 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. Little Men, Life at Plumfield with Joe's Boys, by Louisa May Alcott. Chapter 1. NET Please, sir, is this Plumfield? I asked a ragged boy of the man who opened the great gate at which the omnibus left him. Yes, who sent you? Mr. Lawrence, I've got a letter for the lady. All right, go up to the house and give it to her. She'll see to you, little chap. The man spoke pleasantly, and the boy went on, feeling much cheered by the words. Through the soft spring rain that fell on sprouting grass and budding trees, NET saw a large square house before him, a hospitable-looking house, with an old-fashioned porch, wide steps, and light shining in many windows. Neither curtains nor shutters hid the cheerful glimmer, and, pausing a moment before he rang, NET saw many little shadows dancing on the walls, heard the pleasant hum of young voices, and felt that it was hardly possible that the light and warmth and comfort within could be for a homeless little chap like him. I hope the lady will see to me, he thought, and gave a timid wrap with the great bronze knocker, which was a jovial griffin's head. A rosy-faced servant made open the door, and smiled as she took the letter which he silently offered. She seemed used to receiving strange boys, for she pointed to a seat in the hall and said, with a nod, Sit there and drip on the mat a bit while I take this in to Mrs. NET found plenty to amuse him while he waited, and stared about him curiously, enjoying the view, yet glad to do so unobserved in the dusky recess by the door. The house seemed swarming with boys, who were beguiling the rainy twilight with all sorts of amusements. There were boys everywhere, upstairs and downstairs and in the ladies chamber, apparently, for various open doors showed pleasant groups of big boys, little boys, and middle-sized boys in all stages of evening relaxation, not to say effervescence. Two large rooms on the right were evidently school rooms, for desks, maps, blackboards, and books were scattered about. An open fire burned on the hearth, and several indolent lads lay on their backs before it, discussing a new cricket ground with such animation that their boots waved in the air. A tall youth was practicing on the flute in one corner, quite undisturbed by the racket all about him. Two or three others were jumping over the desks, pausing now and then, to get their breath and laugh at the droll sketches of a little wag who was caricaturing the whole household on a blackboard. In the room on the left, a long supper table was seen, set forth with great pitchers of new milk, piles of brown and white bread, and perfect stacks of the shiny gingerbread so dear to boyish souls. A flavor of toast was in the air, also suggestions of baked apples, very tantalizing to one very hungry little nose and stomach. The hall, however, presented the most inviting prospect of all, for a brisk game of tag was going on in the upper entry. One landing was devoted to marbles, the other to checkers, while the stairs were occupied by a boy reading, a girl singing a lullaby to her doll, two puppies, a kitten, and a constant succession of small boys sliding down the banisters to the great detriment of their clothes and danger to their limbs. So absorbed did Nat become in this exciting race that he ventured farther and farther out of his corner, and when one very lively boy came down so swiftly that he could not stop himself, but fell off the banisters with a crash that would have broken any head but one rendered nearly as hard as a cannonball by eleven years of constant bumping, Nat forgot himself and ran up to the fallen rider, expecting to find him half dead. The boy, however, only winked rapidly for a second, then lay calmly, looking up at the new face with a surprised, Hello. Hello, return Nat, not knowing what else to say, and thinking that form of reply both brief and easy. Are you a new boy? asked the recumbent youth without string. Don't know yet. What's your name? Nat Blake. Mine's Tommy Bangs. Come up and have a go, will you? And Tommy got upon his legs like one suddenly remembering the duties of hospitality. Guess I won't, till I see whether I'm going to stay or not, return Nat, feeling the desire to stay increased every moment. I say, Demi, here's a new one, come and see to him, and the lively Thomas returned to his sport with unabated relish. At his call, the boy reading on the stairs looked up with a pair of big brown eyes, and after an instant's pause, as if a little shy, he put the book under his arm and came soberly down to greet the newcomer, who found something very attractive in the pleasant face of this slender, mild-eyed boy. Have you seen Aunt Joe? he asked, as if that was some sort of important ceremony. I haven't seen anybody yet, but you boys. I'm waiting, answered Nat. Did Uncle Laurie send you? Proceeded Demi, politely, but gravely. Mr. Lawrence did. He is Uncle Laurie, and he always sends nice boys. Nat looked gratified at the remark and smiled in a way that made his thin face very pleasant. He did not know what to say next, so the two stood staring at one another in friendly silence, till the little girl came up with her doll in her arms. She was very like Demi, only not so tall, and had a rounder, rosier face, and blue eyes. This is my sister, Daisy, announced Demi, as if presenting a rare and precious creature. The children nodded to one another, and the little girl's face dimpled with pleasure, as she said affably. I hope you'll stay. We have such good times here, don't we, Demi? Of course we do. That's what Aunt Joe has pump-field for. It seems a very nice place indeed, observed Nat, feeling that he must respond to these amiable young persons. It's the nicest place in the world, isn't it, Demi? said Daisy, who evidently regarded her brother as authority on all subjects. Now, I think Greenland, where the icebergs and seals are, is more interesting. But I'm fond of pump-field, and it is a very nice place to be in, returned Demi, who is interested just now in a book on Greenland. He was about to offer to show Nat the pictures and explain them, when the servant returned, saying with a nod toward the parlor door, All right, you are to stop. I'm glad. Now come to Aunt Joe. And Daisy took him by the hand with the pretty protecting air, which made Nat feel at home at once. Demi returned to his beloved book, while his sister led the newcomer into a back room, where a stout gentleman was frolicking with two little boys on the sofa, and a thin lady was just finishing the letter of what she seemed to have been rereading. Here he is, auntie, cried Daisy. So this is my new boy. I'm glad to see you, my dear, and hope you'll be happy here," said the lady, drawing him to her and stroking back the hair from his forehead with a kind hand and a motherly look, which made Nat's lonely heart yearn toward her. She was not at all handsome, but she had a merry sort of face that never seemed to have forgotten certain childish ways and looks any more than her voice and manner had. And these things, hard to describe but very plain to see and feel, made her a genial, comfortable kind of person, easy to get on with and naturally jolly, as boys would say. She saw the little tremble of Nat's lips as she smoothed his hair, and her keen eyes grew softer, but she only drew the shabby figure nearer and said, laughing, I am Mother Bear, that gentleman is Father Bear, and these are the two little bears. Come here, boys, and see Nat. The three wrestlers obeyed at once, and the stout man, with a chubby child on each shoulder, came up to welcome the new boy. Rob and Teddy merely grinned at him, but Mr. Bear shook hands and, pointing to a low chair near the fire, said in a cordial voice, There is a place already for thee, my son, sit down and dry thy wet feet at once. Wet? So they are. My dear, off with your shoes this minute, and I'll have some dry things ready for you in a jiffy, cried Mrs. Bear, bustling about so energetically that Nat found himself in the cozy little chair with dry socks and warm slippers on his feet before he would have had time to say Jack Robinson if he had wanted to dry. He said, thank you, ma'am, instead, and said it so gratefully that Mrs. Bear's eyes grew soft again, and she said something merry because she felt so tender, which was a way she had. There are Tommy Bangs' slippers, but he never will remember to put them on in the house, so he shall not have them. They are too big, but that's all the better. You can't run away from us so fast as if they fitted. I don't want to run away, ma'am, and Nat spread his grimy little hands before the comfortable blaze with a long sigh of satisfaction. That's good. Now I am going to toast you well and try to get rid of that ugly cough. How long have you had it, dear? asked Mrs. Bear, as she rummaged in her big basket for a strip of flannel. All winter, I got cold, and I wouldn't get better somehow. No wonder living in that damp cellar with hardly a rag to his poor dear back, said Mrs. Bear, in a low tone to her husband, who was looking at the boy with a skilful pair of eyes that marked the thin temples and feverish lips, as well as the hoarse voice and frequent fits of coughing that shook the bent shoulders under the patched jacket. Robyn, my man, trot up to mercy and tell her to give thee the cough bottle and the liniment, said Mr. Bear, after his eyes had exchanged telegrams with his wife's. Nat looked a little anxious at the preparations, but forgot his fears in a hearty laugh when Mrs. Bear whispered to him, with a droll look, Here, my rogue teddy tried to cough. The syrup I'm going to give you has honey in it, and he wants some. Little Ted was red in the face with his exertions by the time the bottle came, and was allowed to suck the spoon after Nat had manfully taken a dose and had the bit of flannel put about his throat. These first steps toward a cure were highly completed when a great bell rang and a loud tramping through the hall announced supper. Bashful Nat quaked at the thought of meeting many strange boys, but Mrs. Bear held out her hand to him, and Rob said, patronizingly, Don't be afraid, I'll take care of you. Twelve boys, six on the sides, stood behind their chairs, prancing with impatience to begin, while the tall flute-playing youth was trying to curb their ardor. But no one sat down until Mrs. Bear was in her place behind the teapot, with Teddy on her left and Nat on her right. This is our new boy, Nat Blake, after supper you can say, How do you do? Gently, boys, gently. As she spoke, everyone stared at Nat, and then whisked into their seats, trying to be orderly and failing utterly. They just did their best to have the lads behave well at mealtimes, and generally succeeded pretty well, for their rules were few insensible and the boys, knowing that they tried to make things easy and happy, did their best to obey. But there are times when hungry boys cannot be repressed without real cruelty, and Saturday evening, after a half-holiday, was one of those times. Dear little souls, do let them have one day in which they can howl and racket and frolic to their hearts' content. A holiday isn't a holiday without plenty of freedom and fun, and they shall have full swing once a week, Mrs. Bear used to say, when prim people wondered why banister sliding, pillow fights, and all manner of jovial games were allowed under the once decorous roof of Plumfield. It did seem at times as if the aforesaid roof was in danger of flying off, but it never did, for a word from Father Bear could at any time produce a lull, and the lads had learned that liberty must not be abused. So, in spite of many dark predictions, the school flourished, and manners and morals were insinuated without the pupils exactly knowing how it was done. Nat found himself very well off behind the tall pitchers, with Tommy bangs just around the corner, and Mrs. Bear close by to fill up plate and mug as fast as he could empty them. Who is that boy next to the girl down at the other end? whispered Nat to his young neighbor under cover of a general laugh. That's Demi Brooke, Mr. Bear is his uncle. What a queer name. His real name is John, but they call him Demi John, because his father is John, too. That's a joke, don't you see? said Tommy, kindly