plumfield With Jo\'s Boys

L >> Louisa May Alcott >> Little Men: Life at Plumfield With Jo\'s Boys

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"How do you know he isn't right?" asked Dan, turning his face
away.

"What, about the money?" cried Nat, looking up with a startled air.

"Yes."

"But I don't believe it! You don't care for money; all you want is
your old bugs and things," and Nat laughed, incredulously.

"I want a butterfly net as much as you want a fiddle; why shouldn't
I steal the money for it as much as you?" said Dan, still turning
away, and busily punching holes in the turf with his stick.

"I don't think you would. You like to fight and knock folks round
sometimes, but you don't lie, and I don't believe you'd steal," and
Nat shook his head decidedly.

"I've done both. I used to fib like fury; it's too much trouble now;
and I stole things to eat out of gardens when I ran away from Page,
so you see I am a bad lot," said Dan, speaking in the rough,
reckless way which he had been learning to drop lately.

"O Dan! don't say it's you! I'd rather have it any of the other boys,"
cried Nat, in such a distressed tone that Dan looked pleased, and
showed that he did, by turning round with a queer expression in his
face, though he only answered,

"I won't say any thing about it. But don't you fret, and we'll pull
through somehow, see if we don't."

Something in his face and manner gave Nat a new idea; and he
said, pressing his hands together, in the eagerness of his appeal,

"I think you know who did it. If you do, beg him to tell, Dan. It's so
hard to have 'em all hate me for nothing. I don't think I can bear it
much longer. If I had any place to go to, I'd run away, though I love
Plumfield dearly; but I'm not brave and big like you, so I must stay
and wait till some one shows them that I haven't lied."

As he spoke, Nat looked so broken and despairing, that Dan could
not bear it, and, muttered huskily,

"You won't wait long," and he walked rapidly away, and was seen
no more for hours.

"What is the matter with Dan?" asked the boys of one another
several times during the Sunday that followed a week which
seemed as if it would never end. Dan was often moody, but that
day he was so sober and silent that no one could get any thing out
of him. When they walked he strayed away from the rest, and
came home late. He took no part in the evening conversation, but
sat in the shadow, so busy with his own thoughts that he scarcely
seemed to hear what was going on. When Mrs. Jo showed him an
unusually good report in the Conscience Book, he looked at it
without a smile, and said, wistfully,

"You think I am getting on, don't you?"

"Excellently, Dan! and I am so pleased, because I always thought
you only needed a little help to make you a boy to be proud of."

He looked up at her with a strange expression in his black eyes an
expression of mingled pride and love and sorrow which she could
not understand then but remembered afterward.

"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed, but I do try," he said, shutting
the book with no sign of pleasure in the page that he usually liked
so much to read over and talk about.

"Are you sick, dear?" asked Mrs. Jo, with her hand on his shoulder.

"My foot aches a little; I guess I'll go to bed. Good-night, mother,"
he added, and held the hand against his cheek a minute, then went
away looking as if he had said good-bye to something dear.

"Poor Dan! he takes Nat's disgrace to heart sadly. He is a strange
boy; I wonder if I ever shall understand him thoroughly?" said Mrs.
Jo to herself, as she thought over Dan's late improvement with real
satisfaction, yet felt that there was more in the lad than she had at
first suspected.

One of things which cut Nat most deeply was an act of Tommy's,
for after his loss Tommy had said to him, kindly, but firmly,

"I don't wish to hurt you, Nat, but you see I can't afford to lose my
money, so I guess we won't be partners any longer;" and with that
Tommy rubbed out the sign, "T. Bangs & Co."

Nat had been very proud of the "Co.," and had hunted eggs
industriously, kept his accounts all straight, and had added a good
sum to his income from the sale of his share of stock in trade.

"O Tom! must you?" he said, feeling that his good name was gone
for ever in the business world if this was done.

"I must," returned Tommy, firmly. "Emil says that when one man
'bezzles (believe that's the word it means to take money and cut
away with it) the property of a firm, the other one sues him, or
pitches into him somehow, and won't have any thing more to do
with him. Now you have 'bezzled my property; I shan't sue you,
and I shan't pitch into you, but I must dissolve the partnership,
because I can't trust you, and I don't wish to fail."

