presence mar the child’s sweet satisfaction.
Nat was very fond of Mrs. Bhaer, but found something even more
attractive in the good professor, who took fatherly care of the shy
feeble boy, who had barely escaped with his life from the rough
sea on which his little boat had been tossing rudderless for twelve
years. Some good angel must have been watching over him, for,
though his body had suffered, his soul seemed to have taken little
harm, and came ashore as innocent as a shipwrecked baby.
Perhaps his love of music kept it sweet in spite of the discord all
about him; Mr. Laurie said so, and he ought to know. However that
might be, Father Bhaer took pleasure in fostering poor Nat’s
virtues, and in curing his faults, finding his new pupil as docile and
affectionate as a girl. He often called Nat his “daughter” when
speaking of him to Mrs. Jo, and she used to laugh at his fancy, for
Madame liked manly boys, and thought Nat amiable but weak,
though you never would have guessed it, for she petted him as she
did Daisy, and he thought her a very delightful woman.
One fault of Nat’s gave the Bhaers much anxiety, although they
saw how it had been strengthened by fear and ignorance. I regret to
say that Nat sometimes told lies. Not very black ones, seldom
getting deeper than gray, and often the mildest of white fibs; but
that did not matter, a lie is a lie, and though we all tell many polite
untruths in this queer world of ours, it is not right, and everybody
knows it.
“You cannot be too careful; watch your tongue, and eyes, and
hands, for it is easy to tell, and look, and act untruth,” said Mr.
Bhaer, in one of the talks he had with Nat about his chief
temptation.
“I know it, and I don’t mean to, but it’s so much easier to get along
if you ain’t very fussy about being exactly true. I used to tell ’em
because I was afraid of father and Nicolo, and now I do sometimes
because the boys laugh at me. I know it’s bad, but I forget,” and
Nat looked much depressed by his sins.
“When I was a little lad I used to tell lies! Ach! what fibs they
were, and my old grandmother cured me of it how, do you think?
My parents had talked, and cried, and punished, but still did I
forget as you. Then said the dear old grandmother, ‘I shall help you
to remember, and put a check on this unruly part,’ with that she
drew out my tongue and snipped the end with her scissors till the
blood ran. That was terrible, you may believe, but it did me much
good, because it was sore for days, and every word I said came so
slowly that I had time to think. After that I was more careful, and
got on better, for I feared the big scissors. Yet the dear
grandmother was most kind to me in all things, and when she lay
dying far away in Nuremberg, she prayed that little Fritz might
love God and tell the truth.”
“I never had any grandmothers, but if you think it will cure me, I’ll
let you snip my tongue,” said Nat, heroically, for he dreaded pain,
yet did wish to stop fibbing.
Mr. Bhaer smiled, but shook his head.
“I have a better way than that, I tried it once before and it worked
well. See now, when you tell a lie I will not punish you, but you
shall punish me.”
“How?” asked Nat, startled at the idea.
“You shall ferule me in the good old-fashioned way; I seldom do it
myself, but it may make you remember better to give me pain than
to feel it yourself.”
“Strike you? Oh, I couldn’t!” cried Nat.
“Then mind that tripping tongue of thine. I have no wish to be hurt,
but I would gladly bear much pain to cure this fault.”
This suggestion made such an impression on Nat, that for a long
time he set a watch upon his lips, and was desperately accurate, for