explaining. Nat did not see, but politely smiled and asked with interest. Isn't he a very nice boy? I bet you he is, knows lots and reads like anything. Who is the fat one next to him? Oh, that's Stuffy Cole. His name is George, but we call him Stuffy because he eats so much. The little fellow next to Father Bear is his boy Rob, and then there's big friends, his nephew. He teaches some and kind of sees to us. He plays the flute, doesn't he? asked Nat as Tommy rendered himself speechless by putting a whole baked apple into his mouth at one blow. Tommy nodded and said, sooner than one would have imagined possible under the circumstances. Oh, don't he though? And we dance sometimes and do gymnastics to music. I like a drum myself and mean to learn as soon as ever I can. I like a fiddle best. I can play one, too, said Nat, getting confidential on this attractive subject. Can you? And Tommy stared over the rim of his mug with round eyes, full of interest. Mr. Bear's got an old fiddle and he'll let you play on it if you want to. Oh, I'd like it ever so much. You see, I used to go round fiddling with my father and another man till he died. Wasn't that fun, could I tell me? Much impressed. No, it was horrid, so cold in winter and hot in summer. And I got tired, and they were cross sometimes, and I didn't get enough to eat. Nat paused to take a generous bite of gingerbread as if to assure himself that the hard times were over. And then he added regretfully. But I did love my little fiddle and I miss it. Nicolo took it away when Father died and he wouldn't have me any longer because I was sick. You'll belong to the band if you play good, see if you don't. If you have a band here, Nat's eye is sparkled. Guess we do, a jolly band, all boys, and they have concerts and things. You just see what happens tomorrow night. After this pleasantly exciting remark, Tommy returned to his supper and Nat sank into a blissful reverie over his full plate. Mrs. Bear had heard all they said while apparently absorbed in filling mugs and overseeing Little Ted, that he put his spoon in his eye, nodded like a rosy puppy, and finally fell fast asleep with his cheek pillowed on a soft bun. Mrs. Bear had put Nat next to Tommy because that roly-poly boy had a frank and social way with him, very attractive to shy persons. Nat felt this, and had made several small competences during supper, which gave Mrs. Bear the key to the new boys' character, better than if she had talked to him herself. In the letter which Mr. Lawrence had sent when Nat, dear Joe, here is a case after your own heart. This poor lad is an orphan now, sick and friendless. He has been a street musician, and I found him in a cellar and mourning for his dead father, and has lost violin. I think there is something in him, and have a fancy that between us we may give this little man a lift. You cure his over-tasked body, Fritz help his neglected mind, and when he is ready, I'll see if you as a genius of course we will, cried Mrs. Bear, as she read the letter, and when she saw Nat, she felt at once that, whether he was a genius or not, here was a lonely, sick boy who needed just what she loved to give, a home and motherly care. While she and Mr. Bear observed him quietly, and in spite of ragged clothes, awkward manners, and a dirty face, they saw much about Nat that pleased them. He was a thin, pale boy of twelve with blue eyes and a good forehead under the rough neglected hair, an anxious, scared face at times, as if he expected hard words or blows, and a sensitive mouth that trembled when a kind glance fell on him. While a gentle speech called up a look of gratitude, very sweet to see. Plus the poor dear, he shall fiddle all the day long if he likes, said Mrs. Bear to herself, as she saw the eager, happy expression on his face when Tommy talked of the band. So after supper, when the lads flocked into the school room for more hijinks, Mrs. Joe appeared with a violin in her hand, and after a word with her husband, went to Nat, who sat in a corner watching the scene with intense interest. Now, my lad, give us a little tune. We want a violin in our band, and I think you will do it nicely. She expected that he would hesitate, and he seized the old fiddle at once, and handled it with such loving care it was plain to see that music was his passion. I'll do the best I can, ma'am, was all he said, and then drew the bow across the strings, as if eager to hear the dear notes again. There was a great clatter in the room, but as if deaf to any sounds but those he made, Nat played softly to himself for getting everything in his delight. It was only a simple negro melody, such as street musicians play, but it caught the ears of the boys at once and silenced them till they stood listening with surprise and pleasure. Gradually they got nearer and nearer, and Mr. Bear came up to watch the boy, for, as if he was in his element now, Nat played away and never minded anyone, while his eyes shone, his cheeks reddened, and his thin fingers flew as he hugged the old fiddle and made it speak to all their hearts the language that he loved. A hearty round of applause rewarded him better than a shower of pennies, when he stopped and glanced about him, as if to say, I've done my best, please like it. I say you do that first break, cried Tommy, who considered Nat his protege. You shall be the first fiddle in my band, added Franz, with an approving smile. Mrs. Bear whispered to her husband, Teddy is right, there's something in the child, and Mr. Bear nodded his head emphatically as he clapped Nat on the shoulder, saying heartily, You play well, my son, come now and play something which we can sing. It was the proudest, happiest minute of the poor boy's life when he was led to the place of honor by the piano, and the lads gathered round, never heeding his poor clothes, but eyeing him respectfully and waiting eagerly to hear him play again. They chose a song he knew, and after one or two false starts they got going, and violin, flute, and piano led a chorus of boyish voices that made the old roof ring again. It was too much for Nat, more feeble than he knew, and as the final shout died away, his face began to work, he dropped the fiddle, and turning to the wall, sobbed like a little child. My dear, what is it? asked Mrs. Bear, who had been singing with all her might and trying to keep little Rob from beating time with his boots. You are all so kind, and it's so beautiful, I can't help it, sobbed Nat, coughing till he was breathless. Come with me, dear, you must go to bed and rest. You are worn out, and this is too noisy a place for you, whispered Mrs. Bear, and took him away to her own parlor where she let him cry himself quiet. Then she wanted him to tell her all his troubles and listen to the little story with tears in her own eyes, though it was not a new one to her. My child, you've got a father and a mother now, and this is home. Don't think of those sad times anymore, but get well and happy, and be sure you shall never suffer again if we can help it. This place is made for all sorts of boys to have a good time in, and to learn how to help themselves and be useful men, I hope. You shall have as much music as you want, only you must get strong first. Now, come up to a nursery and have a bath, and then go to bed, and tomorrow we will lay some nice little plans together. Nat held her hand fast in his, but had not a word to say and let his grateful eyes speak for him as Mrs. Bear led him up to a big room where they found a stout German woman with a face so round and cheery that it looked like a sort of sun with a wide frill of her cap for rays. This is Nersi Hummel, and she will give you a nice bath and cut your hair and make you all comfy, as Rob says. That's the bathroom in there, and on Saturday nights we scrub all the little lads first and pack them away in bed before the big ones get through singing. As she talked, Mrs. Bear had whipped off Rob's clothes and popped him into a long bathtub in the little room opening into the nursery. There were two tubs, besides foot baths, basins, douche pipes, and all manner of contrivances for cleanliness. Nat was soon luxuriating in the other bath, and while simmering there, he watched the performances of the two women who scrubbed clean nightgown and bundled into bed four or five small boys, who, of course, cut up all sorts of capers during the operation and kept everyone in a gale of merriment until they were extinguished in their beds. By the time Nat was washed and done up in a blanket by the fire, while the nursery cut his hair, a new detachment of boys arrived and were shut into the bathroom, where they made as much splashing and noise as the school of young whales at play. Nat had better sleep here, so that if his cough troubles him in the night, you can see that he takes a good draft of flaxseed tea, said Mrs. Bear, who was flying about like a distracted hen with a large brood of lively ducklings. The nursery approved the plan, finished Nat off with a flannel nightgown, a drink of something warm and sweet, and then tucked him into one of the three little beds standing in the room, where he lay looking like a contented mummy and feeling that nothing more in the way of luxury could be offered to him. Cleanliness in itself was a new and delightful sensation. Flannel gowns were unknown comforts in his world. Sips of good stuff soothed his cough as pleasantly as kind words did his lonely heart. And the feeling that somebody cared for him made that plain room seem a sort of heaven to the homeless child. It was like a cozy dream, and he often shut his eyes to see if he had vanished when he opened them again. It was too pleasant to let him sleep, and he could not have done so if he had tried. For in a few minutes, one of the peculiar institutions of Plumfield was revealed to his astonished but appreciative eyes. A momentary lull in the aquatic exercises was followed by the sudden appearance of pillows flying in all directions, hurled by white goblins who came riding out of their beds. The battle raged in several rooms, all down the upper hall, and even surged at intervals into the nursery when some hard-pressed warrior took refuge there. No one seemed to mind this explosion in the least. No one forbade it or even looked surprised. Nursey went on, hanging up towels, and Mrs. Bear laid out clean clothes as calmly as if the most perfect order reigned. Nay, she even chased one daring boy out of the room and fired after him the pillow he had slightly thrown at her. Won't they hurt him? Asked Nat, who lay laughing with all his might. Oh, dear, no. You always allow one pillow fight Saturday night. The cases are changed tomorrow, and it gets up aglow after the boy's baths, so I'd rather like it myself, said Mrs. Bear, busy again among her dozen pairs of socks. What a very nice school this is, observed Nat, in a burst of admiration. It's an odd one, laughed Mrs. Bear, but you see we don't believe in making children miserable by too many rules and too much study. I forbade nightgown parties at first, but bless you, it was of no use. I could no more keep those boys in their beds than so many jacks in the box. So I made an agreement with them. I was to allow a 15-minute pillow fight every Saturday night, and they promised to go properly to bed every other night. I tried it, and it worked well. They don't keep their word, no frolic. If they do, I just turn the glasses round, put the lamps in safe places, and let them rampage as much as they like. It's a beautiful plan, said Nat, feeling that he should like to join in the fray, but not venturing to propose at the first night. So he lay enjoying the spectacle, which certainly was a lively one. Tommy Bangs led the assailing party, and Demi defended his own room with a dogged courage, fine to see, collecting pillows behind him as fast as they were thrown, till the procedures were out of ammunition when they would charge upon him in a body and recover their arms. A few slight accidents occurred, but nobody minded, and Gavin took sounding flax with perfect good humor, while pillows flew like big snowflakes. Mrs. Bear looked at her watch and called out. Time is up, boys, into bed, and every man jack will pay the forfeit. What is the forfeit, asked Nat, sitting up in his eagerness