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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"What is it called?" asked Demi.

"'The Suspected Boy.' "

Nat looked up from the nuts he was picking, and Mrs. Jo smiled at
him, guessing what was in his mind.

"Miss Crane kept a school for boys in a quiet little town, and a
very good school it was, of the old-fashioned sort. Six boys lived
in her house, and four or five more came in from the town. Among
those who lived with her was one named Lewis White. Lewis was
not a bad boy, but rather timid, and now and then he told a lie. One
day a neighbor sent Miss Crane a basket of gooseberries. There
were not enough to go round, so kind Miss Crane, who liked to
please her boys, went to work and made a dozen nice little
gooseberry tarts."

"I'd like to try gooseberry tarts. I wonder if she made them as I do
my raspberry ones," said Daisy, whose interest in cooking had
lately revived.

"Hush," said Nat, tucking a plump pop-corn into her mouth to
silence her, for he felt a particular interest in this tale, and thought
it opened well.

"When the tarts were done, Miss Crane put them away in the best
parlor closet, and said not a word about them, for she wanted to
surprise the boys at tea-time. When the minute came and all were
seated at table, she went to get her tarts, but came back looking
much troubled, for what do you think had happened?"

"Somebody had hooked them!" cried Ned.

"No, there they were, but some one had stolen all the fruit out of
them by lifting up the upper crust and then putting it down after
the gooseberry had been scraped out."

"What a mean trick!" and Nan looked at Tommy, as if to imply
that he would do the same.

"When she told the boys her plan and showed them the poor little
patties all robbed of their sweetness, the boys were much grieved
and disappointed, and all declared that they knew nothing about
the matter. 'Perhaps the rats did it,' said Lewis, who was among the
loudest to deny any knowledge of the tarts. 'No, rats would have
nibbled crust and all, and never lifted it up and scooped out the
fruit. Hands did that,' said Miss Crane, who was more troubled
about the lie that some one must have told than about her lost
patties. Well, they had supper and went to bed, but in the night
Miss Crane heard some one groaning, and going to see who it was
she found Lewis in great pain. He had evidently eaten something
that disagreed with him, and was so sick that Miss Crane was
alarmed, and was going to send for the doctor, when Lewis
moaned out, 'It's the gooseberries; I ate them, and I must tell before
I die,' for the thought of a doctor frightened him. 'If that is all, I'll
give you an emetic and you will soon get over it,' said Miss Crane.
So Lewis had a good dose, and by morning was quite comfortable.
'Oh, don't tell the boys; they will laugh at me so,' begged the
invalid. Kind Miss Crane promised not to, but Sally, the girl, told
the story, and poor Lewis had no peace for a long time. His mates
called him Old Gooseberry, and were never tired of asking him the
price of tarts."

"Served him right," said Emil.

"Badness always gets found out," added Demi, morally.

"No, it don't," muttered Jack, who was tending the apples with
great devotion, so that he might keep his back to the rest and
account for his red face.

"Is that all?" asked Dan.

"No, that is only the first part; the second part is more interesting.
Some time after this a peddler came by one day and stopped to
show his things to the boys, several of whom bought
pocket-combs, jew's-harps, and various trifles of that sort. Among
the knives was a little white-handled penknife that Lewis wanted
very much, but he had spent all his pocket-money, and no one had
any to lend him. He held the knife in his hand, admiring and
longing for it, till the man packed up his goods to go, then he
reluctantly laid it down, and the man went on his way. The next
day, however, the peddler returned to say that he could not find
that very knife, and thought he must have left it at Miss Crane's. It
was a very nice one with a pearl handle, and he could not afford to
lose it. Every one looked, and every one declared they knew
nothing about it. 'This young gentleman had it last, and seemed to
want it very much. Are you quite sure you put it back?' said the
man to Lewis, who was much troubled at the loss, and vowed over
and over again that he did return it. His denials seemed to do no
good, however, for every one was sure he had taken it, and after a
stormy scene Miss Crane paid for it, and the man went grumbling
away."

"Did Lewis have it?" cried Nat, much excited.

"You will see. Now poor Lewis had another trial to bear, for the
boys were constantly saying, 'Lend me your pearl-handled knife,
Gooseberry,' and things of that sort, till Lewis was so unhappy he
begged to be sent home. Miss Crane did her best to keep the boys
quiet, but it was hard work, for they would tease, and she could not
be with them all the time. That is one of the hardest things to teach
boys; they won't 'hit a fellow when he is down,' as they say, but
they will torment him in little ways till he would thank them to
fight it out all round."

