Kabanata Kabanata 3 · SUNDAY

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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. Bhaer kept all such cast-off feathers for the

picked robins who strayed into her nest. They were hardly on when Tommy

appeared in a high state of clean 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 every one 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. Bhaer 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 every thing that pleased him very much;

because, in spite of his rough life, the boy possessed the sensitive

nerves which belong 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,” said Father Bhaer, and set the

example by going into the school-room to get books ready for the morrow.

Every one 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, brushed the steps, or ran errands for Mrs. Bhaer. 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 and hour

the lads buzzed about like a hive of bees, then the 'bus drove round,

Father Bhaer and Franz with the eight older boys piled in, and away they

went for a three-mile drive to church in town.

Because of the troublesome cough Nat prefered to stay at home with

the four small boys, and spent a happy morning in Mrs. Bhaer's room,

listening to the stories she read them, learning the hymns 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, which seemed half-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 Bhaer.”

“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. Bhaer saw his eye on the words, and shook her head, saying, as she

turned a leaf,

“No, I don't show my records to any 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 for you

in this new place, 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. Bhaer “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, for I really don't know which I like best, writing or boys,”

she said, laughing to see Nat stare with astonishment at the last item.

“Yes, I know many people think boys are a 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 capitally with after I had once found the soft spot in

his heart. Bless me, I couldn't get on at all without my flock of dear,

noisy, naughty, harum-scarum little lads, could I, my Teddy?” and Mrs.

Bhaer hugged the young rogue, just in time to save the big inkstand from

going into his pocket.

Nat, who had never heard anything like this before, really did not know

whether Mother Bhaer was a trifle crazy, or the most delightful woman he

had ever met. He rather inclined to the latter opinion, in spite of her

peculiar tastes, 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 practise

some of the hymns we are to sing to-night,” she said, rightly guessing

the thing of all others that he wanted to do.

Alone with the beloved violin and the music-book propped up before him

in the sunny window, while Spring beauty filled the world outside, and

Sabbath silence reigned within, Nat enjoyed an hour or two of genuine

happiness, learning the sweet old tunes, and forgetting the hard past in

the cheerful present.

When the church-goers came back and dinner was over, every one 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 turned out 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 in the beautiful miracles which

Nature was working before their eyes. Mr. Bhaer always went with them,

and in his simple, fatherly way, found for his flock, “Sermons in

stones, books in the running brooks, and good in everything.”

Mrs. Bhaer with Daisy and her own two boys drove into town, to pay the

weekly visit to Grandma, which was busy Mother Bhaer's one 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;

for, 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.

“What is your menagerie?” asked Nat, as they trotted along the drive

that encircled the house.

“We all have pets, you see, and we keep 'em 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 'em, 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, and maybe I could get it for you if you'd

like it,” 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 Rob's, Franz gave

'em to him. The rabbits are Ned's, and the bantams outside are Stuffy's.

That box thing is Demi's turtle-tank, only he hasn't begun to get 'em

yet. Last year he had sixty-two, whackers some of 'em. He stamped one of

'em with his name and the year, and let it go; and he says maybe he will

find it ever so long after 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 before a large deep one,

half-full of earth.

“Oh, that's Jack Ford's worm-shop. He digs heaps of 'em and keeps 'em

here, and when we want any to go afishing with, we buy some of him. It

saves lots of trouble, only he charged too much for 'em. Why, last time

we traded I had to pay two cents a dozen, and then got little ones.

Jack's mean sometimes, and I told him I'd dig for myself if he didn't

lower his prices. Now, I own two hens, those gray ones with top knots,

first-rate ones they are too, and I sell Mrs. Bhaer the eggs, but I

never ask her more than twenty-five cents a dozen, never! I'd 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 Emil's. His name is Christopher Columbus. Mrs. Bhaer

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

show-man displaying his menagerie. “The white pup is Rob's, and the

yellow one is Teddy's. A man was going to drown them in our pond, and

Pa Bhaer wouldn't let him. They do well enough for the little chaps, I

don't think much of 'em myself. Their names are Castor and Pollux.”

“I'd like Toby the donkey best, if I could have anything, 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. Laurie sent him out to Mrs. Bhaer, 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 Cockletop and Granny have

laid any eggs.”

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 housetop 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, all 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 in the barn.

“We find 'em or buy 'em, or folks give 'em 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 for 'em behind the barn, and people

pay well for duck-eggs, and the little duckies are pretty, and it's fun

to see 'em swim,” said Tommy, with the air of a millionaire.

Nat sighed, for he had neither father nor money, nothing in the wide

world but an old empty pocketbook, and the skill that lay in his ten

finger tips. 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 account, and

when you've had twelve, Mother Bhaer will give you twenty-five cents for

'em, and then you can buy what you like, don't you see?”

“I'll do it! What a kind feller you are, Tommy!” cried Nat, quite

dazzled by this brilliant offer.

“Pooh! 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 on the hay with a luxurious

sense of having made a good bargain, and done a friendly thing.

Nat joyfully began his search, and went rustling 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 to-morrow 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 his account with his friend, who laughingly wrote above the

figures these imposing words,

“T. Bangs & Co.”

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

store-room. 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

had been cut off to send out from year to year a crowd of slender twigs,

till a green canopy rustled overhead. Here little seats 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 and my private place; we made it, and nobody can come up

unless we let 'em, 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 nice 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 Bhaer'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 deepened to 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, but I can do it well enough when I want to,”

said Tommy, after a surprised look, which said as plainly as words, “A

boy twelve years old and can't read!”