to know what happened to those wretches who disobeyed this most peculiar, lose their fun next time, answered Mrs. Bear. I give them five minutes to settle down, then put out their lights and expect order. They are honorable lads, and they keep their word. That was evident, but the battle ended as abruptly as it began, a parting shot or two. The final cheer, as Demi fired the seventh pillow at the retiring foe, a few challenges for next time, then order prevailed. Nothing but an occasional giggle or a suppressed whisper broke the quiet which followed the Saturday night frolic, as Mother Bear kissed her new boy in the life at Plumfield. End of Chapter 1 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org Little Men by Louisa May Alcott Chapter 2 The Boys While Nat takes a good long sleep, I will tell my little reader something about the boys, among whom he found himself when he woke up. To begin with our old friends, Franz was a tall lad of sixteen now, a regular German, big, blond, and bookish, also very domestic, amiable, and musical. His uncle was fitting him for college and his aunt for a happy home of his own hereafter, because she carefully fostered him gentle manners, love of children, respect for women, old and young, and helpful ways about the house. He was her right hand man on all occasions, steady, kind, and patient, and he loved his merry aunt like a mother for such she had tried to be to him. Emil was quite different, being quick-tempered, restless, and enterprising, bent on going to sea with the blood of the old viking stirred in his veins and could not be tamed. His uncle promised that he should go when he was sixteen and set him to studying navigation, gave him stories of good and famous admirals and heroes to read, and let him lead the life of a frog and river, pond, and brook when lessons were done. His room looked like the cabin of a man of war, for everything was nautical, military, and ship-shape. Even kid was his delight, and his favorite amusement was to rig up like that piratical gentleman and roar out sanguinary sea songs at the top of his voice. He would dance nothing but sailor's horn pipes, rolled in his gate, and was as nautical in conversation to his uncle would permit. The boys called him Commodore and took great pride in his fleet, which whitened the pond and suffered disasters that would have daunted any commander but a sea-struck boy. His mother had cherished an innocent and loving heart in him. His father had watched over the physical growth of his boy and kept the little body straight and strong on wholesome food and exercise and sleep, while Grandpa March cultivated the little mind with a tender wisdom of a modern Pythagoras, not tasking it with long, hard lessons, parrot-learned, but helping it to unfold as naturally and beautiful as sun and dew helped roses bloom. His mother had cherished an innocent and loving heart in him. Naturally and beautiful as sun and dew helped roses bloom. He was not a perfect child by any means but his faults were of the better sort and being early taught the secret of self-control he was not left at the mercy of appetites and passions as some poor little mortals are and then punished for yielding to the temptations against which they have no armor. A quiet, quaint boy was Demi, serious yet cheery, quite unconscious that he was unusually bright and beautiful, yet quick to see and love intelligence of his children. Very fond of books and full of lively fancies, born of a strong imagination and a spiritual nature, these traits made his parents anxious to balance them with useful knowledge and healthful society, lest they should make him one of those pale, precocious children who amaze and delight a family sometimes and fade away like hot-house flowers because the young soul blooms too soon and has not a hearty body to root it firmly in the wholesome soil of this world. So Demi was transplanted to Plumfield and took so kindly to the life there that Meg and John and Grandpa felt satisfied that they had done well. Mixing with other boys brought out the practical side of him, roused his spirit and brushed away the pretty cobwebs he was so fond of spinning in that little brain of his. To be sure, he rather shocked his mother when he came home by banging doors saying, by George emphatically and demanding tall thick boots that clumped like papas. But John rejoiced over him, laughed at his explosive remarks, got the boots and said contentedly, doing well, so let him clump. I want my son to be a manly boy and this temporary roughness won't hurt him. We can polish him up by and by and as for learning, he'll pick that up as pigeons do peas. So don't hurry him. Daisy was as sunshiny and charming as ever with all sorts of womanlynesses budding in her for she was like her gentle mother and delighted in domestic things. She had a family of dolls whom she brought up in the most exemplary manner. She could not get on without her little work basket and bits of sewing, which she did so nicely that Demi frequently pulled out his handkerchief display her neat stitches and baby Josie had a flannel petticoat beautifully made by sister Daisy. She liked to quiddle about the china closet, prepare the salt cellars, put the spoons straight on the table, and every day went round the parlor with her brush, dusting chairs and tables. Demi called her a betty, but was very glad to have her keep his things in order, lend him her nimble fingers and all sorts of work and help him with his lessons. They kept abreast there and had no thought of rivalry. The love between them was as strong as ever and no one could laugh Demi out of his affectionate ways with Daisy. He fought her battles valiantly and never could understand why boys should be ashamed to say right out that they love their sisters. Daisy adored her twin, thought, my brother the most remarkable boy in the world and every morning in her little wrapper trotted to tap at his door with a motherly get up my dear it's most breakfast time and here's your clean collar. Rob was an energetic morsel of a boy. He seemed to have discovered the secret of perpetual motion, where he never was still. Fortunately, he was not mischievous nor very brave. So he kept out of trouble pretty well and vibrated between father and mother like an affectionate little pendulum with a lively tick, for Rob was a chatterbox. Teddy was too young to play a very important part in the affairs of Plumfield, yet he had his little sphere and filled it beautifully. Everyone felt the need of a pet at times but he was always ready to accommodate for kissing and cuddling suited him excellently. Mrs. Joe seldom stirred without him, so he had his little finger in all the domestic pies and everyone found them all the better for it, for they believed in babies at Plumfield. Dick Brown and Adolphus or Dolly Pettinghill were two eight-year-olds. Dolly stuttered badly, but was gradually getting over it, for no one was allowed to mock him and Mr. Bear tried to cure it by making him talk slowly. Dolly was a good little lad, quite uninteresting and ordinary, but he flourished here and went through his daily duties and pleasures with placid content and propriety. Dick Brown's affliction was a crooked back yet he bore his burden so cheerfully that Demi once asked in his queer way do humps make people good-natured? I'd like one if they do. Dick was always merry and did his best to be like other boys, for a plucky spirit lived in the feeble little boy. When he first came, he was very sensitive about his misfortune, but soon learned to forget it. No one dared remind him of it that Mr. Bear had punished one boy for laughing at him. God don't care, for my soul is straight if my back isn't sobbed Dick to his tormentor on that occasion. And by cherishing this idea, the bear soon led him to believe that people also loved his soul and did not mind his body except to pity and help him to bear it. Playing menagerie once with the others, someone said, what animal will you be, Dick? Oh, I'm the dromedary. Don't you see the hump on my back? Was a laughing answer. So you are, my nice little one that don't carry loads but marches by the elephant first in the procession, said Demi, who was arranging the spectacle. I hope others will be as kind to the poor deer as my boys have learned to be, said Mrs. Joe, quite satisfied with the success of her teaching, as Dick and will pass her, looking like a very happy but a very feeble-looking dromedary besides Stout Stuffy, who did the elephant with ponderous propriety. Jack Bored was a sharp, rather sly lad who was sent to the school because it was cheap. Many men would have thought him a smart boy, but Mr. Bear did not like his way of illustrating that Yankee word and thought his unboyish keenness and money-loving as much of an affliction as Dolly's stutter, or Dick's hump. Ned Barker was like a thousand other boys of 14, all legs, blunder, and bluster. Indeed, the family called him the blunderbuss and always expected to see him tumble over the chairs, bump against the tables, and knock down any small articles near him. He bragged a good deal about what he could do, but seldom did anything to prove it, was not brave and a little given to tail-telling. He was apt to bully the small boys and flatter the big ones, and without being at all bad, was just a sort of fellow who could very easily be led astray. George Cole had been spoiled by an overindulgent mother who stuffed him with sweetmeats till he was sick and then thought him too delicate to study so that at twelve years old he was a pale, puffy boy, dull, fretful, and lazy. A friend persuaded her to send him to cornfield, and there he soon got waked up. For sweet things were seldom allowed, much exercise required, and study made so pleasant that stuffy was gently lured along till he quite amazed his anxious mama by his improvement and convinced her that there really was something remarkable in Plumfield air. Billy Ward was what the Scotch tenderly called an innocent, for though thirteen years old he was like a child of six. He had been an unusually intelligent boy and his father had hurried him on too fast, giving him all sorts of hard lessons, keeping at his books six hours a day and expecting him to absorb knowledge as a Strasbourg goose does the food crammed down its throat. He thought he was doing his duty, but he nearly killed the boy, for a fever gave the poor child a sad holiday, and when he recovered the over-tasked brain gave out, and Billy's mind was like a slate over which a sponge had passed, leaving it blank. It was a terrible lesson to his ambitious father. He could not bear the sight of his promising child, changed to a feeble idiot, and he sent him away to Plumfield, scarcely hoping that he could be helped, and assured that he would be kindly treated. Quite docile and harmless was Billy, and it was pitiful to see how hard he tried to learn, as if groping dimly after the lost knowledge which had cost him so much. Day after day he poured over the alphabet, proudly saying A and B, and thought that he knew them, but on the moral they were gone, and all the work was to be done over again. Mr. Bear had infinite patience with him and kept on in spite of the apparent hopelessness of the task, not caring for book lessons, but trying gently to clear away the mists and give it back intelligence enough to make the boy less a burden and an affliction. Mrs. Bear strengthened his health by every aid she could invent, and the boys all pitied and were kind to him. He did not like their active plays, but would sit for hours watching the doves, would dig holes for Teddy till even that ardent grubber was satisfied, or follow Silas the man from place to place seeing him work, for honest sigh was very good to him, and though he forgot his letters, Billy remembered friendly faces. Tommy Vangs was the scraped grace of the school, and the most trying scraped grace that ever lived. As full of mischief as a monkey, yet so good-hearted that one could not help forgiving his tricks, so scatterbrained that words went by him like the wind, yet so penitent for every misdeed that it was impossible to keep sober when he vowed tremendous vows of reformation or proposed all sorts of queer punishments to be inflicted upon himself. Mr. and Mrs. Bear lived in a