"I know that," said Dan.

"So do I," added Nat, softly.

Jack said nothing, but he quite agreed; for he knew that the elder
boys despised him, and let him alone for that very reason.

"Do go on about poor Lewis, Aunt Jo. I don't believe he took the
knife, but I want to be sure," said Daisy, in great anxiety.

"Well, week after week went on and the matter was not cleared up.
The boys avoided Lewis, and he, poor fellow, was almost sick with
the trouble he had brought upon himself. He resolved never to tell
another lie, and tried so hard that Miss Crane pitied and helped
him, and really came at last to believe that he did not take the
knife. Two months after the peddler's first visit, he came again,
and the first thing he said was

"'Well, ma'am, I found that knife after all. It had slipped behind the
lining of my valise, and fell out the other day when I was putting in
a new stock of goods. I thought I'd call and let you know, as you
paid for it, and maybe would like it, so here it is.' "

"The boys had all gathered round, and at these words they felt
much ashamed, and begged Lewis' pardon so heartily that he could
not refuse to give it. Miss Crane presented the knife to him, and he
kept it many years to remind him of the fault that had brought him
so much trouble."

"I wonder why it is that things you eat on the sly hurt you, and
don't when you eat them at table," observed Stuffy, thoughtfully.

"Perhaps your conscience affects your stomach," said Mrs. Jo,
smiling at his speech.

"He is thinking of the cucumbers," said Ned, and a gale of
merriment followed the words, for Stuffy's last mishap had been a
funny one.

He ate two large cucumbers in private, felt very ill, and confided
his anguish to Ned, imploring him to do something. Ned
good-naturedly recommended a mustard plaster and a hot flat iron
to the feet; only in applying these remedies he reversed the order
of things, and put the plaster on the feet, the flat iron on the
stomach, and poor Stuffy was found in the barn with blistered
soles and a scorched jacket.

"Suppose you tell another story, that was such an interesting one,"
said Nat, as the laughter subsided.

Before Mrs. Jo could refuse these insatiable Oliver Twists, Rob
walked into the room trailing his little bed-cover after him, and
wearing an expression of great sweetness as he said, steering
straight to his mother as a sure haven of refuge,

"I heard a great noise, and I thought sumfin dreffle might have
happened, so I came to see."

"Did you think I would forget you, naughty boy?" asked his
mother, trying to look stern.

"No; but I thought you'd feel better to see me right here,"
responded the insinuating little party.

"I had much rather see you in bed, so march straight up again,
Robin."

"Everybody that comes in here has to tell a story, and you can't so
you'd better cut and run," said Emil.

"Yes, I can! I tell Teddy lots of ones, all about bears and moons,
and little flies that say things when they buzz," protested Rob,
bound to stay at any price.

"Tell one now, then, right away," said Dan, preparing to shoulder
and bear him off.

"Well, I will; let me fink a minute," and Rob climbed into his
mother's lap, where he was cuddled, with the remark

"It is a family failing, this getting out of bed at wrong times. Demi
used to do it; and as for me, I was hopping in and out all night
long. Meg used to think the house was on fire, and send me down
to see, and I used to stay and enjoy myself, as you mean to, my bad
son."

"I've finked now," observed Rob, quite at his ease, and eager to
win the entree into this delightful circle.

Every one looked and listened with faces full of suppressed
merriment as Rob, perched on his mother's knee and wrapped in
the gay coverlet, told the following brief but tragic tale with an
earnestness that made it very funny:

"Once a lady had a million children, and one nice little boy. She
went up-stairs and said, 'You mustn't go in the yard.' But he
wented, and fell into the pump, and was drowned dead."

"Is that all?" asked Franz, as Rob paused out of breath with this
startling beginning.

"No, there is another piece of it," and Rob knit his downy
eyebrows in the effort to evolve another inspiration.

"What did the lady do when he fell into the pump?" asked his
mother, to help him on.

"Oh, she pumped him up, and wrapped him in a newspaper, and
put him on a shelf to dry for seed."

A general explosion of laughter greeted this surprising conclusion,
and Mrs. Jo patted the curly head, as she said, solemnly,

"My son, you inherit your mother's gift of story-telling. Go where
glory waits thee."

"Now I can stay, can't I? Wasn't it a good story?" cried Rob, in high
feather at his superb success.

"You can stay till you have eaten these twelve pop-corns," said his
mother, expecting to see them vanish at one mouthful.

