Little Men: Life at Plumfield With Jo’s Boys by Louisa May Alcott

I can get, for that is what I need most,” said Mrs. Jo, so soberly that

the lads fell to thinking in good earnest what they should say when

their turns came, and some among them felt a twinge of remorse,

that they had helped to use up Mother Bhaer’s stock of patience so

fast.

Franz wanted perseverance, Tommy steadiness, Ned went in for

good temper, Daisy for industry, Demi for “as much wiseness as

Grandpa,” and Nat timidly said he wanted so many things he

would let Mr. Bhaer choose for him. The others chose much the

same things, and patience, good temper, and generosity seemed the

favorite crops. One boy wished to like to get up early, but did not

know what name to give that sort of seed; and poor Stuffy sighed

out,

“I wish I loved my lessons as much as I do my dinner, but I can’t.”

“We will plant self-denial, and hoe it and water it, and make it

grow so well that next Christmas no one will get ill by eating too

much dinner. If you exercise your mind, George, it will get hungry

just as your body does, and you will love books almost as much as

my philosopher here,” said Mr. Bhaer; adding, as he stroked the

hair off Demi’s fine forehead, “You are greedy also, my son, and

you like to stuff your little mind full of fairy tales and fancies, as

well as George likes to fill his little stomach with cake and candy.

Both are bad, and I want you to try something better. Arithmetic is

not half so pleasant as ‘Arabian Nights,’ I know, but it is a very

useful thing, and now is the time to learn it, else you will be

ashamed and sorry by and by.”

“But, ‘Harry and Lucy,’ and ‘Frank,’ are not fairy books, and they

are all full of barometers, and bricks, and shoeing horses, and

useful things, and I’m fond of them; ain’t I, Daisy?” said Demi,

anxious to defend himself.

“So they are; but I find you reading ‘Roland and Maybird,’ a great

deal oftener than ‘Harry and Lucy,’ and I think you are not half so

fond of ‘Frank’ as you are of ‘Sinbad.’ Come, I shall make a little

bargain with you both, George shall eat but three times a day, and

you shall read but one story-book a week, and I will give you the

new cricket-ground; only, you must promise to play in it,” said

Uncle Fritz, in his persuasive way, for Stuffy hated to run about,

and Demi was always reading in play hours.

“But we don’t like cricket,” said Demi.

“Perhaps not now, but you will when you know it. Besides, you do

like to be generous, and the other boys want to play, and you can

give them the new ground if you choose.”

This was taken them both on the right side, and they agreed to the

bargain, to the great satisfaction of the rest.

There was a little more talk about the gardens, and then they all

sang together. The band delighted Nat, for Mrs. Bhaer played the

piano, Franz the flute, Mr. Bhaer a bass viol, and he himself the

violin. A very simple little concert, but all seemed to enjoy it, and

old Asia, sitting in the corner, joined at times with the sweetest

voice of any, for in this family, master and servant, old and young,

black and white, shared in the Sunday song, which went up to the

Father of them all. After this they each shook hands with Father

Bhaer; Mother Bhaer kissed them every one from sixteen-year-old

Franz to little Rob, how kept the tip of her nose for his own

particular kisses, and then they trooped up to bed.

The light of the shaded lamp that burned in the nursery shone

softly on a picture hanging at the foot of Nat’s bed. There were

several others on the walls, but the boy thought there must be

something peculiar about this one, for it had a graceful frame of

moss and cones about it, and on a little bracket underneath stood a

vase of wild flowers freshly gathered from the spring woods. It