"I can't make you believe me, and you won't take my money,
though I'd be thankful to give all my dollars if you'd only say you
don't think I took your money. Do let me hunt for you, I won't ask
any wages, but do it for nothing. I know all the places, and I like
it," pleaded Nat.

But Tommy shook his head, and his jolly round face looked
suspicious and hard as he said, shortly, "Can't do it; wish you didn't
know the places. Mind you don't go hunting on the sly, and
speculate in my eggs."

Poor Nat was so hurt that he could not get over it. He felt that he
had lost not only his partner and patron, but that he was bankrupt
in honor, and an outlaw from the business community. No one
trusted his word, written or spoken, in spite of his efforts to
redeem the past falsehood; the sign was down, the firm broken up,
and he a ruined man. The barn, which was the boys' Wall Street,
knew him no more. Cockletop and her sisters cackled for him in
vain, and really seemed to take his misfortune to heart, for eggs
were fewer, and some of the biddies retired in disgust to new nests,
which Tommy could not find.

"They trust me," said Nat, when he heard of it; and though the boys
shouted at the idea, Nat found comfort in it, for when one is down
in the world, the confidence of even a speckled hen is most
consoling.

Tommy took no new partner, however, for distrust had entered in,
and poisoned the peace of his once confiding soul. Ned offered to
join him, but he declined, saying, with a sense of justice that did
him honor,

"It might turn out that Nat didn't take my money, and then we
could be partners again. I don't think it will happen, but I will give
him a chance, and keep the place open a little longer."

Billy was the only person whom Bangs felt he could trust in his
shop, and Billy was trained to hunt eggs, and hand them over
unbroken, being quite satisfied with an apple or a sugar-plum for
wages. The morning after Dan's gloomy Sunday, Billy said to his
employer, as he displayed the results of a long hunt,

"Only two."

"It gets worse and worse; I never saw such provoking old hens,"
growled Tommy, thinking of the days when he often had six to
rejoice over. "Well, put 'em in my hat and give me a new bit of
chalk; I must mark 'em up, any way."

Billy mounted a peck-measure, and looked into the top of the
machine, where Tommy kept his writing materials.

"There's lots of money in here," said Billy.

"No, there isn't. Catch me leaving my cash round again," returned
Tommy.

"I see 'em one, four, eight, two dollars," persisted Billy, who had
not yet mastered the figures correctly.

"What a jack you are!" and Tommy hopped up to get the chalk for
himself, but nearly tumbled down again, for there actually were
four bright quarters in a row, with a bit of paper on them directed
to "Tom Bangs," that there might be no mistake.

"Thunder turtles!" cried Tommy, and seizing them he dashed into
the house, bawling wildly, "It's all right! Got my money! Where's
Nat?"

He was soon found, and his surprise and pleasure were so genuine
that few doubted his word when he now denied all knowledge of
the money.

"How could I put it back when I didn't take it? Do believe me now,
and be good to me again," he said, so imploringly, that Emil
slapped him on the back, and declared he would for one.

"So will I, and I'm jolly glad it's not you. But who the dickens is
it?" said Tommy, after shaking hands heartily with Nat.

"Never mind, as long as it's found," said Dan with his eyes fixed on
Nat's happy face.

"Well, I like that! I'm not going to have my things hooked, and
then brought back like the juggling man's tricks," cried Tommy,
looking at his money as if he suspected witchcraft.

"We'll find him out somehow, though he was sly enough to print
this so his writing wouldn't be known," said Franz, examining the
paper.

"Demi prints tip-top," put in Rob, who had not a very clear idea
what the fuss was all about.

"You can't make me believe it's him, not if you talk till you are
blue," said Tommy, and the others hooted at the mere idea; for the
little deacon, as they called him, was above suspicion.

