with any violent or selfish grief. We were in time to say good-by:
and Daisy and Demi were in his arms as he fell asleep on Aunt
Meg’s breast. No more now, I cannot bear it,” and Mr. Bhaer went
hastily away quite bowed with grief, for in John Brooke he had lost
both friend and brother, and there was no one left to take his place.
All that day the house was very still; the small boys played quietly
in the nursery; the others, feeling as if Sunday had come in the
middle of the week, spent it in walking, sitting in the willow, or
among their pets, all talking much of “Uncle John,” and feeling
that something gentle, just, and strong, had gone out of their little
world, leaving a sense of loss that deepened every hour. At dusk,
Mr. and Mrs. Bhaer came home alone, for Demi and Daisy were
their mother’s best comfort now, and could not leave her. Poor
Mrs. Jo seemed quite spent, and evidently needed the same sort of
comfort, for her first words, as she came up the stairs, were,
“Where is my baby?”
“Here I is,” answered a little voice, as Dan put Teddy into her
arms, adding, as she hugged him close, “My Danny tooked tare of
me all day, and I was dood.”
Mrs. Jo turned to thank the faithful nurse, but Dan was waving off
the boys, who had gathered in the hall to meet her, and was saying,
in a low voice, “Keep back; she don’t want to be bothered with us
now.”
“No, don’t keep back. I want you all. Come in and see me, my
boys. I’ve neglected you all day,” and Mrs. Jo held out her hands to
them as they gathered round and escorted her into her own room,
saying little, but expressing much by affectionate looks and clumsy
little efforts to show their sorrow and sympathy.
“I am so tired, I will lie here and cuddle Teddy, and you shall bring
me in some tea,” she said, trying to speak cheerfully for their
sakes.
A general stampede into the dining-room followed, and the
supper-table would have been ravaged if Mr. Bhaer had not
interfered. It was agreed that one squad should carry in the
mother’s tea, and another bring it out. The four nearest and dearest
claimed the first honor, so Franz bore the teapot, Emil the bread,
Rob the milk, and Teddy insisted on carrying the sugar basin,
which was lighter by several lumps when it arrived than when it
started. Some women might have found it annoying at such a time
to have boys creaking in and out, upsetting cups and rattling
spoons in violent efforts to be quiet and helpful; but it suited Mrs.
Jo, because just then her heart was very tender; and remembering
that many of her boys were fatherless or motherless, she yearned
over them, and found comfort in their blundering affection. It was
the sort of food that did her more good than the very thick
bread-and-butter that they gave her, and the rough Commodore’s
broken whisper,
“Bear up, Aunty, it’s a hard blow; but we’ll weather it somehow;”
cheered her more than the sloppy cup he brought her, full of tea as
bitter as if some salt tear of his own had dropped into it on the
way. When supper was over, a second deputation removed the
tray; and Dan said, holding out his arms for sleepy little Teddy,
“Let me put him to bed, you’re so tired, Mother.”
“Will you go with him, lovey?” asked Mrs. Jo of her small lord and
master, who lay on her arm among the sofa-pillows.
“Torse I will;” and he was proudly carried off by his faithful
bearer.
“I wish I could do something,” said Nat, with a sigh, as Franz
leaned over the sofa, and softly stroked Aunt Jo’s hot forehead.
“You can, dear. Go and get your violin, and play me the sweet
little airs Uncle Teddy sent you last. Music will comfort me better
than any thing else to-night.”
Nat flew for his fiddle, and, sitting just outside her door, played as
he had never done before, for now his heart was in it, and seemed