state of preparation for any mishap from the breaking of Tommy's own neck to the blowing up of the entire family with gunpowder, and Mercy had a particular drawer in which she kept bandages, plasters, and salves for his special use, for Tommy was always being brought in half-dead, but nothing ever killed him, and he arose from every downfall with redoubled vigor. The first day he came, he chopped the top off one finger in the hay-cutter, and during the week fell from the shed-roof was chased by an angry hen who tried to pick his out because he examined her chickens, got run away with, and had his ears boxed violent by Asia, who caught him luxuriously skimming a pan of cream with half a stolen pie. Undaunted, however, by any failures or debuffs, this indomitable youth went on using himself with all sorts of tricks till no one felt safe. If he did not know his lessons, he always had some droll excuse to offer, and as he was usually clever at his books and as bright as a button in composing answers when he did not know them, he could go on pretty well at school, but out of school, ye gods and little fishes, how Tommy did carouse. He wound fat Asia up in her own clothesline against the post, and left her there to fume in school for half an hour one busy Monday morning. He dropped a hot scent down Mary Ann's back as that pretty maid was waiting a table one day when there were gentlemen to dinner, where at the poor girl upset the soup and rushed out of the room in dismay, leaving the family to think that she had gone mad. He fixed a pail of water up in a tree with a bit of ribbon fastened to the handle, and when Daisy, attracted by that gay streamer, tried to pull it down, she got a douche-bath that spoiled her clean frock and hurt her little feelings very much. He put rough white pebbles in the sugar bowl when his grandmother came to tea, and the poor old lady wondered why they didn't melt in her cup what was too polite to say anything. He passed around snuff in church so that five of the boys sneezed with such violence that they had to go out. He dug paths in wintertime and then privately watered them so that people should tumble down. He drove poor Silas nearly wild by hanging his big boots in conspicuous places on the farmhouse, and he was very much ashamed of them. He persuaded confiding little Dolly to tie a thread to one of his loose teeth and leave the string hanging from his mouth when he went to sleep so that Tommy could pull it out without his feeling the dreaded operation. But the tooth wouldn't come at the first tweak, and poor Dolly woke up in great anguish of spirit and lost all faith in Tommy from that day forth. The last prank had been to give the hens bread soaked in rum which made them tipsy so that the ladies wouldn't staggering about pecking and clucking in the most modlin manner while the family were convulsed with laughter at their antics till Daisy took pity on them and shut them up in the henhouse to sleep off their intoxication. These were the boys and they lived together as happy as twelve lads could studying and playing, working and squabbling, fighting faults and cultivating virtues in the good old fashioned way. Boys at other schools probably learned more from books but less of that better wisdom which makes good men. But in Professor Bear's opinion self-knowledge, self-help and self-control were more important and they tried to teach them carefully. People shook their heads sometimes at his ideas, even while they owned that the boys improved wonderfully in manners and morals. But then, as Mrs. Joe said to Nat, it was an odd school. End of Chapter 2 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer visit LibriVox.org Little Men by Louisa May Alcott Chapter 3 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. Bear kept all such cast-off feathers for the picked robins who strayed into her nest. They were hardly on when Tommy appeared as a queen-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 everyone 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. Bear 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 everything that pleased him very much. Because, in spite of his rough life, the boy possessed a sensitive nerves which belonged 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, send Father Bear, and set the example by going into the school room to get books ready for the morrow. Everyone 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, rushed steps, or ran errands for Mrs. Bear. 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 Bear and Franz with the eight older boys piled in, and away they went for a three-mile drive to the village 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. Bear's room listening to the story 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, 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 Bear. 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. Bear saw his eye on the words and shook her head, saying, as she turned to leaf, No, I don't show my records to anyone, 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 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. Bear 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 to me, but I really don't know which I like best, writing or boys, she said, laughing to see Nat the punishment at the last item. Yes, I know many people think boys are 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 happily with after I had once found the soft spot in his heart. Plus me, I couldn't get on at all without my flock of dear, noisy, naughty, harem-scarrem little lads. Could I, my teddy? Mrs. Bear hugged the young rogue just in time to save the big ink stand from going into his pocket. Nat, who had never heard anything like this before, really did not know whether Mother Bear was a triple-crazy or the most delightful woman he had ever met. He rather inclined to the latter opinion in spite of her peculiar taste, 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 shoulder that Nat found very engaging. Now, I think you would like to go into the school room and practice some of the hymns we are to sing tonight, she said, brightly guessing the thing of all others that he wanted to do. The lone with a beloved violin and the music book propped up before him in the sunny window, while spring beauty filled the world outside and sabbath silence rained within, Nat enjoyed an hour to have genuine happiness, learning the sweet old tunes and forgetting the hard past and the cheerful present. When the churchgoers came back and dinner was over, everyone 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 left 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 and the beautiful miracles which nature was working before their eyes. Mr. Bear always went with them and in his simple fatherly way found for his flock sermons in stones, hooks in the running brooks and good in everything. Mrs. Bear with Daisy and her own two boys drove into town to pay the weekly visit to Grandma, which was busy mother bears on a 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. Poor, 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. This is your menagerie, asked Nat, as they trotted along the drive that encircled the house. We all have pets you see and we keep them 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 them 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 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 robbs, fronds gave them to them, the rabbits are neds, and the bantams outside are stuffies. That box thing is Demi's turtle tank, only he hasn't begun to get him yet. Last year he had sixty-two, Wackers some of them. He stamped one of them with his name in the year and let it go, and he says maybe he'll find it ever so long later 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 for a large, deep one, half full of earth. Oh, that's Jack Ford's warm shop, digs heaps of them and keeps them here, and when we want any to go efficient with, we buy some of him. He saved lots of trouble, only he charged too much for them. Why, last time we traded I had to pay two cents a dozen and then got little ones. I mean sometimes, and I told them I'd dig for myself if he didn't lower his prices. Now I own two hens, those grey ones with top knots, first straight ones they are too, and I sell Mrs. Bear the eggs, but I never ask her more than twenty-five cents a dozen never, and 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 Emils, his name is Christopher Columbus. Mrs. Bear 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 Robbs, and the yellow one is Teddy's. A man was going to drown them in our pond, and Pa Bear wouldn't let him. They do well enough for the little chaps, I don't think of much of them myself, their names are Caster and Pollux. I'd like Toby the donkey best, if I could have something. 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. Lori sent him out to Mrs. Bear, 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 Granny have laid any egg. 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 house top 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 on 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 and the barn. We find him, or buy him, or folks give him 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-form behind the barn, and people pay well for duck eggs, and the little duckies are pretty, and it's fun to see him swim, said Tommy, with air of a millionaire. Nat sighed, for he had neither father nor anything in the wide world but an old empty pocket book, and the skill that lay in his ten fingertips. 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 a count, and when you've had twelve, another bear will give you twenty-five cents for them, and then you can buy what you like, don't you see? I'll do it. What a kindfeller you are, cried Nat, quite dazzled by this brilliant offer. Poo, 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 in the hay with a luxurious sense of having made a good bargain, and done a friendly thing. Nat joyfully began his search, and went wrestling 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 tomorrow we'll start fresh. Here, you chalk your accounts up near mine, and then we'll be all straight, said Tommy, showing a row of mysterious figures on the side of an old winnowing machine. With a delightful sense of importance, the proud possessor of one egg opened to the count with his friend, who laughingly wrote above the figures these imposing words, tea, bangs, and company. 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 storeroom. 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 have been cut off to send out from year to year a crowd of slender twigs till a green canopy rustled overhead. Here little seeds had been fixed and 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 in my private place. We made it, and nobody can come up unless we let them, 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 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 Bear'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 deep into 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. I can do it well enough when I want to, said Tommy, after a surprised look which said as plainly as words, avoid twelve years old and can't read. I can read music anyway, added Nat, rather ruffled at having to confess 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 everything I can, for I never had a chance before. Does Mr. Bear 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 paint 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'd been examining the books. Read a bit, then. I'll help you, resumed Tommy, with the patronizing air. So Nat did his best and floundered through a page with many friendly booths 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 have to choose different things and can't change till the crop is in. We must keep it in order all summer. What are you going to raise this year? Well, I cattilated to have beans as they're about the easiest crop of going. 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 the man who managed the place for Mr. Bear. 