Chapter Chapter 2 · 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. Bhaer 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 Bhaer 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. Bhaer close by to fill up plate

and mug as fast as he could empty them.

“Who is that boy next the girl down at the other end?” whispered Nat to

his young neighbor under cover of a general laugh.

“That's Demi Brooke. Mr. Bhaer 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 any thing.”

“Who is the fat one next him?”

“Oh, that's Stuffy Cole. His name is George, but we call him Stuffy

'cause he eats so much. The little fellow next Father Bhaer is his boy

Rob, and then there's big Franz 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. Bhaer's got an old fiddle, and he'll let you play

on it if you want to.”

“Could I? Oh, I would 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?” cried Tommy, 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 wouldn't have me any longer, 'cause I was sick.”

“You'll belong to the band if you play good. See if you don't.”

“Do you have a band here?” Nat's eyes sparkled.

“Guess we do; a jolly band, all boys; and they have concerts and things.

You just see what happens to-morrow night.”

After this pleasantly exciting remark, Tommy returned to his supper, and

Nat sank into a blissful reverie over his full plate.

Mrs. Bhaer had heard all they said, while apparently absorbed in filling

mugs, and overseeing little Ted, who was so sleepy that he put his spoon

in his eye, nodded like a rosy poppy, and finally fell fast asleep, with

his cheek pillowed on a soft bun. Mrs. Bhaer 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

confidences during supper, which gave Mrs. Bhaer the key to the new

boy's character, better than if she had talked to him herself.

In the letter which Mr. Laurence had sent with Nat, he had said:

“DEAR JO: 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, mourning for his dead father, and his 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 overtasked body,

Fritz help his neglected mind, and when he is ready I'll see if he is

a genius or only a boy with a talent which may earn his bread for him.

Give him a trial, for the sake of your own boy,

“TEDDY.”

“Of course we will!” cried Mrs. Bhaer, 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. Both she and Mr. Bhaer 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.

“Bless the poor dear, he shall fiddle all day long if he likes,” said

Mrs. Bhaer 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 schoolroom for more

“high jinks,” Mrs. Jo 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; but 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, forgetting every thing 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. Bhaer came up to watch the boy; for, as if he

was in his element now, Nat played away and never minded any one, 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 rate,” cried Tommy, who considered Nat his

protege.

“You shall be the first fiddle in my band,” added Franz, with an

approving smile.

Mrs. Bhaer whispered to her husband:

“Teddy is right: there's something in the child.” And Mr. Bhaer 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 eying 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. Bhaer, 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. Bhaer; and took him

away to her own parlor, where she let him cry himself quiet.

Then she won him to tell her all his troubles, and listened to the

little story with tears in her own eyes, though it was not a new one to

her.

“My child, you have got a father and a mother now, and this is home.

Don't think of those sad times any more, 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 Nursey and have

a bath, and then go to bed, and to-morrow 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. Bhaer 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 the wide frill of her cap for

rays.

“This is Nursey Hummel, and she will give you a nice bath, and cut your

hair, and make you all 'comfy,' as Rob says. That's the bath-room 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. Now then,

Rob, in with you.”

As she talked, Mrs. Bhaer had whipped off Rob's clothes and popped him

into a long bath-tub 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 night-gowned, and bundled into bed

four or five small boys, who, of course, cut up all sorts of capers

during the operation, and kept every one in a gale of merriment till

they were extinguished in their beds.

By the time Nat was washed and done up in a blanket by the fire, while

Nursey cut his hair, a new detachment of boys arrived and were shut into

the bath-room, where they made as much splashing and noise as a 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 draught of flax-seed tea,” said

Mrs. Bhaer, who was flying about like a distracted hen with a large

brood of lively ducklings.

Nursey approved the plan, finished Nat off with a flannel night-gown, 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 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

cosy dream; and he often shut his eyes to see if it would not vanish

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 rioting 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. Bhaer 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 slyly thrown at her.

“Won't they hurt 'em?” asked Nat, who lay laughing with all his might.

“Oh dear, no! We always allow one pillow-fight Saturday night. The cases

are changed to-morrow; and it gets up a glow after the boys' baths; so

I rather like it myself,” said Mrs. Bhaer, 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. Bhaer, “but you see we don't believe

in making children miserable by too many rules, and too much study. I

forbade night-gown 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 fifteen-minute

pillow-fight every Saturday night; and they promised to go properly to

bed every other night. I tried it, and it worked well. If 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 it 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 besiegers 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 gave and took sounding

thwacks with perfect good humor, while pillows flew like big snowflakes,

till Mrs. Bhaer looked at her watch, and called out:

“Time is up, boys. Into bed, every man jack, or 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, but

public-spirited school-ma'am.

“Lose their fun next time,” answered Mrs. Bhaer. “I give them five

minutes to settle down, then put out the lights, and expect order. They

are honorable lads, and they keep their word.”