But Rob was a shrewd little man, and got the better of her by
eating them one by one very slowly, and enjoying every minute
with all his might.

"Hadn't you better tell the other story, while you wait for him?"
said Demi, anxious that no time should be lost.

"I really have nothing but a little tale about a wood-box," said Mrs.
Jo, seeing that Rob had still seven corns to eat.

"Is there a boy in it?"

"It is all boy."

"Is it true?" asked Demi.

"Every bit of it."

"Goody! tell on, please."

"James Snow and his mother lived in a little house, up in New
Hampshire. They were poor, and James had to work to help his
mother, but he loved books so well he hated work, and just wanted
to sit and study all day long."

"How could he! I hate books, and like work," said Dan, objecting
to James at the very outset.

"It takes all sorts of people to make a world; workers and students
both are needed, and there is room for all. But I think the workers
should study some, and the students should know how to work if
necessary," answered Mrs. Jo, looking from Dan to Demi with a
significant expression.

"I'm sure I do work," and Demi showed three small hard spots in
his little palm, with pride.

"And I'm sure I study," added Dan, nodding with a groan toward
the blackboard full of neat figures.

"See what James did. He did not mean to be selfish, but his mother
was proud of him, and let him do as he liked, working by herself
that he might have books and time to read them. One autumn
James wanted to go to school, and went to the minister to see if he
would help him, about decent clothes and books. Now the minister
had heard the gossip about James's idleness, and was not inclined
to do much for him, thinking that a boy who neglected his mother,
and let her slave for him, was not likely to do very well even at
school. But the good man felt more interested when he found how
earnest James was, and being rather an odd man, he made this
proposal to the boy, to try now sincere he was.

"'I will give you clothes and books on one condition, James.'

"'What is that, sir?' and the boy brightened up at once.

"'You are to keep your mother's wood-box full all winter long, and
do it yourself. If you fail, school stops.' James laughed at the queer
condition and readily agreed to it, thinking it a very easy one.

"He began school, and for a time got on capitally with the
wood-box, for it was autumn, and chips and brushwood were
plentiful. He ran out morning and evening and got a basket full, or
chopped up the cat sticks for the little cooking stove, and as his
mother was careful and saving, the task was not hard. But in
November the frost came, the days were dull and cold, and wood
went fast. His mother bought a load with her own earnings, but it
seemed to melt away, and was nearly gone, before James
remembered that he was to get the next. Mrs. Snow was feeble and
lame with rheumatism, and unable to work as she had done, so
James had to put down the books, and see what he could do.

"It was hard, for he was going on well, and so interested in his
lessons that he hated to stop except for food and sleep. But he
knew the minister would keep his word, and much against his will
James set about earning money in his spare hours, lest the
wood-box should get empty. He did all sorts of things, ran errands,
took care of a neighbor's cow, helped the old sexton dust and warm
the church on Sundays, and in these ways got enough to buy fuel in
small quantities. But it was hard work; the days were short, the
winter was bitterly cold, and precious time went fast, and the dear
books were so fascinating, that it was sad to leave them, for dull
duties that never seemed done.

"The minister watched him quietly, and seeing that he was in
earnest helped him without his knowledge. He met him often
driving the wood sleds from the forest, where the men were
chopping and as James plodded beside the slow oxen, he read or
studied, anxious to use every minute. 'The boy is worth helping,
this lesson will do him good, and when he has learned it, I will
give him an easier one,' said the minister to himself, and on
Christmas eve a splendid load of wood was quietly dropped at the
door of the little house, with a new saw and a bit of paper, saying
only

"'The Lord helps those who help themselves.'

"Poor James expected nothing, but when he woke on that cold
Christmas morning, he found a pair of warm mittens, knit by his
mother, with her stiff painful fingers. This gift pleased him very
much, but her kiss and tender look as she called him her 'good son,'
was better still. In trying to keep her warm, he had warmed his
own heart, you see, and in filling the wood-box he had also filled
those months with duties faithfully done. He began to see this, to
feel that there was something better than books, and to try to learn
the lessons God set him, as well as those his school-master gave.

"When he saw the great pile of oak and pine logs at his door, and
read the little paper, he knew who sent it, and understood the
minister's plan; thanked him for it, and fell to work with all his
might. Other boys frolicked that day, but James sawed wood, and I
think of all the lads in the town the happiest was the one in the
new mittens, who whistled like a blackbird as he filled his
mother's wood-box."

"That's a first rater!" cried Dan, who enjoyed a simple
matter-of-face story better than the finest fairy tale; "I like that
fellow after all."

