“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