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 melons, said Tommy, relapsing into a silosism 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 them, for I spoke first. Stuff he wanted them, 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. Bear returned from his walk and come to find them, for he managed to have a little talk with every one of the lads some time during the day, and found that these chats gave him a good start every week. Sympathy is a sweet thing, and it worked wonders here, for each boy knew that Father Bear was interested in him, and some were readyer to open their hearts to him than to a woman, especially the older ones, who like to talk over their hopes and plans, man to man. When sick or in trouble, they instinctively turned to Mrs. Joe, 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 went for a ride. This left Nat to Mr. Bear, which was just what he wished, and during the stroll they took among the garden plots. He won the lads' 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 gravely as the thirsty earth had received the warm spring rain. All suppertime he brooded over them, often fixing his eyes on Mr. Bear's firing 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. Bear'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 the wide half-circle round the fire, some on chairs, some on the rug, Daisy and Demi on the knees of Uncle Fritz, and Rob snuggly pulled away in the back of his mother's easy chair, or he could nod unseen if the talk got beyond his depth. Everyone 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. Bear 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, stretched 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 weight as he gave them, but others neglected their parts and let them run to waste, which displeased him very 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 Pritz's face as if to catch every word. Hush, Demi, it's a fairy story, whispered Daisy. No, I think it's an airy gory, said Demi. What is a airy gory, called out Tommy, who was of an inquiring turn? Tell him, Demi, if you can, and don't use words unless you're quite sure you know what they mean, said Mr. Bear. I do know, Grandpa told me, a fable is an airy gory, a story that means something. My story without an end is one, because the child in it means a soul. Don't it, auntie? cried Demi, eager to prove himself right. That's it, dear, an uncle's story is an allegory, I am quite sure. So listen and see what it means, returned Mrs. Joe, who always took part in whatever was going on, and enjoyed it as much as any boy among them. Demi composed himself, and Mr. Bear went on in his best English, for he had improved much in the last five years, 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 the 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. There 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. Bear, with a kind look. Even the roughest, most neglected little bed had a bit of heart's ease, or sprig of mignonnette 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, black bean stalk, and many good seeds just beginning to sprout. Before 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 Aragory 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. Bear looked perfectly innocent and went on glancing from one young face to another with a grave, wispy look 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 sun-shiny 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 everyone 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, fourteen plots, said Mr. Bear, 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 the sudden brightening of his round, dull face as the pleasing idea occurred to him. You don't mean that kind of seeds, you mean things to make us good, and the weeds are false, cried Demi, who usually took a lead in these talks because he was used to this sort of thing and liked it very much. 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 harvest for our master if we love him enough, said Father Bear. 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. Joe, so soberly that the lads felt a thinking when their turns came, and some among them felt a twinge of remorse that they had helped to use up Mother Bear's stock of patience so fast. Frans 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. Bear 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. Bear, 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 knights, 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 all full of barometers and bricks and shooing horses and useful things, for them, anti-Daisy, said Demi, anxious to defend himself. So they are, but I find you reading Rowland and Maybird a great deal oftener than Harry and Lucy, and I think you are not half so 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 he must promise to play in it, said Uncle Fritz, in his persuasive way, for stuff he hated to run about, and I 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 like to be generous, and the other boys want to play, and you can give them the new ground if you choose. This was taken them both on the right side, and they agreed to the bargain, to the great satisfaction of the rest. There was a little more talk about the gardens, and then they all sang together. The band delighted Nat, for Mrs. Bear played the piano, and he played the bass vial, and he himself the violin. A very simple little concert, but all seemed to enjoy it. An 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 Bear, Mother Bear kissed them everyone from sixteen-year-old Franz to little Rob, who kept the tip of her nose 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 wildflowers 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 nightgown pausing on his way back from Aunt Joe's chamber, whether 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, much, because it is true, said Demi. Who told you? My grandpa, he knows everything, 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, and turn 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 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 was very poor and was very good to them. He made them well and helped them, and told rich people they must not be crossed 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 had in 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? So interested was he in this man who cared for the poor so much. I'll tell you all about it, Aunt Jo will mind, and Demi settled himself on the opposite bed, glad to tell his favorite story to so good a listener. The nurse he peeped in to see if Nat was asleep, but when she saw what was going on, she slipped away again, and went to Mrs. Bear, 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, the white angel as he is. Mrs. Bear had meant to go and talk with Nat a moment before he slept, for she had found that a serious word spoken at this time often did much good. But when she stole to the nursery door and saw Nat eagerly drinking in the words of his little friends, while Demi told the sweet and solemn story as it had been taught him, speaking softly as he sat with his beautiful eyes fixed on the tender face above them, her own filled with tears, and she went silently away thinking to herself, 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. Bear 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 the 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 nightgown. End of Chapter 3 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org Little Men by Louisa May Alcott Chapter 4 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. Bear 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. Bear said, smiling, Don't work so hard, my boy. You will tire yourself out and there is time enough. But I must work hard or I can't catch up with the others. They know heaps and I don't know anything, said Nat, who had been reduced to a state of despair by hearing the boys recite their grammar, history, and geography with what he thought amazing ease and accuracy. You know a good many things which they don't, said Mr. Bear, sitting dubbed 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 was 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 plot away and things will get easier and easier as you go. My face had brightened more and more as he listened for, small as the list of his learning was, it cheered him immensely to feel that he had anything to fall back upon. Yes, I can keep my temper. Father's beating taught me that and I can fiddle, though I don't know where the bay of this gay 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 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 seven times nine and everyone looked up to see what was going on. Thinking that a lesson in learning to help one another was better than arithmetic just then Mr. Bear 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 the stories 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 everyone 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. Joe 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 stalk that shot up and flourished in the warm spring weather. Never was a garden more faithfully hode Mr. Bear 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. Bear used to say as she pinched the once thin cheeks now getting plump and ruddy with her shoulders that were slowly straightening out 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 though the children were younger than he his timid spirit found the pleasure in their innocent society and rather shrunk from the rough sports of the elder lads Mr. Lawrence 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 concert, on which occasions Nat felt himself translated into the seventh heaven of bliss, for he went to Mr. Lawrence's great-house, saw his pretty wife and little fairy of a daughter, had a good dinner, and was made so comfortable that he talked and dreamed of it for days and nights afterward. It takes so little to make a child happy that it is a pity, in a world so full of sunshine and pleasant things, that there should be any wistful faces, empty hands, or lonely little hearts. Feeling this, the bears 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. Joe'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 skillful with those slender fingers of his, and passed many a rainy afternoon with his gum bottle, paint box, and knife, preparing 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, reveling over Robinson Crusoe, Arabian Nights, Edgeworth's Tales, and 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 until 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 buy and buy, the bears encouraged any efforts at independence. Tommy sold his eggs, Jack speculated in livestock, 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 and pretty things, and sold them, while Demi constructed watermills, roly-gigs, 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. Bear. Give a boy a trade, and he is independent. Work is wholesome, and whatever talent these lads possess, be it for poetry or plowing, 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. Bear answered readily, Go, and welcome. It isn't easy and a pleasant way to work, and I am glad it has 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 kindly 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, but 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 pocketbook and feeling like a millionaire already. He was in business truly, for picnics were plenty as summer opened, and that skill was in great demand. He was always at liberty to go if lessons were not neglected, and if the picnickers were respectable young people. For Mr. Bear explained to him that a good plain education is necessary for everyone, 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. Bear 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 on 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 anyone who could make it, and she was often found sitting on the stairs outside Nat's door while he was practicing. This pleased him very much, and he played his best for that one quiet little listener, where she never would come in, but preferred to sit sowing her gay patchwork, or tending one of her many dolls, with an expression of dreamy pleasure on her face that made Aunt Joe 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. Bear, 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. One good angel must have been watching 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 Bear took pleasure in fostering poor Nat's virtues and incurring his faults, finding his new people as docile and affectionate as a girl. He often called Nat his daughter, when speaking of him to Mrs. Joe, and she used to laugh at his fancy. Mr. 