Nat felt the difference in the way they spoke of Demi and himself,
and would have given all he had or ever hoped to have to be so
trusted; for he had learned how easy it is to lose the confidence of
others, how very, very hard to win it back, and truth became to him
a precious thing since he had suffered from neglecting it.

Mr. Bhaer was very glad one step had been taken in the right
direction, and waited hopefully for yet further revelations. They
came sooner than he expected, and in a way that surprised and
grieved him very much. As they sat at supper that night, a square
parcel was handed to Mrs. Bhaer from Mrs. Bates, a neighbor. A
note accompanied the parcel, and, while Mr. Bhaer read it, Demi
pulled off the wrapper, exclaiming, as he saw its contents,

"Why, it's the book Uncle Teddy gave Dan!"

"The devil!" broke from Dan, for he had not yet quite cured
himself of swearing, though he tried very hard.

Mr. Bhaer looked up quickly at the sound. Dan tried to meet his
eyes, but could not; his own fell, and he sat biting his lips, getting
redder and redder till he was the picture of shame.

"What is it?" asked Mrs. Bhaer, anxiously.

"I should have preferred to talk about this in private, but Demi has
spoilt that plan, so I may as well have it out now," said Mr. Bhaer,
looking a little stern, as he always did when any meanness or
deceit came up for judgment.

"The note is from Mrs. Bates, and she says that her boy Jimmy told
her he bought this book of Dan last Saturday. She saw that it was
worth much more than a dollar, and thinking there was some
mistake, has sent it to me. Did you sell it, Dan?"

"Yes, sir," was the slow answer.

"Why?"

"Wanted money."

"For what?"

"To pay somebody."

"To whom did you owe it?"

"Tommy."

"Never borrowed a cent of me in his life," cried Tommy, looked
scared, for he guessed what was coming now, and felt that on the
whole he would have preferred witchcraft, for he admired Dan
immensely.

"Perhaps he took it," cried Ned, who owed Dan a grudge for the
ducking, and, being a mortal boy, liked to pay it off.

"O Dan!" cried Nat, clasping his hands, regardless of the bread and
butter in them.

"It is a hard thing to do, but I must have this settled, for I cannot
have you watching each other like detectives, and the whole school
disturbed in this way. did you put that dollar in the barn this
morning?" asked Mr. Bhaer.

Dan looked him straight in the face, and answered steadily, "Yes, I
did."

A murmur went round the table, Tommy dropped his mug with a
crash; Daisy cried out, "I knew it wasn't Nat;" Nan began to cry,
and Mrs. Jo left the room, looking so disappointed, sorry, and
ashamed that Dan could not bear it. He hid his face in his hands a
moment, then threw up his head, squared his shoulders as if
settling some load upon them, and said, with the dogged look, and
half-resolute, half-reckless tone he had used when he first came

"I did it; now you may do what you like to me, but I won't say
another word about it."

"Not even that you are sorry?" asked Mr. Bhaer, troubled by the
change in him.

"I ain't sorry."

"I'll forgive him without asking," said Tommy, feeling that it was
harder somehow to see brave Dan disgraced than timid Nat.

"Don't want to be forgiven," returned Dan, gruffly.

"Perhaps you will when you have thought about it quietly by
yourself, I won't tell you now how surprised and disappointed I am,
but by and by I will come up and talk to you in your room."

"Won't make any difference," said Dan, trying to speak defiantly,
but failing as he looked at Mr. Bhaer's sorrowful face; and, taking
his words for a dismissal, Dan left the room as if he found it
impossible to stay.

It would have done him good if he had stayed; for the boys talked
the matter over with such sincere regret, and pity, and wonder, it
might have touched and won him to ask pardon. No one was glad
to find that it was he, not even Nat; for, spite of all his faults, and
they were many, every one liked Dan now, because under his
rough exterior lay some of the manly virtues which we most
admire and love. Mrs. Jo had been the chief prop, as well as
cultivator, of Dan; and she took it sadly to heart that her last and
most interesting boy had turned out so ill. The theft was bad, but
the lying about it, and allowing another to suffer so much from an
unjust suspicion was worse; and most discouraging of all was the
attempt to restore the money in an underhand way, for it showed
not only a want of courage, but a power of deceit that boded ill for
the future. Still more trying was his steady refusal to talk of the
matter, to ask pardon, or express any remorse. Days passed; and he
went about his lessons and his work, silent, grim, and unrepentant.
As if taking warning by their treatment of Nat, he asked no
sympathy of any one, rejected the advances of the boys, and spent
his leisure hours roaming about the fields and woods, trying to find
playmates in the birds and beasts, and succeeding better than most
boys would have done, because he knew and loved them so well.

