was the most beautiful picture of them all, and Nat lay looking at
it, dimly feeling what it meant, and wishing he knew all about it.
“That’s my picture,” said a little voice in the room. Nat popped up
his head, and there was Demi in his night-gown pausing on his
way back from Aunt Jo’s chamber, whither he had gone to get a cot
for a cut finger.
“What is he doing to the children?” asked Nat.
“That is Christ, the Good Man, and He is blessing the children.
Don’t you know about Him?” said Demi, wondering.
“Not much, but I’d like to, He looks so kind,” answered Nat, whose
chief knowledge of the Good Man consisted in hearing His name
taken in vain.
“I know all about it, and I like it very much, because it is true,”
said Demi.
“Who told you?”
“My Grandpa, he knows every thing, and tells the best stories in
the world. I used to play with his big books, and make bridges, and
railroads, and houses, when I was a little boy,” began Demi.
“How old are you now?” asked Nat, respectfully.
“‘Most ten.”
“You know a lot of things, don’t you?”
“Yes; you see my head is pretty big, and Grandpa says it will take a
good deal to fill it, so I keep putting pieces of wisdom into it as
fast as I can,” returned Demi, in his quaint way.
Nat laughed, and then said soberly,
“Tell on, please.”
And Demi gladly told on without pause or punctuation. “I found a
very pretty book one day and wanted to play with it, but Grandpa
said I mustn’t, and showed me the pictures, and told me about
them, and I liked the stories very much, all about Joseph and his
bad brothers, and the frogs that came up out of the sea, and dear
little Moses in the water, and ever so many more lovely ones, but I
liked about the Good Man best of all, and Grandpa told it to me so
many times that I learned it by heart, and he gave me this picture
so I shouldn’t forget, and it was put up here once when I was sick,
and I left it for other sick boys to see.”‘
“What makes Him bless the children?” asked Nat, who found
something very attractive in the chief figure of the group.
“Because He loved them.”
“Were they poor children?” asked Nat, wistfully.
“Yes, I think so; you see some haven’t got hardly any clothes on,
and the mothers don’t look like rich ladies. He liked poor people,
and was very good to them. He made them well, and helped them,
and told rich people they must not be cross to them, and they loved
Him dearly, dearly,” cried Demi, with enthusiasm.
“Was He rich?”
“Oh no! He was born in a barn, and was so poor He hadn’t any
house to live in when He grew up, and nothing to eat sometimes,
but what people gave Him, and He went round preaching to
everybody, and trying to make them good, till the bad men killed
Him.”
“What for?” and Nat sat up in his bed to look and listen, so
interested was he in this man who cared for the poor so much.
“I’ll tell you all about it; Aunt Jo won’t mind;” and Demi settled
himself on the opposite bed, glad to tell his favorite story to so
good a listener.
Nursey peeped in to see if Nat was asleep, but when she saw what
was going on, she slipped away again, and went to Mrs. Bhaer,
saying with her kind face full of motherly emotion,
“Will the dear lady come and see a pretty sight? It’s Nat listening
with all his heart to Demi telling the story of the Christ-child, like
a little white angel as he is.”
Mrs. Bhaer had meant to go and talk with Nat a moment before he
slept, for she had found that a serious word spoken at this time
often did much good. But when she stole to the nursery door, and
saw Nat eagerly drinking in the words of his little friends, while