Chapter-9
“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; both workers and students 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 neighbour’s cow, helped the old sexton dust and warm the church on Sundays, and in these ways got enough to buy fuel in small quantities. But it was hard work; the days were short, the winter was bitterly cold, and precious time went fast, and the dear books were so fascinating, that it was sad to leave them, for dull duties that never seemed done.
“The minister watched him quietly, and seeing that he was in earnest helped him without his knowledge. He met him often driving the wood sleds from the forest, where the men were chopping and as James plodded beside the slow oxen, he read or studied, anxious to use every minute. ‘The boy is worth helping; this lesson will do him good, and when he has learnt it, I will give him an easier one,’ said the minister to himself, and on Christmas eve a splendid load of wood was quietly dropped at the door of the little house, with a new saw and a bit of paper, saying only, “The Lord helps those who help themselves’.”
“Poor James expected nothing, but when he woke on that cold Christmas morning, he found a pair of warm mittens, knitted by his mother, with her stiff painful fingers. This gift pleased him very much, but her kiss and tender look as she called him her ‘good son,’ was better still. In trying to keep her warm, he had warmed his own heart, you see, and in filling the wood-box he had also filled those months with duties faithfully done. He began to see this, to feel that there was something better than books, and to try to learn the lessons God set him, as well as those his school-master gave.
“When he saw the great pile of oak and pine logs at his door, and read the little paper, he knew who sent it, and understood the minister’s plan; thanked him for it, and fell to work with all his might. Other boys frolicked that day, but James sawed wood, and I think of all the lads in the town the happiest was the one in the new mittens, who whistled like a blackbird as he filled his mother’s wood-box.”
“That’s a first rater!” cried Dan, who enjoyed a simple matter-of-face story better than the finest fairy tale, “I like that fellow after all.”
“I could saw wood for you, Aunt Jo!” said Demi, feeling as if a new means of earning money for his mother was suggested by the story.
“Tell about a bad boy. I like them best,” said Nan.
“You’d better tell about a naughty cross-patch of a girl,” said Tommy, whose evening had been spoilt by Nan’s unkindness. It made his apple taste bitter, his pop-corn was insipid, his nuts were hard to crack, and the sight of Ned and Nan on one bench made him feel his life a burden.
But there were no more stories from Mrs. Jo, for on looking down at Rob he was discovered to be fast asleep with his last corn firmly clasped in his chubby hand. Bundling him up in his coverlet, his mother carried him away and tucked him up with no fear of his popping out again.
“Now let’s see who will come next,” said Emil, setting the door temptingly ajar.
Mary Ann passed first, and he called out to her, but Silas had warned her, and she only laughed and hurried on in spite of their enticements. Presently a door opened, and a strong voice was heard humming in the hall.
“It’s Uncle Fritz; all laugh loud and he will be sure to come in,” said Emil.
A wild burst of laughter followed, and in came Uncle Fritz, asking, “What is the joke, my lads?”
“Caught! Caught! You can’t go out till you’ve told a story,” cried the boys, slamming the door.
“So! Is that the joke then? Well, I have no wish to go; it is so pleasant here, and I pay my forfeit at once,” which he did by sitting down and beginning instantly, “A long time ago your Grandfather, Demi, went to lecture in a great town, hoping to get some money for a home for little orphans that some good people were getting up. His lecture did well, and he put a considerable sum of money in his pocket, feeling very happy about it. As he was driving in a chaise to another town, he came to a lonely bit of road, late in the afternoon, and was just thinking what a good place it was for robbers when he saw a bad-looking man come out of the woods in front of him and go slowly along as if waiting till he came up. The thought of the money made Grandfather feel rather anxious, and at first he had a mind to turn round and drive away. But the horse was tired, and then he did not like to suspect the man, so he kept on, and when he got nearer and saw how poor and sick and ragged the stranger looked, his heart reproached him, and stopping, he said in a kind voice, ‘My friend, you look tired; let me give you a lift.’ The man seemed surprised, hesitated a minute, and then got in. He did not seem inclined to talk, but Grandfather kept on in his wise, cheerful way, speaking of what a hard year it had been, how much the poor had suffered, and how difficult it was to get on sometimes. The man slowly softened a little, and won by the kind chat, told his story. How he had been sick, could get no work, had a family of children, and was almost in despair. Grandfather was so full of pity that he forgot his fear, and, asking the man his name, said he would try to get him work in the next town, as he had friends there. Wishing to get at pencil and paper to write down the address, Grandfather took out his plump pocket-book, and the minute he did so, the man’s eye was on it. Then Grandfather remembered what was in it and trembled for his money, but said quietly, ‘Yes, I have a little sum here for some poor orphans. I wish it was my own, I would so gladly give you some of it. I am not rich, but I know many of the trials of the poor; this five dollars is mine, and I want to give it to you for your children’.”
“The hard, hungry look in the man’s eyes changed to a grateful one as he took the small sum, freely given, and left the orphans’ money untouched. He rode on with Grandfather till they approached the town, then he asked to be set down. Grandpa shook hands with him, and was about to drive on, when the man said, as if something made him, ‘I was desperate when we met, and I meant to rob you, but you were so kind I couldn’t do it. May God bless you, sir, for keeping me from it!'”
“Did Grandpa ever see him again?” asked Daisy, eagerly.
“No; but I believe the man found work, and did not try robbery any more.”
“That was a curious way to treat him; I’d have knocked him down,” said Dan
“Kindness is always better than force. Try it and see,” answered Mr. Bhaer, rising.
“Tell another, please,” cried Daisy.
“You must, Aunt Jo did,” added Demi.
“Then I certainly won’t, but keep my others for next time. Too many tales are as bad as too many bonbons. I have paid my forfeit and I go,” and Mr. Bhaer ran for his life, with the whole flock in full pursuit. He had the start, however, and escaped safely into his study, leaving the boys to go rioting back again.
They were so stirred up by the race that they could not settle to their former quiet, and a lively game of Blindman’s Buff followed, in which Tommy showed that he had taken the moral of the last story to heart, for, when he caught Nan, he whispered in her ear, “I’m sorry I called you a cross-patch.”
Nan was not to be outdone in kindness, so, when they played “Button, button, who’s got the button?” and it was her turn to go round, she said, “Hold fast all I give you,” with such a friendly smile at Tommy, that he was not surprised to find the horse-hair ring in his hand instead of the button. He only smiled back at her then, but when they were going to bed, he offered Nan the best bite of his last apple; she saw the ring on his stumpy little finger, accepted the bite, and peace was declared. Both were ashamed of the temporary coldness, neither was ashamed to say, “I was wrong, forgive me,” so the childish friendship remained unbroken, and the home in the willow lasted long, a pleasant little castle in the air.
