want to, but I don’t know how to begin.”
“He did not mean now, Demi, but by and by, when you are large.”
“But I wish to begin now, if I can, because I think I ought to make
some money to buy things for the family. I am ten, and other boys
no bigger than I earn pennies sometimes.”
“Well, then, suppose you rake up all the dead leaves and cover the
strawberry bed. I’ll pay you a dollar for the job,” said Aunt Jo.
“Isn’t that a great deal? I could do it in one day. You must be fair,
and no pay too much, because I want to truly earn it.”
“My little John, I will be fair, and not pay a penny too much. Don’t
work too hard; and when that is done I will have something else
for you to do,” said Mrs. Jo, much touched by his desire to help,
and his sense of justice, so like his scrupulous father.
When the leaves were done, many barrowloads of chips were
wheeled from the wood to the shed, and another dollar earned.
Then Demi helped cover the schoolbooks, working in the evenings
under Franz’s direction, tugging patiently away at each book,
letting no one help, and receiving his wages with such satisfaction
that the dingy bills became quite glorified in his sight.
“Now, I have a dollar for each of them, and I should like to take
my money to mother all myself, so she can see that I have minded
my father.”
So Demi made a duteous pilgrimage to his mother, who received
his little earnings as a treasure of great worth, and would have kept
it untouched, if Demi had not begged her to buy some useful thing
for herself and the women-children, whom he felt were left to his
care.
This made him very happy, and, though he often forgot his
responsibilities for a time, the desire to help was still there,
strengthening with his years. He always uttered the words “my
father” with an air of gentle pride, and often said, as if he claimed
a title full of honor, “Don’t call me Demi any more. I am John
Brooke now.” So, strengthened by a purpose and a hope, the little
lad of ten bravely began the world, and entered into his
inheritance, the memory of a wise and tender father, the legacy of
an honest name.
CHAPTER XX ROUND THE FIRE
With the October frosts came the cheery fires in the great
fireplaces; and Demi’s dry pine-chips helped Dan’s oak-knots to
blaze royally, and go roaring up the chimney with a jolly sound.
All were glad to gather round the hearth, as the evenings grew
longer, to play games, read, or lay plans for the winter. But the
favorite amusement was story-telling, and Mr. and Mrs. Bhaer
were expected to have a store of lively tales always on hand. Their
supply occasionally gave out, and then the boys were thrown upon
their own resources, which were not always successful.
Ghost-parties were the rage at one time; for the fun of the thing
consisted in putting out the lights, letting the fire die down, and
then sitting in the dark, and telling the most awful tales they could
invent. As this resulted in scares of all sorts among the boys,
Tommy’s walking in his sleep on the shed roof, and a general state
of nervousness in the little ones, it was forbidden, and they fell
back on more harmless amusements.
One evening, when the small boys were snugly tucked in bed, and
the older lads were lounging about the school-room fire, trying to
decide what they should do, Demi suggested a new way of settling
the question.
Seizing the hearth-brush, he marched up and down the room,
saying, “Row, row, row;” and when the boys, laughing and
pushing, had got into line, he said, “Now, I’ll give you two minutes
to think of a play.” Franz was writing, and Emil reading the Life of
Lord Nelson, and neither joined the party, but the others thought
hard, and when the time was up were ready to reply.
“Now, Tom!” and the poker softly rapped him on the head.