"If this goes on much longer, I'm afraid he will run away again, for
he is too young to stand a life like this," said Mr. Bhaer, quite
dejected at the failure of all his efforts.

"A little while ago I should have been quite sure that nothing
would tempt him away, but now I am ready of any thing, he is so
changed," answered poor Mrs. Jo, who mourned over her boy and
could not be comforted, because he shunned her more than any
one else, and only looked at her with the half-fierce,
half-imploring eyes of a wild animal caught in a trap, when she
tried to talk to him alone.

Nat followed him about like a shadow, and Dan did not repulse
him as rudely as he did others, but said, in his blunt way, "You are
all right; don't worry about me. I can stand it better than you did."

"But I don't like to have you all alone," Nat would say, sorrowfully.

"I like it;" and Dan would tramp away, stifling a sigh sometimes,
for he was lonely.

Passing through the birch grove one day, he came up on several of
the boys, who were amusing themselves by climbing up the trees
and swinging down again, as they slender elastic stems bent till
their tops touched the ground. Dan paused a minute to watch the
fun, without offering to join in it, and as he stood there Jack took
his turn. He had unfortunately chosen too large a tree; for when he
swung off, it only bent a little way, and left him hanging at a
dangerous height.

"Go back; you can't do it!" called Ned from below.

Jack tried, but the twigs slipped from his hands, and he could not
get his legs round the trunk. He kicked, and squirmed, and
clutched in vain, then gave it up, and hung breathless, saying
helplessly,

"Catch me! help me! I must drop!"

"You'll be killed if you do," cried Ned, frightened out of his wits.

"Hold on!" shouted Dan; and up the tree he went, crashing his way
along till he nearly reached Jack, whose face looked up at him, full
of fear and hope.

"You'll both come down," said Ned, dancing with excitement on
the slope underneath, while Nat held out his arms, in the wild hope
of breaking the fall.

"That's what I want; stand from under," answered Dan, coolly; and,
as he spoke, his added weight bent the tree many feet nearer the
earth.

Jack dropped safely; but the birch, lightened of half its load, flew
up again so suddenly, that Dan, in the act of swinging round to
drop feet foremost, lost his hold and fell heavily.

"I'm not hurt, all right in a minute," he said, sitting up, a little pale
and dizzy, as the boys gathered round him, full of admiration and
alarm.

"You're a trump, Dan, and I'm ever so much obliged to you," cried
Jack, gratefully.

"It wasn't any thing," muttered Dan, rising slowly.

"I say it was, and I'll shake hands with you, though you are ," Ned
checked the unlucky word on his tongue, and held out his hand,
feeling that it was a handsome thing on his part.

"But I won't shake hands with a sneak;" and Dan turned his back
with a look of scorn, that caused Ned to remember the brook, and
retire with undignified haste.

"Come home, old chap; I'll give you a lift;" and Nat walked away
with him leaving the others to talk over the feat together, to
wonder when Dan would "come round," and to wish one and all
that Tommy's "confounded money had been in Jericho before it
made such a fuss."

When Mr. Bhaer came into school next morning, he looked so
happy, that the boys wondered what had happened to him, and
really thought he had lost his mind when they saw him go straight
to Dan, and, taking him by both hands, say all in one breath, as he
shook them heartily,

"I know all about it, and I beg your pardon. It was like you to do it,
and I love you for it, though it's never right to tell lies, even for a
friend."

"What is it?" cried Nat, for Dan said not a word, only lifted up his
head, as if a weight of some sort had fallen off his back.