"I could saw wood for you, Aunt Jo!" said Demi, feeling as if a
new means of earning money for his mother was suggested by the
story.

"Tell about a bad boy. I like them best," said Nan.

"You'd better tell about a naughty cross-patch of a girl," said
Tommy, whose evening had been spoilt by Nan's unkindness. It
made his apple taste bitter, his pop-corn was insipid, his nuts were
hard to crack, and the sight of Ned and Nan on one bench made
him feel his life a burden.

But there were no more stories from Mrs. Jo, for on looking down
at Rob he was discovered to be fast asleep with his last corn firmly
clasped in his chubby hand. Bundling him up in his coverlet, his
mother carried him away and tucked him up with no fear of his
popping out again.

"Now let's see who will come next," said Emil, setting the door
temptingly ajar.

Mary Ann passed first, and he called out to her, but Silas had
warned her, and she only laughed and hurried on in spite of their
enticements. Presently a door opened, and a strong voice was
heard humming in the hall

"Ich weiss nicht was soll es bedeuten

Dass ich so traurig bin."

"It's Uncle Fritz; all laugh loud and he will be sure to come in,"
said Emil.

A wild burst of laughter followed, and in came Uncle Fritz, asking,
"What is the joke, my lads?"

"Caught! caught! you can't go out till you've told a story," cried the
boys, slamming the door.

"So! that is the joke then? Well, I have no wish to go, it is so
pleasant here, and I pay my forfeit at once," which he did by sitting
down and beginning instantly

"A long time ago your Grandfather, Demi, went to lecture in a
great town, hoping to get some money for a home for little orphans
that some good people were getting up. His lecture did well, and
he put a considerable sum of money in his pocket, feeling very
happy about it. As he was driving in a chaise to another town, he
came to a lonely bit of road, late in the afternoon, and was just
thinking what a good place it was for robbers when he saw a
bad-looking man come out of the woods in front of him and go
slowly along as if waiting till he came up. The thought of the
money made Grandfather rather anxious, and at first he had a mind
to turn round and drive away. But the horse was tired, and then he
did not like to suspect the man, so he kept on, and when he got
nearer and saw how poor and sick and ragged the stranger looked,
his heart reproached him, and stopping, he said in a kind voice

"'My friend, you look tired; let me give you a lift.' The man seemed
surprised, hesitated a minute, and then got in. He did not seem
inclined to talk, but Grandfather kept on in his wise, cheerful way,
speaking of what a hard year it had been, how much the poor had
suffered, and how difficult it was to get on sometimes. The man
slowly softened a little, and won by the kind chat, told his story.
How he had been sick, could get no work, had a family of children,
and was almost in despair. Grandfather was so full of pity that he
forgot his fear, and, asking the man his name, said he would try to
get him work in the next town, as he had friends there. Wishing to
get at pencil and paper to write down the address, Grandfather
took out his plump pocket-book, and the minute he did so, the
man's eye was on it. Then Grandfather remembered what was in it
and trembled for his money, but said quietly

"'Yes, I have a little sum here for some poor orphans. I wish it was
my own, I would so gladly give you some of it. I am not rich, but I
know many of the trials of the poor; this five dollars is mine, and I
want to give it to you for your children.'

"The hard, hungry look in the man's eyes changed to a grateful one
as he took the small sum, freely given, and left the orphans' money
untouched. He rode on with Grandfather till they approached the
town, then he asked to be set down. Grandpa shook hands with
him, and was about to drive on, when the man said, as if
something made him, 'I was desperate when we met, and I meant
to rob you, but you were so kind I couldn't do it. God bless you, sir,
for keeping me from it!' "

"Did Grandpa ever see him again?" asked Daisy, eagerly.

"No; but I believe the man found work, and did not try robbery any
more."

"That was a curious way to treat him; I'd have knocked him down,"
said Dan.

"Kindness is always better than force. Try it and see," answered
Mr. Bhaer, rising.

"Tell another, please," cried Daisy.

"You must, Aunt Jo did," added Demi.

"Then I certainly won't, but keep my others for next time. Too
many tales are as bad as too many bonbons. I have paid my forfeit
and I go," and Mr. Bhaer ran for his life, with the whole flock in
full pursuit. He had the start, however, and escaped safely into his
study, leaving the boys to go rioting back again.

They were so stirred up by the race that they could not settle to
their former quiet, and a lively game of Blindman's Buff followed,
in which Tommy showed that he had taken the moral of the last
story to heart, for, when he caught Nan, he whispered in her ear,
"I'm sorry I called you a cross-patch."

