Little Men by Louisa May Alcott (literature books to read .TXT) 📖

Jack, who was tending the apples with great devotion, so that he might keep his back to the rest and account for his red face.

“Is that all?” asked Dan.

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

“Did Lewis have it?” cried Nat, much excited.

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

“I know that,” said Dan.

“So do I,” added Nat, softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is there a boy in it?”

“It is all boy.”

“Is it true?” asked Demi.

“Every bit of it.”

“Goody! tell on, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The minister watched him quietly, and seeing that he was in earnest helped him without his knowledge. He met him often driving the wood sleds from the forest, where the men were chopping and as James plodded beside the slow oxen, he read or studied, anxious to use every minute. 'The boy is worth helping, this lesson will