never seemed to have forgotten certain childish ways and looks,
any more than her voice and manner had; and these things, hard to
describe but very plain to see and feel, made her a genial,
comfortable kind of person, easy to get on with, and generally
“jolly,” as boys would say. She saw the little tremble of Nat’s lips
as she smoothed his hair, and her keen eyes grew softer, but she
only drew the shabby figure nearer and said, laughing:
“I am Mother Bhaer, that gentleman is Father Bhaer, and these are
the two little Bhaers. Come here, boys, and see Nat.”
The three wrestlers obeyed at once; and the stout man, with a
chubby child on each shoulder, came up to welcome the new boy.
Rob and Teddy merely grinned at him, but Mr. Bhaer shook hands,
and pointing to a low chair near the fire, said, in a cordial voice:
“There is a place all ready for thee, my son; sit down and dry thy
wet feet at once.”
“Wet? So they are! My dear, off with your shoes this minute, and
I’ll have some dry things ready for you in a jiffy,” cried Mrs. Bhaer,
bustling about so energetically that Nat found himself in the cosy
little chair, with dry socks and warm slippers on his feet, before he
would have had time to say Jack Robinson, if he had wanted to try.
He said “Thank you, ma’am,” instead; and said it so gratefully that
Mrs. Bhaer’s eyes grew soft again, and she said something merry,
because she felt so tender, which was a way she had.
“There are Tommy Bangs’ slippers; but he never will remember to
put them on in the house; so he shall not have them. They are too
big; but that’s all the better; you can’t run away from us so fast as if
they fitted.”
“I don’t want to run away, ma’am.” And Nat spread his grimy little
hands before the comfortable blaze, with a long sigh of
satisfaction.
“That’s good! Now I am going to toast you well, and try to get rid
of that ugly cough. How long have you had it, dear?” asked Mrs.
Bhaer, as she rummaged in her big basket for a strip of flannel.
“All winter. I got cold, and it wouldn’t get better, somehow.”
“No wonder, living in that damp cellar with hardly a rag to his
poor dear back!” said Mrs. Bhaer, in a low tone to her husband,
who was looking at the boy with a skillful pair of eyes that marked
the thin temples and feverish lips, as well as the hoarse voice and
frequent fits of coughing that shook the bent shoulders under the
patched jacket.
“Robin, my man, trot up to Nursey, and tell her to give thee the
cough-bottle and the liniment,” said Mr. Bhaer, after his eyes had
exchanged telegrams with his wife’s.
Nat looked a little anxious at the preparations, but forgot his fears
in a hearty laugh, when Mrs. Bhaer whispered to him, with a droll
look:
“Hear my rogue Teddy try to cough. The syrup I’m going to give
you has honey in it; and he wants some.”
Little Ted was red in the face with his exertions by the time the
bottle came, and was allowed to suck the spoon after Nat had
manfully taken a dose and had the bit of flannel put about his
throat.
These first steps toward a cure were hardly completed when a
great bell rang, and a loud tramping through the hall announced
supper. Bashful Nat quaked at the thought of meeting many
strange boys, but Mrs. Bhaer held out her hand to him, and Rob
said, patronizingly, “Don’t be ‘fraid; I’ll take care of you.”
Twelve boys, six on a side, stood behind their chairs, prancing
with impatience to begin, while the tall flute-playing youth was
trying to curb their ardor. But no one sat down till Mrs. Bhaer was
in her place behind the teapot, with Teddy on her left, and Nat on
her right.
“This is our new boy, Nat Blake. After supper you can say how do
you do? Gently, boys, gently.”
As she spoke every one stared at Nat, and then whisked into their