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 Bears 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. Bear, in one of the talks he had with Nat about his cheap 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 him because I was afraid of Father and Nicolae, and now I do sometimes because the boys laugh at me. I know it's bad, but I forget, and that looked much depressed by his sins. When I was a little lad, I used to tell lies, ah, 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. Bear 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, for rule 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. Bear 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 Emel 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 Emel spoke of it a day or two later, Tommy gave his evidence, and Mr. Bear heard it. School was over, and they were all standing about in the hall, and Mr. Bear 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, Bobchin, 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, he held a sight that quite bewildered him. Mr. Bear had just taken down the 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 feraled was the deepest disgrace at this school. You remember what I told you last time? Said Mr. Bear, 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 his face full of distress. Why don't he up and take it like a man, I would, thought Tommy, till 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 onto the window ledge, staring in with eyes as round as the stuffed owls on the chimney-piece. Nat took the rule, for when Mr. Bear spoke in that tone everyone 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. Bear 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. Bear 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. We 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 Emel, as if confessing a crime of the deepest dye. When you hit him, dear old Father Bear, by thunder I'd just like to see you do it now, said Ned, collaring Emel in a fit of righteous wrath. It was ever so long ago, I'd rather have my head cut off and do it now, and Emel mildly laid Ned on his back instead of cuffing him, as he would have felt at 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. When I'd hit Uncle One Good Crack, everything 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 been blinded. I felt so mean, and Emel gave himself a good thumb from the chest to express his sense of remorse for the past. Nat's crying like anything, 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 upstairs if he wants to, proposed Franz, and led the way to the barn at their refuge in troubleous times. Nat did not come to dinner, but Mrs. Joe 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 the 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 a matter, yet feeling very grateful for her silent sympathy, because he fancied everyone 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. CHAPTER V. HATTY PANTS What's the matter, Daisy? The boys won't let me play with them. Why not? They say girls can't play football. They can, for I've done it, and Mrs. Bear laughed at the remembrance of certain youthful frolics. I know I can play, Dem and I used to, and have nice times, but he won't let me now because the other boys laugh at him, and Daisy looked deeply grieved at her brother's hardness of heart. On the whole, I think he is right, dearie. It's all very well when you two are alone, but it is too rough a game for you with a dozen boys, so I'd find some nice little play for myself. I'm tired of playing alone, and Daisy's tone is very mournful. I'll play with you by and by, but just now I must fly about and get things ready for the trip into town. You shall go with me and see Mama, and if you like you can stay with her. I should like to go and see her and baby Josie, but I'd rather come back, please. Demi would miss me, and I'd love to be here, Auntie. You can't get on without your Demi, can you? An Aunt Joe looked as if she quite understood the love of the little girl for her only brother. Of course I can't. We're twins, and so we love each other more than other people, answered Daisy with a brightening face, for she considered being a twin one of the highest honors she could ever receive. Now, what will you do with your little self while I fly around? asked Mrs. Bear, who was whisking piles of linen into a wardrobe with great rapidity. I don't know. I'm tired of dolls and things. I wish you'd make up a new play for me, Aunt Joe, said Daisy, swinging listlessly on the door. I shall have to think of a brand new one, and it will take me some time. So suppose you go down and see what Asia has got out for your lunch? suggested Mrs. Bear, thinking that would be a good way in which to dispose of the little hindrance for a time. Yes, I think I'd like that if she isn't cross, and Daisy slowly departed to the kitchen, where Asia, the black cook, brained undisturbed. In five minutes, Daisy was back again, with a wide awake face, a bit of dough in her hand, and a dab of flour on her little nose. Oh, auntie, please could I go and make ginger snaps and things? Asia isn't cross, and she says I may, and it would be such fun, please do, cried Daisy all in one breath. Just a thing, go and welcome, and make what you like, and stay as long as you please, answered Mrs. Bear, much relieved, for sometimes the one little girl was harder to amuse than the dozen boys. Daisy ran off, and while she worked, Aunt Joe racked her brain for a new play. All of a sudden she seemed to have an idea, where she smiled to herself, slammed the doors of the wardrobe, and walked briskly away, saying, I'll do it if it's a possible thing. What it was, no one found out that day, but Aunt Joe's eyes twinkled so when she told Daisy she had thought of a new play, and was going to buy it, that Daisy was much excited and asked questions all the way into town without getting answers that told her anything. She was left at home to play with a new baby, and delight her mother's eyes, while Aunt Joe went off shopping. When she came back with all sorts of queer parcels in corners of the carry-all, Daisy was so full of curiosity that she wanted to go back to Plumfield at once. But her aunt would not be hurried, and made a long call in Mama's room, sitting on the floor with baby in her lap, making Mrs. Brooke laugh at the pranks of the boys, and all sorts of droll nonsense. How her aunt told the secret Daisy could not imagine, but her mother evidently knew it, for she said, as she tied on the little bonnet and kissed the rosy little face inside, be a good child, my Daisy, and learn the nice new play Auntie has got for you. It's the most useful and interesting one, and it is very kind of her to play it with you, because she does not like it very well herself. This last speech made the two ladies laugh heartily, and increased Daisy's bewilderment, as they drove away something rottled in the back of the carriage. What's that? asked Daisy, pricking up her ears. The new play, answered Mrs. Joe solemnly. What is it made of? cried Daisy. Iron, tin, wood, brass, sugar, salt, coal, and a hundred other things. How strange! What color is it? All sorts of colors. Is it large? Part of it is, and a part isn't. Did I ever see one? Ever so many, but never one so nice as this. Oh, what can it be? I can't wait. When shall I see it? And Daisy bounced up and down with impatience. Tomorrow morning, after lessons. Is it for the boys, too? No, all for you and Bess. The boys will like to see it, and want to play one part of it, but you can do as you like about letting them. I'll let Demi, if he wants to. No fear that they won't all want to, especially stuffy, and Mrs. Bear's eyes twinkled more than ever, as she padded a queer knobby bundle in her lap. Let me feel just once, prayed Daisy. Not a feel. You'd guess in a minute and spoil the fun. Daisy groaned and then smiled all over her face, or threw a little hole in the paper she caught a glimpse of something bright. How can I wait so long? Couldn't I see it today? Oh, dear no. It's got to be arranged, and ever so many parts fixed in their places. I promised Uncle Teddy that you shouldn't see it till it was all in apple pie order. If Uncle knows about it, then it must be splendid, cried Daisy, clapping her hands. For this kind, rich, jolly uncle of hers was as good as a fairy godmother to the children, and was always planning merry surprises, pretty gifts, and droll amusements for them. Yes, Teddy went and bought it with me, and we had such fun in the shop choosing the different parts. He would have everything fine and large, and my little plan got regularly splendid when he took hold. You must give him your very best kiss when he comes, for he is the kindest uncle that ever went and bought a charming little coup. Bless me, I nearly told you what it was. And Mrs. Bear cut that most interesting word short off in the middle and began to look over her bills, as if afraid she would let the cat out of the bag if she talked any more. Daisy folded her hands with an air of resignation, and sat quite still trying to think what play had a coup in it. When they got home she eyed every bundle that was taken out, and one large heavy one, which Franz took straight upstairs and hid in the nursery, filled her with amazement and curiosity. Something very mysterious went on up there that afternoon, for Franz was hammering an Asia trotting up and down, and Aunt Joe flying around like a will of the wisp with all sorts of things under her apron, a little Ted, who was the only child that admitted, because he couldn't talk plain, babbled and laughed, and tried to tell what the something pity was. All this made Daisy half-wild, and her excitement spread among the boys, who quite overwhelmed Mother Bear with offers of assistance, which she declined by quoting their own words to Daisy. Girls can't play with boys. This is for Daisy, and best, and me, so we don't watch you. Whereupon the young gentleman meekly retired and invited Daisy to a game of marbles, horse, football, anything she liked, with a sudden warmth and politeness which astonished her innocent little soul. Thanks to these attentions, she got through that afternoon, went early to bed, and next morning did her lessons with an energy which made Uncle Fritz wish that a new game could be invented every day. Quite a thrill pervaded the school room, and Daisy was dismissed at 11 o'clock, for everyone knew that now she was going to have a new and mysterious play. Many eyes followed her as she ran away, and Demi's mind was so distracted by this event that when Franz asked him where the Desert of Sahara was, he mournfully replied, in the nursery, and the whole school laughed at him. Aunt Joe, I've done all my lessons, and I can't wait one single minute more, cried Daisy, flying into Mrs. Bear's room. It's all ready, come on, and tucking Ted under one arm and her work basket under the other, Aunt Joe promptly led the way upstairs. I don't see anything, said Daisy, staring about her as she got inside the nursery door. Do you hear anything? asked Aunt Joe, catching Ted by his little fracas he was making straight for one side of the room. Daisy did hear an odd crackling, and then a furry little sound as of a kettle singing. These noises came from behind a curtain drawn before a deep bay window. Daisy snatched it back, gave one joyful, oh, and then stood gazing with delight at, what do you think? A wide seat ran round the three sides of the window. On one side hung and stood all sorts of little pots and pans, grid irons, and skillets. On the other side a small dinner and tea set, and on the middle part a cooking stove. Not a tin one, that was of no use, but a real iron stove, big enough to cook for a large family of very hungry dolls. But the best of it was that a real fire burned in it. Real steam came out of the nose of the little pea kettle, and the little boiler actually danced a jig, the water