"Dan did not take Tommy's money;" and Mr. Bhaer quite shouted
it, he was so glad.

"Who did?" cried the boys in a chorus.

Mr. Bhaer pointed to one empty seat, and every eye followed his
finger, yet no one spoke for a minute, they were so surprised.

"Jack went home early this morning, but he left this behind him;"
and in the silence Mr. Bhaer read the note which he had found tied
to his door-handle when he rose.

"I took Tommy's dollar. I was peeking in through a crack and saw
him put it there. I was afraid to tell before, though I wanted to. I
didn't care so much about Nat, but Dan is a trump, and I can't stand
it any longer. I never spent the money; it's under the carpet in my
room, right behind the washstand. I'm awful sorry. I am going
home, and don't think I shall ever come back, so Dan may have my
things.

"JACK"

It was not an elegant confession, being badly written, much
blotted, and very short; but it was a precious paper to Dan; and,
when Mr. Bhaer paused, the boy went to him, saying, in a rather
broken voice, but with clear eyes, and the frank, respectful manner
they had tried to teach him,

"I'll say I'm sorry now, and ask you to forgive me, sir."

"It was a kind lie, Dan, and I can't help forgiving it; but you see it
did no good," said Mr. Bhaer, with a hand on either shoulder, and a
face full of relief and affection.

"It kept the boys from plaguing Nat. That's what I did it for. It
made him right down miserable. I didn't care so much," explained
Dan, as if glad to speak out after his hard silence.

"How could you do it? You are always so kind to me," faltered
Nat, feeling a strong desire to hug his friend and cry. Two girlish
performances, which would have scandalized Dan to the last
degree.

"It's all right now, old fellow, so don't be a fool," he said,
swallowing the lump in his throat, and laughing out as he had not
done for weeks. "Does Mrs. Bhaer know?" he asked, eagerly.

"Yes; and she is so happy I don't know what she will do to you,"
began Mr. Bhaer, but got no farther, for here the boys came
crowding about Dan in a tumult of pleasure and curiosity; but
before he had answered more than a dozen questions, a voice cried
out,

"Three cheers for Dan!" and there was Mrs. Jo in the doorway
waving her dish-towel, and looking as if she wanted to dance a jig
for joy, as she used to do when a girl.

"Now then," cried Mr. Bhaer, and led off a rousing hurrah, which
startled Asia in the kitchen, and made old Mr. Roberts shake his
head as he drove by, saying,

"Schools are not what they were when I was young!"

Dan stood it pretty well for a minute, but the sight of Mrs. Jo's
delight upset him, and he suddenly bolted across the hall into the
parlor, whither she instantly followed, and neither were seen for
half an hour.

Mr. Bhaer found it very difficult to calm his excited flock; and,
seeing that lessons were an impossibility for a time, he caught their
attention by telling them the fine old story of the friends whose
fidelity to one another has made their names immortal. The lads
listened and remembered, for just then their hearts were touched
by the loyalty of a humbler pair of friends. The lie was wrong, but
the love that prompted it and the courage that bore in silence the
disgrace which belonged to another, made Dan a hero in their eyes.
Honesty and honor had a new meaning now; a good name was
more precious than gold; for once lost money could not buy it
back; and faith in one another made life smooth and happy as
nothing else could do.

Tommy proudly restored the name of the firm; Nat was devoted to
Dan; and all the boys tried to atone to both for former suspicion
and neglect. Mrs. Jo rejoiced over her flock, and Mr. Bhaer was
never tired of telling the story of his young Damon and Pythias.

CHAPTER XV IN THE WILLOW

The old tree saw and heard a good many little scenes and
confidences that summer, because it became the favorite retreat of
all the children, and the willow seemed to enjoy it, for a pleasant
welcome always met them, and the quiet hours spent in its arms
did them all good. It had a great deal of company one Saturday
afternoon, and some little bird reported what went on there.