Nan was not to be outdone in kindness, so, when they played
"Button, button, who's got the button?" and it was her turn to go
round, she said, "Hold fast all I give you," with such a friendly
smile at Tommy, that he was not surprised to find the horse-hair
ring in his hand instead of the button. He only smiled back at her
then, but when they were going to bed, he offered Nan the best bite
of his last apple; she saw the ring on his stumpy little finger,
accepted the bite, and peace was declared. Both were ashamed of
the temporary coldness, neither was ashamed to say, "I was wrong,
forgive me," so the childish friendship remained unbroken, and the
home in the willow lasted long, a pleasant little castle in the air.

CHAPTER XXI THANKSGIVING

This yearly festival was always kept at Plumfield in the good
old-fashioned way, and nothing was allowed to interfere with it.
For days beforehand, the little girls helped Asia and Mrs. Jo in
store-room and kitchen, making pies and puddings, sorting fruit,
dusting dishes, and being very busy and immensely important. The
boys hovered on the outskirts of the forbidden ground, sniffing the
savory odors, peeping in at the mysterious performances, and
occasionally being permitted to taste some delicacy in the process
of preparation.

Something more than usual seemed to be on foot this year, for the
girls were as busy up-stairs as down, so were the boys in
school-room and barn, and a general air of bustle pervaded the
house. There was a great hunting up of old ribbons and finery,
much cutting and pasting of gold paper, and the most remarkable
quantity of straw, gray cotton, flannel, and big black beads, used
by Franz and Mrs. Jo. Ned hammered at strange machines in the
workshop, Demi and Tommy went about murmuring to themselves
as if learning something. A fearful racket was heard in Emil's room
at intervals, and peals of laughter from the nursery when Rob and
Teddy were sent for and hidden from sight whole hours at a time.
But the thing that puzzled Mr. Bhaer the most was what became of
Rob's big pumpkin. It had been borne in triumph to the kitchen,
where a dozen golden-tinted pies soon after appeared. It would not
have taken more than a quarter of the mammoth vegetable to make
them, yet where was the rest? It disappeared, and Rob never
seemed to care, only chuckled when it was mentioned, and told his
father, "To wait and see," for the fun of the whole thing was to
surprise Father Bhaer at the end, and not let him know a bit about
what was to happen.

He obediently shut eyes, ears, and mouth, and went about trying
not to see what was in plain sight, not to hear the tell-tale sounds
that filled the air, not to understand any of the perfectly transparent
mysteries going on all about him. Being a German, he loved these
simple domestic festivals, and encouraged them with all his heart,
for they made home so pleasant that the boys did not care to go
elsewhere for fun.

When at last the day came, the boys went off for a long walk, that
they might have good appetites for dinner; as if they ever needed
them! The girls remained at home to help set the table, and give
last touches to various affairs which filled their busy little souls
with anxiety. The school-room had been shut up since the night
before, and Mr. Bhaer was forbidden to enter it on pain of a
beating from Teddy, who guarded the door like a small dragon,
though he was dying to tell about it, and nothing but his father's
heroic self-denial in not listening, kept him from betraying a grand
secret.

"It's all done, and it's perfectly splendid," cried Nan, coming out at
last with an air of triumph.

"The you know goes beautifully, and Silas knows just what to do
now," added Daisy, skipping with delight at some unspeakable
success.

"I'm blest if it ain't the 'cutest thing I ever see, them critters in
particular," said Silas, who had been let into the secret, went off
laughing like a great boy.

"They are coming; I hear Emil roaring 'Land lubbers lying down
below,' so we must run and dress," cried Nan, and up-stairs they
scampered in a great hurry.

The boys came trooping home with appetites that would have
made the big turkey tremble, if it had not been past all fear. They
also retired to dress; and for half-an-hour there was a washing,
brushing, and prinking that would have done any tidy woman's
heart good to see. When the bell rang, a troop of fresh-faced lads
with shiny hair, clean collars, and Sunday jackets on, filed into the
dining-room, where Mrs. Jo, in her one black silk, with a knot of
her favorite white chrysanthemums in her bosom, sat at the head of
the table, "looking splendid," as the boys said, whenever she got
herself up. Daisy and Nan were as gay as a posy bed in their new
winter dresses, with bright sashes and hair ribbons. Teddy was
gorgeous to behold in a crimson merino blouse, and his best button
boots, which absorbed and distracted him as much as Mr. Toot's
wristbands did on one occasion.

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