inside bubbled so hard. A pane of glass had been taken out and replaced by a sheet of tin, with a hole for the small funnel, and real smoke went sailing away outside so naturally that it did one's heart good to see it. The box of wood with a hot of charcoal stood nearby, just above hung dustpan, brush, and broom. A little market basket was on a low table at which Daisy used to play, and over the back of her little chair hung a white apron with a bib, and a droll mob cap. The sun shone in as if he enjoyed the fun. The little stove roared beautifully, the kettle steamed, the new tins sparkled on the walls, the pretty china stood in tempting rows, and it was altogether as cheery and complete a kitchen as any child could desire. Daisy stood quite still after the first glad oh, but her eyes went quickly from one charming object to another, brightening as they looked, till they came to Aunt Cho's merry face. There they stopped as the happy little girl hugged her, saying gratefully, Oh, Auntie, it's a splendid new clay. Can I really cook at the deer stove, and have parties and mess and sweep, and make fires that truly burn? I like it so much. What made you think of it? You're liking to make ginger snaps with Asia made me think of it, said Mrs. Bear, holding Daisy who frisked as if she would fly. I knew Asia wouldn't let you mess in her kitchen very often, and it wouldn't be safe at this fire up here, so I thought I'd see if I could find a little stove for you and teach you to cook. That would be fun and useful, too, so I traveled around among the toy shops, but everything large cost too much, and I was thinking I should have to give it up when I met Uncle Teddy. As soon as he knew what I was about, he said he wanted to help and insisted on buying the biggest toy stove we could find. I scolded, but he only laughed and teased me about my cooking when we were young, and said I must teach best as well as you, and went on buying all sorts of nice little things for my cooking class, as he called it. I'm so glad you met him, said Daisy, as Mrs. Joe stopped to laugh at the memory of the funny time she had with Uncle Teddy. You must study hard and learn to make all kinds of things, for he says he shall come out to tea very often and expect something uncommonly nice. It's the sweetest dearest kitchen in the world, and I'd rather study with it than do anything else. Since I learned pies and cake and macaroni and everything, cried Daisy, dancing around the room with a new saucepan in one hand and the tiny poker in the other. All in good time. This is to be a useful play. I am to help you, and you are to be my cook, so I shall tell you what to do and show you how. Then we shall have things fit to eat, and you'll be really learning how to cook on a small scale. I'll call you Sally, and say you're a new girl just come, added Mrs. Joe, settling down to work while Teddy sat on the floor sucking his thumb and staring at the stove as if it was a live thing whose appearance deeply interested him. That will be so lovely. What shall I do first? asked Sally, with such a happy face and willing air that Aunt Joe wished all new cooks were half as pretty and pleasant. First of all, put on this clean cap and apron. I am rather old-fashioned, and I like my cook to be very tidy. Sally tucked her curly hair into the round cap and put on the apron without a murmur, though usually she rebelled against bibs. Now, you can put things in order and wash up the new china. The old set needs washing also, for my last girl was apt to leave it in a sad state after a party. Aunt Joe spoke quite slowly, but Sally laughed, for she knew who the untidy girl was who had left the cup sticky. Then she turned up her cuffs, and with a sigh of satisfaction began to stir about her kitchen, having little raptures now and then over the sweet rolling pin, the darling dish tub, or the cunning pepper pot. Now, Sally, take your basket and go to market. Here's the list of things I want for dinner, said Mrs. Joe, giving her a bit of paper when the dishes were all in order. Where is the market? asked Daisy, thinking that the new play got more and more interesting every minute. Asia is the market. Away went Sally, causing another stir in the schoolroom as she passed the door on her new costume, and whispered to Demi, with a face full of delight. It's a perfectly splendid play. Old Asia enjoyed the joke as much as Daisy, and laughed jolly as the little girl came flying into the room with her cap all on one side, the lids of her basket rattling like castanets and looking like a very crazy little cook. Mrs. Aunt Joe wants these things, and I must have them right away, said Daisy, importantly. Let's see, honey. Here's two pounds of steak, potato, squash, apples, bread, and butter. The meat ain't come yet. When it does, I'll send it up. The other things are all handy. Then Asia packed one potato, one apple, a bit of squash, a little pad of butter, and a roll into the basket, telling Sally to be on the watch for the butcher's boy, because he sometimes played tricks. Who is he? And Daisy hoped it would be Demi. You'll see, was all Asia would say. And Sally went off in great spirits, singing a verse from dear Mary Howitt's sweet story in rhyme. Away went little Mabel, with the wheat and cake so fine, the new-made pot of butter, and the little flask of wine. Put everything but the apple into the store closet for the present, said Mrs. Joe, when the cook got home. There was a cupboard under the middle shelf, and on opening the door fresh delights appeared. One half was evidently the cellar, or wood, coal, and kindlings were piled there. The other half was full of little jars, boxes, and all sorts of drill contrivances for holding small quantities of flour, meal, sugar, salt, and other household stores. Pot of jam was there, a little tin box of gingerbread, a cologne bottle full of current wine, and a tiny canister of tea. But the crowning charm was two doll's pans of new milk, cream actually rising on it, and a wee skimmer already to skim it with. Daisy clasped her hands at this delicious spectacle and wanted to skim it immediately. But Aunt Joe said, Not yet. You will want the cream to eat on your apple pie at dinner, and must not disturb it till then. Am I going to have pie? cried Daisy, hardly believing that such bliss could be in store for her. Yes, if your oven does well, we will have two pies, one apple and one strawberry, said Mrs. Joe, who was nearly as much interested in the new clay as Daisy herself. Oh, what next, as Sally? All impatience to begin. Shut the lower draft of the stove so that the oven may heat. Then wash your hands and get out the flour, sugar, salt, butter, and cinnamon. See if the pie board is clean, and pair your apple ready to put in. Daisy got things together with as little noise and spilling as could be expected from so young a cook. I really don't know how to measure for such tiny pies. I must guess at it, and if these things don't succeed we must try again, said Mrs. Joe, looking rather perplexed and very much amused with a small concern before her. Take that little pan full of flour, put in a pinch of salt, and then rub in as much butter as will go on that plate. Always remember to put your dry things together first, and then the wet. It mixes better so. I know how. I saw Asia do it. Don't I butter the pie plates too? She did, the first thing, said Daisy, whisking the flour about at a great rate. Quite right. I do believe you have a gift for cooking. You take to it so cleverly, said Aunt Joe, approvingly. Now a dash of cold water, just enough to wet it. Then scatter some flour on the board, work in a little, and roll the paste out. Yes, that's the way. Now put dabs of butter all over it, and roll it out again. We won't have our pastry very rich, or the dolls will get dyspeptic. Daisy laughed at the idea, and scattered the dabs with a liberal hand. Then she rolled and rolled with her delightful little pin, and having got her paste ready proceeded to cover the plates with it. Next the apple was sliced in, sugar and cinnamon lavishly sprinkled over it, and then the top crust put on with breathless care. I always wanted to cut them round, and Asia never would let me. How nice it is to do it all my onty donty self, said Daisy, as the little knife went clipping round the doll's plate poised on her hand. All cooks, even the best, meet with mishaps sometimes, and Sally's first one occurred then, for the knife went so fast that the plate slipped, turned a somersault in the air, and landed the dear little pie upside down on the floor. Sally screamed, this is Joe laughed, Teddy scrambled to get it, and for a moment confusion reigned in the new kitchen. It didn't spill or break, because I pinched the edges together so hard. It didn't hurt a bit, so I'll prick holes in it, and then it'll be ready, said Sally, picking up the capsized treasure and putting it into shape with a childlike disregard of the dust it gathered in its fall. My new cook has a good temper I see, and that is such a comfort, said Mrs. Joe. Now open the jar of strawberry jam, fill the uncovered pie, and put some strips of paste over the top as Asia does. I'll make a D in the middle, and have zigzags all around. That will be so interesting when I come to eat it, said Sally, loading the pie with corals and flourishes that would have driven a real pastry cook wild. Now I put them in, she explained, when the last grimy knob had been carefully planted in the red field of jam, and with an air of triumph she shut them into a little oven. Clear up your things. A good cook never lets her utensils collect. Then pair your squash and potatoes. There's only one potato, giggled Sally. Cut it in four pieces, so we'll go into the little kettle and put the bits into cold water till it is time to cook them. Do I soak the squash, too? No, indeed. Just pair it and cut it up, and put it into the steamer over the pot. It is dry or so, but it takes longer to cook. Here a scratching at the door caused Sally to run and open it when Kit appeared with a covered basket in his mouth. Here's the butcher boy, cried Daisy, much tickled at the idea as she relieved him of his load, whereat he licked his lips and began to beg, evidently thinking that it was his own dinner, for he often carried it to his master in that way. Being undeceived, he departed in great wrath and barked all the way downstairs to ease his wounded feelings. In the basket were two bits of steak, dolls-pounds, a baked pear, a small cake, and paper with them on which Asia had scrawled, for Missy's lunch, if her cooking don't turn out well. I don't want any of her old pears and things. My cooking will turn out well, and I'll have a splendid dinner, see if I don't, cried Daisy indignely. Who may like them if company should come? It is always well to have something in the storeroom, said Aunt Jo, who had been taught this valuable fact by a series of domestic panics. Mia's hundry, announced Teddy, who began to think what with so much cooking going on it was about time for somebody to eat something. His mother gave him her work basket to rummage, hoping to keep him quiet till dinner was ready and returned to her housekeeping. Put on your vegetables, set the table, and then have some coals kindling ready for the steak. What a thing it was to see the potatoes bobbing about in a little pot, to peep at the squash getting soft so fast in the tiny steamer, to whisk open the oven door every five minutes to see how the pies got on, and at last when the coals were red and glowing to put two real steaks on a finger-long gridiron and proudly turned them with a fork. The potatoes were done first, and no wonder, they had boiled practically all the while. They were pounded up with a little pestle, had much butter and no salt put in, cook forgot it in the excitement of the moment, then it was made into a mound in a gay red dish, smoothed over with a knife dipped in milk, and put in the oven to brown. So absorbed in these last performances had Sally been, that she forgot her pastry till she opened the door to put in the potato, then a whale arose, for alas, alas, the little pies were burnt black, oh, my pies, my darling pies, they are all spoiled, cried poor Sally, wringing her dirty little hands as she surveyed the ruin of her