First came Nan and Daisy with their small tubs and bits of soap,
for now and then they were seized with a tidy fit, and washed up
all their dolls' clothes in the brook. Asia would not have them
"slopping round" in her kitchen, and the bath-room was forbidden
since Nan forgot to turn off the water till it overflowed and came
gently dripping down through the ceiling. Daisy went
systematically to work, washing first the white and then the
colored things, rinsing them nicely, and hanging them to dry on a
cord fastened from one barberry-bush to another, and pinning them
up with a set of tiny clothes-pins Ned had turned for her. But Nan
put all her little things to soak in the same tub, and then forgot
them while she collected thistledown to stuff a pillow for
Semiramis, Queen of Babylon, as one doll was named. This took
some time, and when Mrs. Giddy-gaddy came to take out her
clothes, deep green stains appeared on every thing, for she had
forgotten the green silk lining of a certain cape, and its color had
soaked nicely into the pink and blue gowns, the little chemises,
and even the best ruffled petticoat.

"Oh me! what a mess!" sighed Nan.

"Lay them on the grass to bleach," said Daisy, with an air of
experience.

"So I will, and we can sit up in the nest and watch that they don't
blow away."

The Queen of Babylon's wardrobe was spread forth upon the bank,
and, turning up their tubs to dry, the little washerwomen climbed
into the nest, and fell to talking, as ladies are apt to do in the
pauses of domestic labor.

"I'm going to have a feather-bed to go with my new pillow," said
Mrs. Giddy-gaddy, as she transferred the thistledown from her
pocket to her handkerchief, losing about half in the process.

"I wouldn't; Aunt Jo says feather-beds aren't healthy. I never let my
children sleep on any thing but a mattress," returned Mrs.
Shakespeare Smith, decidedly.

"I don't care; my children are so strong they often sleep on the
floor, and don't mind it," (which was quite true). "I can't afford
nine mattresses, and I like to make beds myself."

"Won't Tommy charge for the feathers?"

"May be he will, but I shan't pay him, and he won't care," returned
Mrs. G., taking a base advantage of the well-known good nature of
T. Bangs.

"I think the pink will fade out of that dress sooner than the green
mark will," observed Mrs. S., looking down from her perch, and
changing the subject, for she and her gossip differed on many
points, and Mrs. Smith was a discreet lady.

"Never mind; I'm tired of dolls, and I guess I shall put them all
away and attend to my farm; I like it rather better than playing
house," said Mrs. G., unconsciously expressing the desire of many
older ladies, who cannot dispose of their families so easily
however.

"But you mustn't leave them; they will die without their mother,"
cried the tender Mrs. Smith.

"Let 'em die then; I'm tired of fussing over babies, and I'm going to
play with the boys; they need me to see to 'em," returned the
strong-minded lady.

Daisy knew nothing about women's rights; she quietly took all she
wanted, and no one denied her claim, because she did not
undertake what she could not carry out, but unconsciously used the
all-powerful right of her own influence to win from others any
privilege for which she had proved her fitness. Nan attempted all
sorts of things, undaunted by direful failures, and clamored
fiercely to be allowed to do every thing that the boys did. They
laughed at her, hustled her out of the way, and protested against
her meddling with their affairs. But she would not be quenched
and she would be heard, for her will was strong, and she had the
spirit of a rampant reformer. Mrs. Bhaer sympathized with her, but
tired to curb her frantic desire for entire liberty, showing her that
she must wait a little, learn self-control, and be ready to use her
freedom before she asked for it. Nan had meek moments when she
agreed to this, and the influences at work upon her were gradually
taking effect. She no longer declared that she would be
engine-driver or a blacksmith, but turned her mind to farming, and
found in it a vent for the energy bottled up in her active little body.
It did not quite satisfy her, however; for her sage and sweet
marjoram were dumb things, and could not thank her for her care.
She wanted something human to love, work for, and protect, and
was never happier than when the little boys brought their cut
fingers, bumped heads, or bruised joints for her to "mend-up."
Seeing this, Mrs. Jo proposed that she should learn how to do it
nicely, and Nursey had an apt pupil in bandaging, plastering, and
fomenting. The boys began to call her "Dr. Giddy-gaddy," and she
liked it so well that Mrs. Jo one day said to the Professor

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