That was evident, for the battle ended as abruptly as it began, a parting

shot or two, a final cheer, as Demi fired the seventh pillow at the

retiring foe, a few challenges for next time, then order prevailed. And

nothing but an occasional giggle or a suppressed whisper broke the quiet

which followed the Saturday-night frolic, as Mother Bhaer kissed her new

boy and left him to happy dreams of life at Plumfield.

CHAPTER II.

Chapter 2. THE BOYS

While Nat takes a good long sleep, I will tell my little readers

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 in 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, for the blood of the old vikings

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 in river, pond, and brook, when lessons were

done. His room looked like the cabin of a man-of-war, for every thing

was nautical, military, and shipshape. Captain Kyd 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 sailors' hornpipes, rolled in his gait, 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.

Demi was one of the children who show plainly the effect of intelligent

love and care, for soul and body worked harmoniously together. The

natural refinement which nothing but home influence can teach, gave

him sweet and simple manners: 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 the tender wisdom of a modern Pythagoras, not tasking it with long,

hard lessons, parrot-learned, but helping it to unfold as naturally and

beautifully as sun and dew help 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 or beauty in other 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 papa's.”

But John rejoiced over him, laughed at his explosive remarks, got the

boots, and said contentedly,

“He is 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 will pick that up as pigeons do peas. So

don't hurry him.”

Daisy was as sunshiny and charming as ever, with all sorts of

womanlinesses 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 to display her neat stitches,

and Baby Josy had a flannel petticoat beautifully made by Sister Daisy.

She like 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 in all sorts of work, and help him with his

lessons, for 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 loved 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, who seemed to have discovered the

secret of perpetual motion, for 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.

Every one felt the need of a pet at times, and Baby was always ready to

accommodate, for kissing and cuddling suited him excellently. Mrs.

Jo seldom stirred without him; so he had his little finger in all the

domestic pies, and every one found them all the better for it, for they

believed in babies at Plumfield.

Dick Brown, and Adolphus or Dolly Pettingill, were two eight year-olds.

Dolly stuttered badly, but was gradually getting over it, for no one was

allowed to mock him and Mr. Bhaer 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 body. When he first came, he was very sensitive about his

misfortune, but soon learned to forget it, for no one dared remind him

of it, after Mr. Bhaer 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

Bhaers 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, some one said,

“What animal will you be, Dick?”

“Oh, I'm the dromedary; don't you see the hump on my back?” was the

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 dear as my boys have learned

to be,” said Mrs. Jo, quite satisfied with the success of her teaching,

as Dick ambled past her, looking like a very happy, but a very feeble

little dromedary, beside stout Stuffy, who did the elephant with

ponderous propriety.

Jack Ford was a sharp, rather a sly lad, who was sent to this school,

because it was cheap. Many men would have thought him a smart boy, but

Mr. Bhaer 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 fourteen, 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 any thing to prove it, was

not brave, and a little given to tale-telling. He was apt to bully the

small boys, and flatter the big ones, and without being at all bad, was

just the sort of fellow who could very easily be led astray.

George Cole had been spoilt by an over-indulgent 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 Plumfield, 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 mamma by his improvement,

and convinced her that there was really something remarkable in

Plumfield air.

Billy Ward was what the Scotch tenderly call 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 Strasburg 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 overtasked brain gave out, and Billy's mind was like a

slate over which a sponge has 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, but sure

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 pored over the alphabet, proudly said A and B, and

thought that he knew them, but on the morrow they were gone, and all

the work was to be done over again. Mr. Bhaer 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 from

the darkened mind, and give it back intelligence enough to make the boy

less a burden and an affliction.

Mrs. Bhaer 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 Si was very good to

him, and though he forgot his letters Billy remembered friendly faces.

Tommy Bangs was the scapegrace of the school, and the most trying

scapegrace that ever lived. As full of mischief as a monkey, yet

so good-hearted that one could not help forgiving his tricks; so

scatter-brained 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. Bhaer 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 Nursey

had a particular drawer in which she kept bandages, plasters, and salves

for his especial 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 rebuffs, this indomitable youth

went on amusing 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 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 clothes line against the post, and left

here there to fume and scold for half an hour one busy Monday morning.

He dropped a hot cent down Mary Ann's back as that pretty maid was

waiting at table one day when there were gentlemen to dinner, whereat

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 the 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, but was too polite to say anything. He passed

around snuff in church so that five of the boys sneezed with such

violence they had to go out. He dug paths in winter time, 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,

for his feet were enormous, 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 and scandalized all the other fowls, for the respectable old

biddies went staggering about, pecking and clucking in the most maudlin

manner, while the family were convulsed with laughter at their antics,

till Daisy took pity on them and shut them up in the hen-house 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. Latin, Greek, and mathematics were all very well, but in

Professor Bhaer's opinion, self knowledge, self-help, and self-control

were more important, and he 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. Jo said to

Nat, “it was an odd school.”