work. The tart was especially pathetic, for the corals and zigzags stuck up in all directions from the black and jelly, like the walls and chimney of a house after a fire. Dear, dear, I forgot to remind you to take them out, it's just my luck, said Aunt Joe remorsefully. Don't cry, darling, it was my fault, we'll try again after dinner, she added, as a great tear dropped from Sally's eyes and sizzled on the hot ruins of the tart. More would have followed if the steak had not blazed up just then, and so occupied the attention of Cook that she quickly forgot the lost pastry. Put the meat dish and your own plates down to warm, while you mash the squash with butter, salt, and a little pepper on the top, said Mrs. Joe, devoutly hoping that the dinner would meet with no further disasters. The cunning pepper pot soothed Sally's feelings and she dished up her squash in fine style. The dinner was safely put upon the table, the six dolls were seated three on a side, Teddy took the bottom and Sally the top. When all were settled, it was the most imposing spectacle, for one doll was in full ball costume, another in her nightgown. Jerry, the worsted boy, wore his red winter suit, while Annabella, the noseless darling, was early attired in nothing but her own kid's skin. Teddy, as father of the family, behaved with great propriety, for he smilingly devoured everything offered him and did not find a single fault. Daisy beamed upon her company like the weary, warm, but hospitable hostess so often to be seen at larger tables than this, and did the honors with an air of innocent satisfaction, which we do not often see elsewhere. The steak was so tough that the little carving knife would not cut it, the potato did not go round, and the squash was very lumpy, but the guests appeared politely unconscious of these trifles, and the master and mistress of the house cleared the table with appetites that anyone might envy them. The joy of skimming a jug full of cream mitigated the anguish fell through the loss of the pies, and Asia's despised cake proved a treasure in the way of dessert. That is the nicest lunch I ever had. Can't I do it every day? Ask Daisy as she scraped up and ate the leavings all round. You can cook things every day after lessons, but I prefer that you should eat your dishes at your regular meals and only have a bit of gingerbread for lunch. Today, being the first time, I don't mind, but we must keep our rules. This afternoon you can make something for tea if you like, said Mrs. Joe, who would enjoy the dinner party very much, though no one had invited her to partake. Do let me make flapjacks for Demi, he loves him so, and it's such fun to turn them and put sugar in between, cried Daisy, tenderly wiping a yellow stain off Annabella's broken nose. For Bella had refused to eat squash when it was pressed upon her as good for rheumatism, a complaint which it is no wonder she suffered from, considering the lightness of her attire. But if you give Demi goodies, all the others will expect some also, and then you will have your hands full. Couldn't I have Demi come up to tea alone just this one time? And after that I could cook things for the others if they were good, proposed Daisy, with sudden inspiration. That is a capital idea, Posey. You will make your little messes rewards for the good boys, and I don't know one among them who would not like something nice to eat more than almost anything else. If little men are like big ones, good cooking will touch their hearts and soothe their tempers delightfully, added Aunt Joe, with a married nod toward the door, where stood Papa Bear, surveying the scene with a face full of amusement. That last hit was for me, Sharp Woman. I accept it, for it is true. But if I had married thee for thy cooking, hearts dearest, I should have feared badly all these years. Answered the professor, laughing as he tossed Teddy, who became quite apoplectic in his endeavors to describe the feast he had just enjoyed. Daisy proudly showed her kitchen, and rashly promised Uncle Fritz as many flapjacks as he could eat. She was just telling about the new rewards when the boys, headed by Demi, burst into the room snuffing air like a pack of hungry hounds. For school was out, dinner was not ready, and the fragrance of Daisy's steak led them straight to the spot. A prouder little damsel was never seen in Sally as she displayed her treasures and told the lads what was in store for them. Several rather scoffed at the idea of her cooking anything fit to eat, but Stuffy's heart was one at once. Nat and Demi had firm faith in her skill, and the others said they would wait and see. All admired the kitchen, however, and examined the stove with deep interest. Demi offered to buy the boiler on the spot to be used in a steam engine, which he was constructing, and Ned declared that the best and biggest saucepan was just the thing to melt his lead in when he ran bullets, hatchets, and such trifles. Daisy looked so alarmed at these proposals that Mrs. Joe then and there made and proclaimed the law that no boy should touch, use, or even approach the sacred stove without a special permit from the owner thereof. This increased its value immensely in the eyes of the gentlemen, especially as any infringement of the law would be punished by forfeiture of all right to partake of the delicacies promised to the virtuous. At this point the bell rang, and the entire population went down to dinner, which meal was enlivened by each of the boys giving Daisy a list of things he would like to have cooked for him as fast as he earned them. Daisy, whose faith in her stove was unlimited, promised everything if Aunt Joe would tell her how to make them. This suggestion rather alarmed Mrs. Joe, for some of the dishes were quite beyond her skill, wedding cake, for instance, bullseye candy, and capped a soup with herrings and cherries in it, which Mr. Bear proposed as his favorite, and immediately reduced his wife to despair for German cookery was beyond her. Daisy wanted to begin again the minute dinner was done, but she was only allowed to clear up build the kettle ready for tea and wash out her apron, which looked as if she had had a Christmas feast She was then sent out to play till five o'clock, for Uncle Fritz said that too much study, even at cooking stoves, was bad for little minds and bodies, and Aunt Joe knew by long experience how soon new toys lose their charm if they are not prudently used. Everyone was very kind to Daisy that afternoon. Tommy promised her the first fruits of his garden, though the only visible crop just then was pigweed. Ned offered to supply her with wood, free of charge. Stuffie quite worshiped her. Ned immediately fell to work on a little refrigerator for her kitchen, and Demi, with a punctuality beautiful to see in one so young, escorted her to the nursery just as the clock struck five. It was not time for the party to begin, but he begged so hard to come in and help that he was allowed privileges few visitors enjoy, for he kindled the fire, ran errands, and watched the progress of his suffer with intense interest. Mrs. Joe directed the affair as she came and went, being very busy putting up clean curtains all over the house. Ask Asia for a cup of sour cream, then your cakes will be light without much soda, which I don't like, was the first order. Demi tore downstairs and returned with the cream, also a puckered up face, for he had tasted it on his way and found it so sour that he predicted the cakes would be unheatable. Mrs. Joe took this occasion to deliver a short lecture from the stepladder on the chemical properties of soda, to which Daisy did not listen, but Demi did, and understood it, as he proved by the brief but comprehensive reply. Yes, I see, Soda turns sour things sweet, and the fizzling up makes them light. Let's see you do it, Daisy. Fill that bowl nearly full of flour and add a little salt to it, continued Mrs. Joe. Oh dear, everything has to have salt in it seems to me, said Sally, who was tired of opening the pillbox in which it was kept. Salt is like good humor, and nearly everything is better for a pinch of it, Posey, and Uncle Fritz stopped as he passed, hammer in hand, to drive up two or three nails for Sally's little pans to hang on. You are not invited to tea, but I'll give you some cakes, and I won't be crossed, said Daisy, putting up her flowery little face to thank him with a kiss. Fritz, you must not interrupt my cooking glass, or I'll come in and moralize when you are teaching Latin. How would you like that? said Mrs. Joe, throwing a great chintz curtain down on his head. Very much, try it and see, and the amiable father bear went singing and tapping about the house like a mammoth woodpecker. Put the soda into the cream, and when it fizzles, as Demi says, stir it into the flour, and beat it up as hard as ever you can. Have your griddle hot, butter it well, and then fry away till I come back, and Aunt Joe vanished also. Such a clatter as a little spoon made, and such a beating as the batter got, and quite foamed, I assure you. And when Daisy poured some onto the griddle, it rose like magic into a fluffy flapjack that made Demi's mouth water. To be sure, the first one stuck and scorched because she forgot the butter, but after that first failure all went well, and six capital little cakes were safely landed in a dish. I think I like maple syrup better than sugar, said Demi, from his armchair where he had settled himself after setting the table in a new and peculiar manner. Then go and ask Asia for some, answered Daisy, going into the bathroom to wash her hands. While the nursery was empty, something dreadful happened. You see, Kit had been feeling hurt all day because he had carried meat safely and yet got none to pay him. He was not a bad dog, but he had his little faults like the rest of us, and could not always resist temptation. Happening to stroll into the nursery at that moment, he smelt the cakes, saw them unguard from the low table, and never stopping to think of consequences swallowed all six at one mouthful. I'm glad to say that they were very hot, and burnt him so bad that he could not repress the surprised yelp. Daisy heard it, ran in, saw the empty dish, also the end of a yellow tail disappearing under the bed. Without a word she seized that tail, pulled out the thief, and shook him till his ears flapped wildly, then bundled him downstairs to the shed, where he spent a lonely evening in the coal bin. Cheered by the sympathy which Demi gave her, Daisy made another bowl full of batter and fried a dozen cakes, which were even better than the others. Indeed, Uncle Fritz, after eating two, sent up where that he never tasted any so nice, and every boy at the table below envied Demi at the flapjack party above. It was a truly delightful supper, for the little teapot lid only fell off three times, and the milk jug upset but once. The cakes floated in syrup, and the toast had a delicious beef steak flavor, owing to cooks using the gridiron to make it on. Demi forgot philosophy, and stuffed like any carnal boy, while Daisy planned sumptuous banquets, and the dolls looked on smiling aptly. Well, dearies, have you had a good time? Asked Mrs. Joe, coming up with Teddy on her shoulder. A very good time. I shall come again soon, answered Demi with emphasis. I'm afraid he have eaten too much by the look of that table. No, I haven't. I only ate fifteen cakes, and there were very little ones, protested Demi, who had kept his sister busy supplying his plate. They won't hurt him. They are so nice, said Daisy, with such a funny mixture of maternal fondness and housewifely pride, that Aunt Joe could only smile and say, Well, on the whole, the new game is a success, then? I like it, said Demi, as if his approval was all that was necessary. It is the dearest play ever made, cried Daisy, hugging her little dish-tub as she proposed to wash up the cups. I just wish everybody had a sweet cooking stove like mine, she added, regarding it with affection. This play ought to have a name, said Demi, gravely removing the syrup from his countenance with his tongue. It has. Oh, what! asked both children eagerly. Well, I think we will call it patty-pans, and Aunt Joe retired, satisfied with the success for last trap to catch a sunbeam. End of Chapter 5