“I can read music, anyway,” added Nat, rather ruffled at having to

confess his 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 every thing I can, for I never had

a chance before. Does Mr. Bhaer 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

pate 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 had been examining the books.

“Read a bit, then; I'll help you,” resumed Tommy, with a patronizing

air.

So Nat did his best, and floundered through a page with may friendly

“boosts” 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, and we must keep it in order all

summer.”

“What are you going to raise this year?”

“Wal, I cattleated to hev beans, as they are about the easiest crop

a-goin'.”

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 imitation

of Silas, the man who managed the place for Mr. Bhaer.

“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 mellions,'” said Tommy, relapsing into a

“Silasism” 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 'em, for I spoke first. Stuffy wanted 'em, 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. Bhaer

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 them a good start for the coming week.

Sympathy is a sweet thing, and it worked wonders here, for each boy knew

that Father Bhaer was interested in him, and some were readier to open

their hearts to him than to a woman, especially the older ones, who

liked to talk over their hopes and plans, man to man. When sick or in

trouble they instinctively turned to Mrs. Jo, 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 retired to the house to be dried.

This left Nat to Mr. Bhaer, which was just what he wished, and, during

the stroll they took among the garden plots, he won the lad's 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 gratefully as the thirsty earth had

received the warm spring rain. All supper time he brooded over them,

often fixing his eyes on Mr. Bhaer with an inquiring 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. Bhaer'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 a wide half-circle round the

fire, some on chairs, some on the rug, Daisy and Demi on the knees of

Uncle Fritz, and Rob snugly stowed away in the back of his mother's

easy-chair, where he could nod unseen if the talk got beyond his depth.

Every one 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. Bhaer, 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, and he watched 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 wages 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 Fritz's face, as if to catch every word.

“Hush, Demi, it's a fairy story,” whispered Daisy.

“No, I think it's an arrygory,” said Demi.

“What is a arrygory?” called out Tommy, who was of an inquiring turn.

“Tell him, Demi, if you can, and don't use words unless you are quite

sure you know what they mean,” said Mr. Bhaer.

“I do know, Grandpa told me! A fable is a arrygory; it's a story that

means something. My 'Story without an end' is one, because the child in

it means a soul; don't it, Aunty?” cried Demi, eager to prove himself

right.

“That's it, dear; and Uncle's story is an allegory, I am quite sure; so

listen and see what it means,” returned Mrs. Jo, who always took part in

whatever was going on, and enjoyed it as much as any boy among them.

Demi composed himself, and Mr. Bhaer went on in his best English, for he

had improved much in the last five years, and said the boys did it.

“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

this 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. They 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. Bhaer, with a kind look. “Even the roughest, most

neglected little bed had a bit of heart's-ease or a sprig of mignonette

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 that went climbing

up like Jack's beanstalk, and many good seeds just beginning to sprout;

for, 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 “arrygory,” 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. Bhaer looked perfectly

innocent, and went on glancing from one young face to another, with a

grave, wistful look, that said 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 sunshiny 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 every one 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, no, thirteen, plots,” said Mr. Bhaer, 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 a sudden brightening of

his round, dull face as the pleasing idea occurred to him.

“He don't mean that kind of seeds. He means things to make us good; and

the weeds are faults,” cried Demi, who usually took the lead in these

talks, because he was used to this sort of thing, and liked it very

much.

“Yes, 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 harvests for our Master if we

love Him enough,” said Father Bhaer.

“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. Jo, so soberly that

the lads fell to thinking in good earnest what they should say when

their turns came, and some among them felt a twinge of remorse, that

they had helped to use up Mother Bhaer's stock of patience so fast.

Franz 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. Bhaer 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. Bhaer; 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

Nights,' 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 shoeing horses, and useful

things, and I'm fond of them; ain't I, Daisy?” said Demi, anxious to

defend himself.

“So they are; but I find you reading 'Roland 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,

you must promise to play in it,” said Uncle Fritz, in his persuasive

way, for Stuffy hated to run about, and Demi 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 do 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. Bhaer played the piano, Franz

the flute, Mr. Bhaer a bass viol, and he himself the violin. A very

simple little concert, but all seemed to enjoy it, and 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 Bhaer; Mother Bhaer kissed them every

one from sixteen-year-old Franz to little Rob, how kept the tip of her

nose for his own particular kisses, and then they trooped up to bed.

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 wild flowers 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 night-gown pausing on his way back from

Aunt Jo's chamber, whither 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, and I like it very much, because it is true,” said

Demi.

“Who told you?”

“My Grandpa, he knows every thing, 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,” returned 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 ever so many more lovely ones, but I liked about the Good Man best

of all, 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 liked poor people, and was

very good to them. He made them well, and helped them, and told rich

people they must not be cross 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 hadn't 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?” and Nat sat up in his bed to look and listen, so interested

was he in this man who cared for the poor so much.

“I'll tell you all about it; Aunt Jo won't mind;” and Demi settled

himself on the opposite bed, glad to tell his favorite story to so good

a listener.

Nursey peeped in to see if Nat was asleep, but when she saw what was

going on, she slipped away again, and went to Mrs. Bhaer, 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, like a

little white angel as he is.”

Mrs. Bhaer 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,

“Demi is unconsciously helping the poor boy 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. Bhaer 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 if a single 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 night-gown.